UC-NRLF 
 
 $B ES7 flM3 
 
!. v-^ 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Received iiopJi' , 190 $ . 
 
 Accession No. 8^ / ^ /.^ . Class No. § 9 ' | 
 
 _- .<¥/7ii' 
 
 
MURRAY'S 
 
 ENGLISH READER: 
 
 OR, 
 
 FIECES 1^ PROSE AND POETRY^ 
 
 SELECTED FXtOM TUE BEST WRITJa^RS. 
 
 Diesigned to assist! yoan^ persons to read -mth ipT&pri«<y aaa 
 
 \eSeat ; <'6 improve "Iheir laivg-unge 'fm^ sentimertts;; aiMi 
 
 )to listcuk^ate «ome o<r ti.>e tnotyt i<mportant |>-rMi- 
 
 •ciple« o^f !|)iety .aj»d virtue. 
 
 Wrra a 'PEW I>RELnVTINARY OBSETIVATiTON'S <DN the IPHlNd 
 I'JuES or COOD llEADLNG 
 
 IMPROVED iBY THE ADDITIO?! OT A 
 
 CONCORDANT AND SYNONYM ISING VOCABHLABY, 
 
 CrOnsistln^ of about fifteen hHndned of the most ikmporUM words 
 •contatued lathis work. 
 
 ^ Tine words -are arranged in columns and placed over tbt 
 «ections respectively, from whicli they aie selected^ 
 
 ILND Aft£ 
 
 DIVIDED, DEFINED, AND PRO.y^OUNCCD ACCORD- 
 ING TO THE PRINCIPLES OF 
 
 JOHN WALKER. 
 
 Hht words in the Vocabulary and their correspotident wordf Uk 
 tbc sectioQs, are uuiubened with figures of refcrenco. 
 
 WMIKER'u PRONOUNCING KEY, WHICH GOVERNS THE VD ^ 
 CABULARY, !S FKEFtXED TO THIS WORK . 
 
 Words ran kavo uo definitive idea attached to them wrhea by 
 It ia the Bituatioxi and tuct in -a aeutencs wiuch datannini their pvMtM 
 im.— 2>r. Johnson. 
 
 BY JEREMIAH GOODRICH. 
 
 IiOoailS & BR AYTOlf. 
 
 1841 
 
^t$^^ 
 
 NORTHEKN BI^RKT OP KOTr-YCSlK, TO WIT : 
 
 EogFORD,* of the said «?'f ^^'^t' ^^^^^ thev claim as proprietors, in the worda 
 vVUi J ^'^^'^^ ^"^ "^* ^^.i^Mnrav's English Header ; or pieces in 
 ^ittfe^ ^«"«^^'"^,^'net7v e ected f'om thelest writers, designed to as- 
 ^W&Ss. P'^^'^ ^""'^ ^ In!TnrHd with propriety and effect ; to improve 
 ^HK^I^ Bist young persons to read witn pro y ^^^^ ^^' the 
 
 ^P^^^ their language ^"d «^"/;"^^,f„(eS and^ with a few pre 
 
 ^^SS^ most important Pf'^^'^^^^? -f^Sles of good reading, improv 
 
 "^faf^ limlnary "^^^/.^^J^^S^.i'i^SSg vocabulary ; co'-nsist.ng of 
 ed% the addiuon of aconcordant^a^^^^^^^^ .^ ,^.^ ^.,rk - 
 
 about fifteen hundred ^/.^^^ ™?!i;"'P^d are placed over the sections, respec- 
 The wofds are arranged in columi», and are ^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^ pronounced, 
 
 lively, from which they, are selecied ana are ,^^^^^^ . ^ vocabulary 
 
 ficcorditvgto the P""^^'^^' .1 in thrsec^^^^^^^^^ are numbered with figures of 
 and their correspoudent ^^'^'i^^iT.fS governs the vocabulary, is pr^- 
 Reference. Walkef'sPronouncing Key w^.c^ g ^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^en by 
 fixed to this work. Words can have no aenm ^^^^^^ determine their 
 
 Siemseives ; it is ^he ^itu^.on and g^^^^^^l^if^H GOODEICH." 
 4,rec.8e meaning ;-X)r. ^f^^^^^'^^^ of the United Slates, «^t.tled " An Act 
 * Ifl conformity to the act of Congress oi me .^^^j. Map8,Charts, and 
 
 for the encouragement °f jj^^^^'^^^^y^rof Sfh copies', dum^ the times therein 
 Books, to the authours ^^^'^'^"^,'^S - An act supplementary to an act, 
 T»e«tioned ;" and also, to the act, emu u , • l,v eccuring Ui 
 Sn.W«h"Anactror,.ee^co„^ 
 
 , V to an act, 
 the copies of 
 
 Wai«, Omru.nna """k», » *» •^'*'™^ " >^,,^g^ thearu of De- 
 
:?s^i.s'iLOT 
 
 TO THE 
 
 IMPROVED EDITION OF THE ENGLISH READER. 
 
 An attempt to improve a work stamped witli the name of the 
 immortal Murray and clothed vvith universal j)alroiia<,'^e, may 
 be deemed the height of presumption. But tlic Author has aot 
 handled tlie reader irreverently ; lor he has iel't it in precisely 
 the same shape in uliich he I'ound it : except th'^r a lew page* 
 are added to its size by placing a vocabulary over each section, 
 giving the definition and true pronunciation of the most im}»or- 
 tant words, agreeably to the principles of the celebrated John 
 Walker. VVaikers orthography is also given to the work for 
 the purpose of uniformity. I.lr. Murray sa_ys. that the English 
 Header is " (h^signed to assist young persons to read with pro- 
 priety and efiect : and to improve their anguage and senti- 
 ments." Toeverv one, who can read Murray's title l>agc, it is 
 evident, that young persons can not read the following work 
 with propriety and elVect, without a j)erlcct knowledge of th« 
 words of vvhicli it is composed. JVcither can tlieir language and 
 sentiments be much improved, by prating over a N*ork, witiiout 
 1 egard cither to pronunciation or defniition. As ti.erc can be no 
 diversity of opinion on this point, the only question is, what is the 
 most convenient and expeditious method of acquiriifg a necessa- 
 ry knowledge of words ■* All will agree, that ll»e best method 
 of becoming acquainted with words, is to consult them, as they 
 occur in the writings of the best autliors. Hut the drudgery of 
 looking out *,vonls ni a full dictionary, (wliich must be repeated 
 as often as the learner may forget Ihem,) added io the loss of 
 time and the expense of having dictionaries lumbhd to pieces in 
 the hands of children, calls loudly for improvement. The pub" 
 lick are now invited to determine, whether a pronouncing vo- 
 cabidary placed at the head of each section, is not a I'lore de- 
 sirable mode of acquisition, than to ramble over Walker's full 
 work, for every unknown word that may occur. 
 
 By the aid of this vocabulary, teachers can furnish their pu- 
 pils with lessons in spelling, pronunciation, and defniition, to be 
 committed to memory, previously to reading the sections, from 
 which the words aie selected. The letters of reference will 
 guide the pupil ia the application of the delinitions. Thus a 
 key is hung over each section, inviting the young reader to un^ 
 lock the door, and view the treasure, which Mr. Murrajf has pre- 
 pared for him. 
 
 Should any material errour be discovered in the vocabulary 
 by any one, who will communicate the proper corrections to the 
 authour, the favour will be received with gratitude. 
 
MANY Belectioni-of excellent matter have b«en made for the bonofit of 
 youHv pefBonw. Porfbrm«ncos of this kind nre of so proat 'itility, thnt frttsli 
 
 firodiictionii of them,. and new attivniptgio improve the youn^ niiml, will gcarc«- 
 y be deemed 6uperfluon8, if the writor makes liis compilaiicn instruct ive and 
 interentin^, and sutTiciently dittinot firum other*. 
 
 The present work, an tlie title expresses, aims at the attainro-n* of three ob- 
 jeots: To improve youth in the art of reading.; to melioruta their Ir.nguaee and 
 lentiments ; and tO'incul6u(c some of the moi>t importnnt prirciples of piety 
 indivirlue. 
 
 The pieces selected, not only give cxemiue to a prent variety of rmotiona. 
 and ihh corrert|>ondemt tones and vHriutionri of voicp, lv.j» contsii:) *«,Mttenc«*.H antl 
 members of sentences, wfiirh are oivcri»ifiwI, pri>pnrtr<>nc(!, and pfititdd with 
 accnrary. Exercises of this nature are, it i»- prc!ium»)d; 'v»»ll calculpted to teach 
 youth to read with jiropriety and etTect. A wjlcction of bcI^t'c", i»' which va- 
 rivty. and proportion, with exact pwnrtnation, have Wvu carefully obMurvvd, iH 
 all tHoir purts^.as wtjil as with respect to one lUiother, will 'ircbaHly have a much 
 greater ctfect; in prtperly teaching the art of readinfj, than \» comtpouly iiuag' 
 med. In such coiiiitructions, every lhin|; Ik acooniniodated to the 'jnderntandin^ 
 and the voice ; and the common difllcultic* in earning to rend wj-il, are obviated 
 When tholeHrn«r Utu acquired a Kab*t of re.idiiur ti\nyi\ fvulvwcs, with justice 
 and facility he wiirreadily a{H>ly that habit-, and the improveni^Mits lie has made, 
 to sentence* more complicated and irregular, and of a construction entirely dif 
 ferent. 
 
 The lanstinpe of the pieccR chopen f4>r this collection, Imih been carefully r»- 
 farded. Purity, propriety. per«i>icuiiy, and, in many instances, ulcgance of die- 
 tion, distinguish them. The v are extraHted-fr<»n« the works of the most correct 
 and ele;;anl writers. From the soiircex whence the Mutiniento are drawn, the 
 reader may expert to find tiiem conneettK] and repiilHr, suSlieiuntly inn»orlant 
 and impressive, and divcxted of every tiling that itt either trife-or uccentrick. — 
 The frequent peru.sal ofsuch compoHilion, naturally tciuln to intVise a taste for 
 this ei>ecipR of excellence ; and to produce a habit of thinking and jf composing, 
 will) judgment and accuracy. * 
 
 That this collection may also serve the purpose of promo*in» piety and vir- 
 tue, the Compiler has introduce 1 manv nxtrac's, which place- rotigjon in the 
 most amiable- Hght ; ami" which recuninicmi a }.'reat variety of morul duties, by 
 the excellence of their nature, and the hapi»y eiTocts tJiey pruxluce; These sub- 
 
 *Tlie learner, in hii i»rogrc?s thrnnjrh this volume and the S'equol to It, will 
 meet with numerotm instances of composition, in v'rict conformity to the roles 
 for promoting perspicuous and elegant writing, cor.t.iined in the A|.penJix to 
 the Authour'i English Graoiifnar. Ity occasionally oxaminintr this conforn«ty, 
 he will be confirmed in the utility of those rules ; and be- enabled to apply theni 
 with ease and dexterity. 
 
 Itii proper further to obscrro, that the Reader and the Sequel, besides teach- 
 WZ to read accurately, and inculcating many important sentimontj?, iiuy b« 
 coniiider'«d as aMxiliariei to the Authour's English Grammar ; as ^raotical HtuP* 
 tratioM-olf tlM Drwcipiei aad rules contained in that work'. 
 
 A 2 
 
jWits aio exhibited hi a st/.e anJ manner, whirh are calcutatpd to^aTrest th« 
 atlonlion of youth ; and tc make strong and durable impressions oti tlieir inind«.* 
 
 The Compiler lias been careful to avoid every exproi-sion and sentament that 
 Ihigiit grai»fyacorru|>t mind, or in the least degree, offend the eye cf ear of in- 
 Eocence. This ho conceives to be peculiarly incninbrsit on cvfiy person, who 
 writes forthe beiiotlt of youth. It would, indeed, be a great and happy im- 
 provement in edvicatioii, if no writings vere allr.wcd to come under their notice, 
 but such as are perfectly innocent ; and if, on all i)ro()er occasions, they were 
 encouraged to peruse those vvhichtendtp inspire a due reverence for virtue, and 
 an abh(»rrenceof vice, as well as lo animate 'thein with sentiments of piety and 
 goodness. Such impressions deeply engraven on tlfeir minds, and connecl:.d. 
 v/ith all their attainments, could scurcely fail of attending thnni through life: 
 and of producing a solidity of principle and charricfer,'il)at woiiid be able to 
 resist the dangfu- arising from future intercouree vvith the world. 
 
 The Aulhour has ehdeavoured to relieve the grave and Horious parts of his 
 collection, by i!ie occasional arii!'i?sion of pieces, which amuse as well as in- 
 mruct. If, liowcver, jaiy of his readers bhijuld think it Contains too great a 
 projjortion of the former, it may be sonic apology to observe, that in the exist- 
 ing publications designed for the perusal of young jiersons, the preponderance 
 >8 greatly on the side of gay and amu^iing productions. Too much attention 
 may be paid to thi^^ medium of improvement. When the imagination, of youth 
 especialiy, is murii entertnined, the sober dictates of the understanding jne re- 
 garded with indiiference ; and the inlluence of good aflecf ions is either feeble or 
 iranniient. A temperate use of such entertainment seems therefore requisite, 
 to afford proper scop'C for the operotions of the umlerstanding and the heart. 
 
 The reader wdl perceive, that the Compiler Iras bveen solicitous to recommend 
 to young persons, the perusal of the sacred Scriptures, by interspersing through 
 his work, some of the most beautiful and interesting passr.ges of those invalu- 
 able writings. To excite an early taste and veneraiion l^r thts great rule of 
 life, is a point of so high importance, as to warrant the attempt to promote it 
 «n every propjr occasion. 
 
 To improve the youn:yj^ mind and to afford some assistance to tutors, in tho 
 ardnou.; and importiint Work of education, were the motives which led to this 
 pioduction. If the Aurhour should be so successful as to accomplish these 
 «nds, even in a small degree, he will think that his time and pains have bees 
 well emp.uyed and will deem himself amply rewarded. 
 
 jO TJiBLE or THE SIMPLE jJ,Vn niPTTIOXGJlL VOWKLfit 
 REFERRED TO RY THE FIGURES OF EH THK LETTERS 
 .JV THE VOCjJBULARY PLACED BEFORE EMCH SEGTJOJT 
 OF Tins WORK. 
 
 1. k. The long slender English a, as in f6.te, p&, per, &e 
 
 2. k. The long Italian a, as in f &.r, t'k thcr, pa pS., niana mi. 
 
 3. i. The broad German a, as in fiU, wAli^. \v4 ter. 
 
 4. k. Tho short sound of the Italian a, as. in fit, mil, mis rjt 
 
 1. ^. The long c, as in mi, hire, mi tre, mk diuuv 
 9. 4. The short e, as in met Ifit, g^t. 
 
 3 1. The long dipthongal e, as in pine, tl tie. 
 
 2. 1. Tho phort simple i, as in pin, tk tlu. 
 
 1. 6. The lonrj open o, as in n6, nite, r.A ticc. 
 ^. 6. The long close o, as in rnSve, prAve. 
 
 3. 6. Tho long broad o, as in nSr, f6r, 4r : liko the broad A. 
 
 4 6. Tlic short broad o, as in n6t, hot, gM. 
 
 1 h The long dipthongal «, as in time, Cii pid. 
 
 ?.. a. Ttie short snnple /*, as in tob, cup, sft^)^ t 
 
 3. tl. The middle or obtuse u, as in bftll, full, pulL 
 
 W. The long broad 6, and the slK)rt 1, as in 6ll. 
 
 ^. TliQ lon<g' broad 6, and tlwutiddlo oUtuno fl, aa in tJiAA^ p^&ad. 
 
$MtVOTKUCt(On* 
 
 « Pro-pri-c-ty, pro-prr-4-tA, exclusive 
 rigJit, justness 
 
 b Im-por-tiiiit, 1ni-p6i'-t4nt, momen- 
 tous, weighty 
 
 e At-tain-ment, ut-tinc'-mSnt, acqni 
 sition 
 
 d Procluc-tivo, pri-duk'-tlv, fertile, 
 generative 
 
 e Es-sen-tial, ^s-sSn'-sliAl, necessary, 
 important 
 
 f Mi-nute-ly, rai-nutc'-li, exacly 
 
 g In-ac-cu-ratu, In-ik'-ku-rite, not ex- 
 act 
 
 h Con-cep-tion, k6n-sSp'-sh5n, preg 
 nancy, idea 
 Re suit, r4-z61t', to follow as a conse- 
 quonco 
 
 j As-cer-tuin, is-sSr-tinc', to makoccr 
 tain 
 
 k Ac-f|uire, &k-kwlre', to gain By la 
 bour or power 
 
 / Fa-eil-i-ty, f 4-s!l'-^-t6, easiness, dex- 
 terity 
 
 m Con-sti-tutc, kun'-sti-tiito, to pro- 
 duce, Rpi)otnt 
 
 n Com-pen-sa-tion, k6m-p?n-84'-Bljun 
 recomjjence 
 
 • Pleas-ure, pl5zli'-ure, delight, appro- 
 bation 
 
 p Com-niu-ni-ca-tion, k6m-m6-n^-k4'- 
 
 shnn, liio act of imparting" 
 <7 Au-di-eijce, iw'-ji-Snse, the act of 
 
 hearing, persons; collc^cted 4o hear 
 r Dotibt-iess. ddiit'-W», unquesUonft- 
 
 biy 
 jf Ex-tra-or-di-na-ry, ^ks-trdr'-di-nAr-A, 
 
 eminent, unusual 
 t Ex-cel-lence, gk'-s21-lSnso, state qT 
 
 excelling, eminence 
 u Art, Art, science, skill 
 V Am-ply, ftui'-pl^, largely, liberally 
 ID Ke-ward, re-wArd', areconipenso, tp 
 
 recompense, to'repay 
 z Ex-er-tion, ^gz-2r'-6bfin, tlie act of 
 
 exerting, eftbrt 
 y Ncc-es-sar-y, nSs'-sia-sSr-ri, needful, 
 
 requisite 
 : Pause, p^z, a stop, suspense 
 a Enj-pha*;ji8, 2m'-fi-sls, a remarkable 
 
 stress luidujjon a word, 
 b At-lain-a-ble, 4t-l4no'-4-bI, thatm^jf 
 
 be obtained 
 c Im-i-ta-tivc, hn'-i-ti-tlv, inclined to 
 
 copy 
 d Ut-ter-anco, St'-tAr-Atise, proouucia* 
 
 tion 
 Aocu-rate, ^k'-kA-rite, exact, with- 
 out defect 
 / Coni-prise, k6m-prlze', to contxiiii, 
 
 include 
 
 OBSERVATIONS OJf THE PRmCIPLES OF GOOD 
 READmG, 
 
 TO read with propriety <» is a pleasing and important^ attainr 
 j^cnt '.<! productive'' of improvement both to tho understanding, and 
 Uie heart. It is essential^ to a complete reader, that he mmutel)/ 
 perceive the ideas, and enter into the feelings of the author, whose 
 sentiments he professes to repeat : for how is it possible to repre- 
 sent clearly to others, what we have but faint or inaccurate* con- 
 ceptions* of ourselves ? If there were no other benefits resulting^ 
 from the art of reading well, than the necessity it lays us under, 
 of precisely ascertaining'' the meaning of what W6 read > and tb& 
 
 NOTE. — For many of the obscrvaticns contained In this preTiminarr trtict, 
 the autiior is indebted to tlie writings of Dr. Blaii, and to the £ney«losndiA 
 
 Britannica. 
 
%al}ift dience a«quired,* of doing this with facility,' both wh«n r^a^ 
 tug silently and aloud, they would constitute" a sufficient! compenr 
 sation." &r all the laboux we can bestow u>pon the subject. Bui 
 rt»e pliBBtsujrco deriv€d to ourselves and othersr from a clean eomrni*- 
 nicatiiorU' of ideas and feelings ; and the strong and durable iiw 
 pressions made thereby on the miiids of the reader and the audi^ 
 ence,? are considerations, which give additional importance to that 
 study ©f this necessary and useful art. The perfect attainment of 
 It doubtless'* requires great attention and practice, joined to extra- 
 ordinary' natural powers : but as there are many degrees of excel- 
 lence* in the art," the stwident whose aims fell short of perfectioin 
 will fi'nd^ himself amply" rewarded"' for every exertion* he may 
 think proper to make. 
 
 To give rules for tb« management of the voice m reading, bj 
 which the necessary^ pauses,' emphasis,^ and tones, may be discov- 
 ered and put in. piactiee, is not possible. After all the direction* 
 that can be offered on these points, much will remain to be taxight 
 by the living instructor : much will be attainable^ by no other 
 means, than the force of example influencing the imitative^ power* 
 ©f the karnef. Some rules and principles on these hea^, will» 
 however, be foynd useful, to. prevent erroneous and vicious mode* 
 of utterance ;<< to give the young reader some taste of the subject; 
 ajid to assist him in acquiring a just and accurate* mode of delive- 
 ry. The- observations which we have to make, for these purposes^ 
 may be comprised/ under the following heads : proper loudnes» 
 
 •F VOICE ; DISTINCTNESS ; SLOWNESS ; PROPRIETY OF PRONUNCU- 
 
 TiOK ; sjf PHASis ; TOKKs^;; PAUSES ; and iviode of reading vebss^ 
 
 SECTION r. 
 
 A Eh deftv-our, 2n dSv'-fir, to labour to 
 
 a certain purpose 
 ft Oc-cu-py, ifk'-ki pi, to possess, em- 
 
 e Tal-ent, til'-Snt, faculty, power 
 
 d A«-«ia-tance, 4s-sU'-t4ose, help, fur- 
 Uieraeco 
 
 e Mao-age-ment, mSji'-Tdjo-ro5nt, con 
 duct, administtatiun 
 
 / Ap^proach, ip-pr6tsh\ to draw n,eaa- 
 
 f CoQ-found, k6a-fd&nd'^ to roin^l^^ 
 p#rplex 
 
 A Va-ri-e-ty, yl-rl'-4-t4, cbaoge> diver- 
 sity 
 
 i B«n-der, rSn'-d&r, to restore^ translate, 
 make 
 Ptf-M-veM,, pSM^y^re', to peraist i» 
 
 an attempt 
 
 A: Or-di-nft-ry, 5r'-d^-ni-ri, commoRt 
 usual 
 
 I Trans-gress, trAns-gr^s', to violate, to 
 pass over, offend 
 
 m Ve-he-ment, vi'-h^-m8»t,'[ forcible^ 
 ardent 
 
 n El-e-va-tion,. ^I-i-YV-sh5n, exalta- 
 tion, dignity 
 
 De-press-ion, di'pr&h'-fln, the act^of 
 pressing down 
 
 y, Har-mo-ny, h&r'-m6-n&, j.ust propor- 
 tion, concord 
 
 q Mo-ijot-o-ny, mA-n6t'-t6-n6, want of 
 variety m cadence 
 
 r Req-ui--site, r4k'-wi-zlt,, BcceMai]r, 
 any thing necessary 
 
 ^JtOPER LOUDNESS OF VOICE, 
 
 Tub ftrit aiteDlioa of every person who reads lo, elhert, doubt 
 
nrmoDucTioi^ is 
 
 finSf must' bar,* to make Irimsclf he heard by a^ thoso to whom h^- 
 reads. He musi endeavour" to fill witli liw voko the space occiipi* 
 •"d^ by t^o com|,>any. This power of voice, it may ba tliought, is 
 tvliwlly tt natural talent/ It isrin a good measure, the gift e»f ub^ 
 tttte; but'it muy receive considerable assistaiice'^ from art. Much 
 depends, hr Xhh purpose, on the pro])cr pitclv and management* of 
 the voice. Every person has three pitches in his voi#!e ; the high 
 the MiDi>tK, and the i.ow one. The higli, is that which he uses in 
 i.alling aloud to so'me person at a distance. I'hc low, is when he 
 approaches/ to a whisper. The middle is, that which he employs 
 Ml common conversation, ami which he' should generally use in 
 leading to others. For it is a great mi?;takc» to invlginc that one 
 must take tbe hij^licst pitt:h of his voice, in order to be well heard in 
 K large company. This is confoundingA' two tilings whicii are eiif- 
 /crent, loudness, or strength of sound, with the key or note in which 
 we speak. There is a variety^ of sounrl witliin the compass of 
 « ach key. A speaker way t;herefore render' his voice louder, with- 
 out altering the key: and we shall always be ai)le to give most 
 l»ody, most persevering^' force of sound, to that pitch of voice, to 
 \vhich in conversation we are accustomed. Whereas by selling 
 <iut on our highest pitch or key, we certainly allow ourselves less 
 jxjmpass, and are likely to strain our voice before we have done. 
 We shall fatigue ourselves, and read with pain ; and whenever a per- 
 son speaks with pain to hiwiself, he is always heard with ])ain by 
 his audience. Let us therefore give the voice fidl strength and 
 swell of sound ; but always pitch it on our ordinary* speaking key. 
 It shtuld be a constant rule never to utter a greater quantity of 
 voice than we can afford without pain to ourselves, and without any 
 extraordinary eftbit. As long as we keep within these bounds, the 
 other organs of speech will be at liberty to discharge their several 
 offices with ease ; and we shall always have our voice under com- 
 mand. But whenever we transgress' these bounds, we give np the 
 reins, and have no longer any management of it. It is a useful rule 
 too, in order to be well heard, to cast our eye on some of the most 
 distant persons in the company, and to consider ourselves as read- 
 ing to them. We naturally and mechanically utter our words with 
 such a degree of strength, as to make ourselves be heard by the per- 
 son whom we address, provided he is within the reach of our voice. 
 As this is the case in conversation, it will hold also in reading to 
 others. But let us remember, that in reading, as well as in corwcr- 
 sation, it is possible to offend by s])caking too loud. This extreme 
 hurts the ear, by making the voice come upon it in rumbling, indis- 
 tinct masses. 
 
 By the habit of readings when young, in a loud and vehement* 
 manner, the voice becomes fixed in a strained and unnatural key ; 
 and is rendered incapable of that variety of elevaition" and dcpre?- 
 tion^ whicJh constitutes the true harmony'' of uecemnoo, awd" anordt 
 
*X INTRODUCTIO:i. 
 
 case to the render, nnd ploasiiro to the aiuIieDce. This unnatural 
 pitch of the voice, and disagreeable nHmntony^,'? are most observa- 
 ble in persons who were taught to read in large roonii? ; who were 
 accustomed to stand at too great a distance, when reading to their 
 teachers; whose instructors were very imperfect in their liearing;. 
 or who were taught by persons, that cons'idered loud expression as 
 the chief requisite'* in formiu;^' a good readei't. Tiiese are circum- 
 stances which demand the serious attention lof every one to whom 
 the education of youth is conmvttted. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 a Ar-tic-u-la-tioh, ?ir-t!k-ii-li'-shun,|c El-e-mon-tartTV, ?l-^-m?n'-t5r-i, sim- 
 
 joint of bones, tlic act of forming 
 words 
 
 b Ct)n-tril4-ute, kon-ti!b'-ute, to give to, 
 bear a part 
 
 pie, uncoiiipounded 
 / In-cuin-hent, j'n-kiim'-bSnt, imposed' 
 as a duly 
 Pil-nia-ry, }-.r!'-m4-r^, original, chief: 
 
 e Slur, slftr, to pass lightly, a slight dis-U&ns-pcnd, s°i8-pSnd', to dblay, inter- 
 grace ^ I rupt, ht^jg 
 d Sup-press, sfip-prSs'jto crush, conccalj 
 
 Distinctness. 
 
 In thi^ next place, to being well heard and clearly understood, 
 distinctness of articulation" contributes'' more than mere loudness of 
 smmd. The quantity of sound necessary to fi'll even a large space, 
 is smaller than is commonly imagined ; and with distinct articula- 
 tion, a person witii a weak voico will make it reach farther, than 
 the strongest voice can reach vi'ithout it. To this, therefore, every 
 reader ought to pay great attention. He must give every sound 
 which he utters, it>; due proportion ; and make every syllable, and 
 even every letter in the word which he pronounces, be heard dis- 
 tinctly; without slurring,"^ whispering^ or suppressing'^ any of the 
 proper sounds. 
 
 An accurate knowledge of the simple, elementary* sounds of the 
 language, and a facility in expressing thom, are so necessary to dis-- 
 tinctness of expression, that if the learner's attainments are, in this- 
 respect, imperfect, (and many there are in this situation) it will be- 
 incunibcnt/ on his teacher, to carry him back to these primaiys' ar- 
 ticulations ; and to suspend^' his progress, till he become perfectly^ 
 master of them. It wiU be in vatn to press liini forward, with the 
 hope of forming a good readier, if he cannot completely articulate 
 every elementary sound of the language. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 a Prc-cip-i-tan-cy, pri-£!p'-p^-ijin-s^,ji Rec om-iripnd, r5k-k6oi-ni5nd', to 
 
 rahness, hastu J pr.ii>;e to another 
 
 b Ob-vi-oufi, 6b'-v^-ris, cpnn, evident \c Pro-iiiin-ci-a-tion, pr6-nfin-eh4-i'-- 
 c lu-sip-id, ln-f.!p'-ld, witljoutspirit | sh&u, mode of uttermiea 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 DUE DEGREE OF BLOWKEfi9. 
 
 Fn order to express ourselves distinctly, moderation is requisite 
 v'llh regnrd to llio speed of pionoiiiicing. Piccipitancy<' of speech^ 
 confounds all articulation, and all meaning. It is scarcely nccodsft- 
 ry to observe, tliat there may be aho an ext-eme on tlie o]^i)osit^ 
 side. It is obvious* that a lifeless, drawling manner of reading,- 
 which allows the minds of the hearers to be always outrunning, 
 the speaker, must render every such perform?nce insipitl'" and fa- 
 tiguing. But tlie extreme of readitig too- fast is much more common, 
 and recpiires the more to be guarded against, because, when it has 
 grown into a habit, few errors are more diflicult to be corrected. To 
 pronounce with a proper degree of slowness, auil with full ami" 
 clear articulation is necessary to be studied by all, who wish to be- 
 come good readers; and it caimot'be too much recommeu'led'' to 
 them. Sucii a pronunciation* gives weight and dignity to tlie sub- 
 ject. It is a great assistance to tlie voice, by the ])ause3 and rests 
 which it allows the reader more easily to make ; and it enables the 
 reader to swel' all his sounds, both wkh moie foicy aud' more har-^ 
 mony. 
 
 SECTiaN V. 
 
 a Fun-da-mcn-tal, fSn-dA-men'-ial, 
 serving for the foninl:ition 
 
 b Ap-prD-pri-ttte, ip-pr6'-pri-ile, to 
 coiiftiga to a particular use, tit, pro- 
 per , 
 
 e Pro-vin-cial, pr6-vln'-6h4!, relating to 
 a province 
 
 d In-lel-li-gi-Hy, In-t^l'-l^-j^-bli, clear- 
 ly, so as to be uritlerstood 
 
 e Con-sist, k6n-slst', to be composed of, 
 
 subdist 
 / G'f-ni-ugj je'-ni-fjg, nature, disposi* 
 
 tion, I'nculticti 
 rr Pcr-cuB Bion, j)5r-kfiKh'-fin, a iiroke 
 Ji So-lcm-jii-ty, »A-l^in'-«i-ii,-.gravityj 
 
 awful grandeur 
 / En-er-^', fen-fir j6, force, rigour 
 j Im-prw-sion, Ini-prfish'-Sii, stainpi 
 
 ima^e in tbs niinU 
 
 PROPRIETY OF PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 After the fundamental'* .attentions to the pitch and manage- 
 ment of the voice, to distinct articulation, and to a proper degree 
 of slowness of speech, what the young reader must, in the next 
 place, study, is propriety of pronunciation ; or giving to every word 
 which he utters, that sound whicii the best usage of language ap- 
 propriates* to it : in opposition to broad, vulgar, or provincial*' pro- 
 nunciation. This is requisite both for reading intelligibly ,<^ and for 
 reading with correctness and ease. Ini;tructions concerning this^ 
 article may be best given by the living teacher. But there is one- 
 observation, which it may not be improper here to make. In the' 
 English language, every word which consists* of more syllables than, 
 one, has one accented syllable. The accents rest sonietimes on tlie- 
 vowel, sometimes on the consonant. The geniur<./'of the language i4 
 quires the voice to mark that syllable by a stronger percussion,^ aj»d to 
 pass more slightly ov cr tixj rest. Now*, after we have ioa rned the prope* . 
 
kH 
 
 rNTRODUCTION. 
 
 I of these accents, it is an important rule, to give every word }mf, 
 the same accent in loading, as \n common discourse. Many p(*f-. 
 torn err in this respect. Wiien they read to others, and with soleuv 
 pity,^ they pronounce the syllables in a differept manner from what 
 they do at other times. They dwell upon them and protract them ; 
 tliey multiply accents on the sgime word ; from a mibtake» notio.n , 
 that it gives gravity and importance to their subject, and adds to 
 the energy' of their delivery. Whereas this is one of the greatf^ss 
 faulty that can be committed in pronunciation : it makes what is 
 called a pompous or mouthing manner ; and gives an artificial, af 
 fected air, to reading, which detracts greatly bqth from its agreea - 
 bleness and its impression. 
 
 Sheridan apd Walker have publiiibed Dictionaries, for ascertain 
 ing the true and best pronunciation of the words of our language , 
 By attentively consulting them, particularly '^ W?llkftr's Pronounc • 
 big Dictionary," the young reader will be much assisted, in his en • 
 deavours to attain a correct pronunciation of the words bclongii»j^ 
 to the English languftge^ 
 
 • Ain-bif-u^oui, &m-bTg''U-&j>, doubt 
 
 ful, having two moanings 
 
 I Per-vert, p5r-vgrt', to distort, cor- 
 rupt 
 
 i Pre-sqp-poso, pri-sfip-pizo', to sup- 
 pose as previous 
 
 4 Ex-em-pli-fy, ggi4m'-pU-fl, to illus 
 trate by example 
 
 e Mose, mfeze, power of poetry, to 
 ponder, deep tbouglit, close attcn 
 tion, absence of mind 
 
 / No-to-ri-ou8, nA-ti'-rl-?i«, publickK- 
 koown 
 
 / €Jon-«e-qcence, k6n'-si-kw^nse, that 
 which follows from a cause 
 
 k n-Iua-trate, ll-lfis'-tri^te, to explain 
 
 i A- pol«o-gy,ft.-pir-A-j*,defence,excuse 
 
 J C«a-«ur©,»in'-8h6re, blume, reproacli 
 to rcpM)ach 
 
 k Ez-ag-ge-rate» igz-4djo'-i-r&te, to 
 enlarge 
 
 I 8e-)6et, s^-lftkt', to choose from, 
 nicely ebosen 
 
 •iBcra-ple, skrdd'-pl, to doubt, n doubf 
 
 n Mod-u-la tion, mod-dit-l^'-eiiuo, 
 gresable harmony 
 
 • Di-ver-si-ty, Ui-v^r'-sA-ti, dinereiyjo, 
 
 variotf 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 p Re-strain, ri-RtrAnc',to rcprefl6,hin^ >r 
 .7 Ar-bi-trn-ry, ir'-b^-tr4-ri, deepotic I 
 
 cnpricions 
 r Ca-price, kA-pr^^sc', freak, whinn 
 .<r Di-min-ifch, de-m!u'-lsb, to lessen, df 
 
 grade 
 De-sire, d^-zlrc', to wish to obttdr 
 
 a wish 
 u ]Mo.>(-i-can, meks'-i-k&n, of or bf 
 
 longing to Mexico 
 M Com-pre-hcn-sivc, k6m-prA-h5n'-sI'. 
 
 containing much 
 in Ex-i)Os-tu-la-tion, 4ks-p6s-t6h6-lS 
 
 shfin, debate, remonstrance 
 I Mu-ta-ble, mu'-ti-bl,, subject \ 
 
 change 
 y De-mon-stro.-b!e, di-m6n'-8trA-bl,c«r' 
 
 t.ain, that which nauy be proved b y 
 
 ytnui a donbt 
 z Plau-si bil-i-ty, pl^w-zi-b^Vi-tijgja 
 
 cioufc.tess 
 a Prolva-bil-i-ty, prftb A-hll'-i-ti, HI a 
 
 lihood 
 b In-dis-crim-i-aate-Jy, tn-dl^-krlm' ♦• 
 
 nA.ioli, without distinction 
 c Ro-cur, r^-kur, to have recourse to,'o 
 
 return 
 d I tal-ickj J-t4I'-1k, relating to Italy 
 
 EMPHASIS. 
 
 Bv emphasis is meant a stronger and fuller sound of voice, If 
 which w distinguish some word or words, on which we design \». 
 
IMTKODVCnOK. XVI 
 
 laf particular stress, and to show how itxej .ifivct the rt»«^t of iha 
 sentenco. Sometlmos the emplmiic words wust be clktiiigulshed by 
 A pamcviiar lone of voice, ns well nn by a particular stioss. Oji 
 die right mamigeinent of the emphasis cicpeudsj the life of pronuit* 
 ciation. If no emphasis be placed on^any word*, not only is cTis- 
 coursc rendered heavy and liieless, but llic mcauifig left often am- 
 biguous.* If the emj)hasis be placed wrong, we pervert* aud con- 
 found the meaning wholly. 
 
 Emphasis m^iy be divided tf>to the Superior awl the Tnferieyr em- 
 phasis. The superior emphasis determines the n\eaiii|)g of a sen- 
 tence, with reference to something said before, prcsuikp^iscd*" by the 
 author as p^eneral knowledge, or removes an. ambjgiuty, where a 
 passage may have more senses than one. Tlie inferior cinpUasia. 
 enforces^ graces^ and enlivens^ but dors not^/i.r, the meaning of any 
 passage. T^e words to which this latter cinphaw*; ks jiivf^n^ are, in 
 general, such as seem tlwj most important in the ?<t*wtp))ce, or ©ri 
 other accounts, to m»»rit this distinction. The foljbvv^ng passage 
 wiH serve to exempJify^ the superior emphasis. 
 
 " Of mnn's first disohrdicnco, nnd the fruit 
 
 *' Of thai forbidden Irpc, whpsc mort;<I tosfa 
 
 >> Bro»i«jht*denth intotho world, w>*l alt pur «*<♦,*' &o. 
 
 "Sing licuvcnly Musol"' 
 
 Supposing that originally other brings, besides men, hgd disobey- 
 ed tho commands of the Almighty, and that the circumstance were 
 well known to us, there would full an emphasis upon the word nutn* 
 in the first Hue ; aiul hc»oo it would read thus : 
 
 *' Of man's first disobodiencc, and tl»e fruit, Scf/ 
 
 Bo» if it Tv^re a '7Dtprious/ truth, that manVuKJ had transgre^^d 
 in a |KJruIiar maivjier more than once, the erwpiiasis wo*dd iall on 
 first; anxl the line be re^td, 
 
 '' Of vnfkfi'afrst disobedience,'* &p. 
 
 Again, admitting death (as was re?>Uy tlje case) to have been an 
 unheard of and dreadful punishment, brought upon man in conse- 
 quence^ of his traijsgressicja ; o» t^)al supposition tU, third line 
 would be read, 
 
 I " Brought death into the world,*' &c. 
 
 But If we were to suppose that mankind knew there was such an 
 ' tvil as death in other regions, though the place th» y inhabited had 
 be«n fr«8 from it till their transgression, the line av ould run thu8 : 
 
 " praujri)t death into the tcprld,'* k» 
 
 B 
 
^ mriioDucfTioM. 
 
 The superior eitiphasis finds a place in the following short gen- 
 tence, which admits of four distinct meanings, each of which is as* 
 Gtxrtained by tlie emphasis only. 
 
 " Do you fide to town to day." 
 
 The following examples illustrate^' the nature and use of the in- 
 ferior emphasis : 
 
 " Many persons mistake the love for the practice of virtue." 
 
 " Shall 1 reward his services with falsehood ? Shall 1 forget him% 
 who cann6t forget tne .^" 
 
 " If his principles are false^ no apology* from himself z-^w make 
 them righl : '\i founded in truth, no censure/ from otiwrs can make 
 them wrongP 
 
 " Though dcrip^ yet clear ; though g-cvtlc, yet not dull; 
 " Strong v.'illiout rfl^e ; wjlhoiit o^ crjlowing , full.''^ 
 
 •* A friend exaggerates'^ a man's virtues ; an enemy his crimesJ*^ 
 
 " The wise man is happy, when he gains his 01171 approbation ; 
 the/o'j/, wl)en he gains that of others.''^ 
 
 The superior emphasis, in reading as in speaking, must be deter- 
 • mined entirely by the -seiise of the passage, and always made alike: 
 but as to the inferior emphasis, taste alone seems to have the right of 
 fixing its situation and quantity. 
 
 Among the number of persons, who have had proper opportuni- 
 ties of learning to read, in the best manner it is now taught, very 
 few could be selected,' who, in a given instance, would use the 
 inferior emphasis alike, either as to a place or quantity. Some 
 persons, indeed, use scarcely any degree of it : and others do not 
 scruple"* to carry it far beyond any thing to be found iv common 
 discourse ; and even sometimes throw it upon words so very trifling 
 m themselves, that it is evidently done with no other view, than to 
 give greater variety to the modidation."'^ Notwithstanding this di- 
 versity" of practice, there are certainly proper boundaries, within 
 which this emphasis must be restrained,^ in order to make it meet 
 the approbation of sound judgment and correct taste. It will doubt- 
 less have different degrees of exertion, according to the greater or 
 1p»3 degrees of importance of the words upon which it operates ; and 
 there may be v?w/ prrperly some variety in the use of it ; but its 
 apjilication is not arbitrary,'/ depending on the caprice of readers. 
 
 As emphasis often falls on words in different parts of the same 
 601 tence, so it is frequently required to be continued with a little 
 
 * By modulation is meant that ulcnsing variety of voice, which is perceived 
 in uttering u sentence, and uliicn, in its nature, is perfectly distinct from en^ 
 lihatis, and tJie tones of emotion and of passion. Tlio young reader Rhould b« 
 <"arefuJ to render his modulation correct and easy ; for this purpose, ehould ibnB 
 k ui>on tiie model of the most judicious and accurate speakers. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XW 
 
 
 
 wiriarion, on tw<^. and son^twnos more wonk t<igetber. The follow- 
 Ing sentences exemplify both the parts of this position ; ^'' if yot: 
 geek to make oue rich^ study not to increase his stores^ but to dir 
 viinish Ids desires.^'* " Tlie Mexican'* figures, or pictwe writing, 
 ieprescnt things, not words : tiicy exhibit iimiges lo L'^e eye, not 
 tdecLs lo the umkrslandingy 
 
 Some sentences are so full an:l comprehen?ive," tliat; almost eve- 
 ry word is einpliatical ; as, "" Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, 
 and plains !" or, as that pathetic expostalationw in tile prophecy of 
 Ezckiel, " Why will ye die I" 
 
 Emphasis, besides its other offices, is the great regulator of quan- 
 tity. Though the quantity of our syllables is fixed, in wo»ds sepa- 
 lately pronounced, yet it is mutable,-*-' when thise words are arrang- 
 ed in sentences: the long being changed into vcbrt, the short into 
 long, according to tlie importance of the word with regard to mean- 
 ing. Emphasis also, in jjarticrlar cases, alters liie seat of the accent. 
 This is demonstrable^ fiom the following examples. " He shalltn- 
 crease, but I shall decrease.*' " There is a dift'i-rence between giv- 
 ing and /orgiving." " In this si)ccies of composition, ;>/a?wibility= ij 
 much more essential than -p robpihWiVf y" In these examples the em- 
 Dhaaia requires the accent to be placed on syllables, to whicii it does 
 not commonly belong. 
 
 ill order to acquiie the proper management of the emphasis, tho 
 great rule to be given, is, that the reader study to attairr.a just con- 
 ception of the force and spi.it of the sentiments whicli he is to pio- 
 nounctt. For to lay the emphasis with exact propriety, is a con- 
 stant exercise of good sense and atten.tion. It is far from being an 
 inconsiderable attainment. It is. one of the most decisive trials of a 
 true and just taste ; and must arise fiOm feeli'/i-:; delicately our- 
 selves, and from judging accurately of what is filte^t to strike tho 
 feelings o^" others. 
 
 There is one error, against which it is particularly proper to cau- 
 tion the learner ; namely, that of multiplying emphatical words too 
 much, and using the emphasis indiscriminately''. It is only by a 
 prudent reserve and distinction in the use of thcm^ that wacan give 
 them any weight. If they recur* too often ; if a reader attempts to 
 render every thing he expresses of higli itnpoitance, by a multitude 
 . cf strong emphasis, we soon karn to pay little regard to them. To 
 crowd every sentence with emphaticul wends, is like crowding all 
 the pages oi a book with Italic^ characters ;. which, as lo tlio effect, 
 is just the same as to use uo such distinctions at all. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 a In-flcc-tion,* !n-{}&k'-3ht'n,tho act off i re-cii-li-nr-ly, pi-ku'-le-fir-I^, par 
 
 bcndin!,', modulation of voico, va- 
 riation of a noun or verb 
 See the note mi tk& tcxZ. 
 
 ticularly, otUlly 
 e Ag-i-ta-tion, Aj-^-t^i'-shao, parturba 
 tiou discussiou 
 
knenwl iMSa^ It if cUeif ki *» pnpOT ■■» •# %c» tm^ tkat 
 <» fife, apirit, bemiiiy, — d Imum^p rfrf 
 Tkt finite of dis' 
 
 ttoQS. We Aatt, hofnM»» <>itrt — ^ litkfc is< 
 beautUiil lajneataitJOB of David over Saal aad i 
 viD, in «one dime, f hirktilt > nhatt h— fcee> wad — itm Mbji ii, 
 "The beaotf flf fand l»4uB«ie»%^kigPb places ; koer «e ike 
 ng^y frlle«!TellltMiimG«ik;Mbfab it ■•( ia tke liraeto el 
 Aakelon;factheifiiit^iliiirfl^FlBii<fciiiiiijiiiii ;lMtt>eihinlb 
 tea of^fae aick ■iiwiiii il tmnqib. Ye wntauH ef GiAsc, kt 
 there ke ae dew aeriein epea yew^aer i elA ef efcrky ; fcr dmn 
 thediaeldortke Mif^wMTadjAaMtmwaT; *e ilMd eT Saal» 
 MtitoMghfce hadaocteqiM".l*"^^^M^.og- . ~ 
 
 jet I 
 
 Tliecerrect 3 
 cuk to be attaiaed, ae awit readers tecai la inefpae. If we « 
 into t^e i|iirit of the aathv*! leiitiaients, as vcD as iaiellw 1 
 of hiiWBwl^ waihaBaocfcated ai f eU b e werdbiapropetly vafi i< 
 tooes. ForihTeareiBwpeopleyathD^sakFa|>iAariihetapw»- 
 ▼incial aota, that haee aet aa ^ccantte mm of •ombs, whui Ifcij at » 
 ter their snu^ia t af ia f era si t dbeeawew Aad the roaaiA thai thejr 
 hare not the sane use of theni. ia readiag aload the seciiMeaes oa 
 others, bmij be traced to die very defecthre aad i inaauaj" awAad% 
 HI whith tiie ait of reaifingis ta%^; p hciel y all the vaiioas,aata* 
 rai, expresBwa tjpcs of speech, are siipiaesied » aad aane astaKHU^ 
 aB ieaai a g reaiBng mm*, vn sah s rihU ei i F fc H|e». 
 
 Bat whea we recaaaaeadta naden, aa if atiiia to the toaa 
 aad laagDafe of ^■■"•Vr'*^ w vipt be uadentood to do it with 
 proper fimitataoitJ Moderatiaai is aecessaij ia this poiot, as it is in 
 other tiuBgs. For whea rradhig bi tis« i i swictif iwiiative^ as* 
 svmesr a theatrical* naaner, aad wast be l^|^ bapropv, as weQ 
 as give cflbncs lotiiehearefsi beeaose it is aifwaiiiiiin wkhthat 
 delicacy and aiedestf , wlarh are iaftfispeaBahie* osi i 
 rhe speaker who d eB f eis kk own < 
 laore vivid" aad aaiaiaied,« than waald be piapar kathe penoBwha 
 relates them at aecead hand. 
 
 We Aall ooachide this sectipa with the ftDewm* rale, ht tha 
 tease that jaficate* the paaaoea aad ■awtinwi **IareaAi^letall 
 V'VT teaes of eapresBMss be botvDwea fiaei Aecs il 9^ssbKm »|K?chi« 
 aM. la mmm decree, asMe Ikietlf fharirtisnaMi. Let thoaeteaee 
 
aviju 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 whJch JsigriK* any disDgreeable passion of the mind, he still more 
 faint than those which indicate c^groeable emotions ; and, oii aU oc- 
 casions, preserve yourselves from being so far affected with the s»'b- 
 ject, as to be able to proceed through it with that easy and masterly 
 manner, which has its good effects in this, as well as in every other 
 art.'' 
 
 SECTION VTI. 
 
 a Ccs-sa-tion, s?s-«y-sh?in, a stop, rest 
 
 b Per-cep-ti-b!e, pSr-sSp'-ti-bl, such as 
 may be known or seen 
 
 c Meas-ur-a-ble, mJzh'-flr-i-bl, sach ae 
 may be measured 
 
 d Tem-po-ra-ry, I^m'-pi-r4-r^, fleeting, 
 short lived 
 
 e Con-ti-nu-i-ty,k6n-tt-n6'-i-t^,connex- 
 ion, cohesion 
 
 / Usb-er, &sh'-&r, to introduce, an assis- 
 tant 
 
 ff Excite, ?k-slto', to rouse, animate 
 
 h Dis-gust, d1z-gi!8t'. aversion, offuncG 
 
 t De-liv-er-y, d6-!Jv -fir-^, act of deliv- 
 ering, uttei-ance 
 
 j In-ter-val. 1n'-ter-v4], space between 
 places -^'' times 
 
 k Punc-tu-~ ;on, p3ngk-tshij-JL'-sh5n, 
 stops in writing 
 Con-struc-tion,k6n-strfik'-shun, mean- 
 ing, sense 
 
 m In-ti-rnate, !n'-ti-m&te, to hint, a fa- 
 miliar friend 
 
 n En-gage, Sn-gije', to take, induce, 
 bind 
 
 o Dis-qui-e-tude, d!3-kwi'-4-tfide, un- 
 easiness 
 Al-le-vi-ate, 4,l-li'-vi-ite, to make 
 light, to ease 
 
 q In-ter-rog-a-tive, !n-tSr-r6£'-gi-t!v, 
 denoting a question 
 
 r. Tcr-mi-nale,tor'-m^-nite, to limit.end 
 5 Mcis-sen-ger, m^s'-s^n-jiir, one who 
 
 delivers a message 
 t Con-junc-tion, kon-jfink'-shSn, a part 
 
 of speech, union 
 li Dis-ci-jjline, dis'-s^-p!!n, order, edu- 
 cation 
 V Co-in-cide, kA-!n-slde', to concur 
 w Con-trol, k6n-tr6ir, to check, govern 
 z U-til-i-ty, yii-lli'-i-ti, usefulness 
 y Ag-ri-cul-ture, 4g'-ri-k6I-ishure, til- 
 lage, husbandry 
 z Spe-cies, sp^'-shiz, a sort, class 
 a Re-sign, r^-zlne', to give up claim, 
 
 submit 
 b Mal-ice, mA,l'-l?s, intention to injure 
 c Se-iene, j--^-r6ne', calm, placid 
 d So-lic-i-tude, sA-l!s'-s^-tude, anxiety, 
 
 great care 
 e Re-morse, ri-m5rse',anguish of a guil- 
 ty conscience 
 / Scu-su-al-i-t.y, s?n-sh{j-&l'-6-ti, luxu- 
 ry, addiction to corporeal pleasures! 
 ^ A-ver-sion, jL-vSr'-shun, dislike, ha-r 
 trcd j 
 
 A Lau-da-ble,lS.w'-c&-bl,praise-worthy,j 
 
 good 
 i In-vcs-ti-ga-tion, !n-v?§-t^-g&'-sh6n,) 
 
 search, a tracing, examination 
 j El-o-cu-tion, £l-6-kii'-3hfin,eloquence^,i 
 delivery 
 
 PAUSES. 
 
 Pauses or rests, in speaking or reading, are a total cessation" of 
 the voice, during a perceptible,'' ?nd in many cases, a measurable*^ 
 space of time. Pauses are e(}ually necessary to the speaker, and 
 tlie hearer. To the speaker, that he may take breath, without which 
 he cannot proceed far in delivery ; and that he may, by these tem- 
 porary*' rests, relieve the organs of speech, which otherwise would 
 be soon tired by continued action: to the hearer, that the ear also 
 may be relieved from the fatigue, which it would otherwise endure 
 from a fontinuity* of sound ; and that the understanding may have 
 sufficient tim6 to mark the distinction of sentowces, and theii several 
 members. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xlx 
 
 There are tvvo kinds of pauses : flist, emphatical pauses ; aiid 
 Tjext, such as mark the distinctions of sense. An emphatical pause 
 is generally made after something has been said of peculiar moment, 
 and on which we dei^ire to fix the hearer's attention. Sometimes be' 
 fore such a thing is said, we usher/ it in with a pause of this nature. 
 Such pauses have the same effect as a strong emphasis; and are 
 subject to the same rules ; especially to the caution, of not repeat- 
 ing them too frequently. For as they excited uncommon attention, 
 and of course raise expectation, if the importance of the matter bo 
 not fully answnable to such expectation, they occasion disappoint- 
 ment and disgust.'"' 
 
 iiut the most Sequent and the principal use of pauses, is to mark 
 the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the reader 
 to draw his breath ; and the proper and delicate adjustment of such 
 pauses, is one of the most nice and difficult articles of delivery.* In 
 al] reading, the management of the breath requires a good deal of 
 care, so as not to obliji,e us to divide words from one another, which 
 have so intimate a connexion, that they ought to be pronounced with 
 the same breath, and witliout the least separation. Many a sen- 
 tence is miserably mangled, and the force of the emphasis totally 
 lost, by divisions bf ing made in the wrong place. To avoid this,- 
 every one while he is reading, should be very careful to provide a 
 full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake 
 to imagine, that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a pe- 
 riod, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be gathered 
 at the intervals.^" of the period, when the voice is suspended only for 
 a moment ; and, by this management, one may always have a suffi- 
 cient stork for carrying on the longest sentence, without improper in- 
 terruptions. 
 
 Pauses in reading must generally be formed upon the manner in 
 which wo utter ourselves in oidinary, sensible conversation ; and 
 not upon the stiff artificial manner, which is acquired from reading 
 books according to the common punctuation.* It will by no means 
 be sufficient to attend to the points used in printing; for these are far 
 from maiking all the pauses which ought to be made in reading. A 
 mechanical attention to t)iese resting places, has, perhaps, been one 
 cause of monotony, by leading the reader to a similar tone at every 
 stop, and a uniform cadence at every period. The primary use of 
 points, is to assist tlie reader in discerning the grammatical construc- 
 tion ;' and it is only as a secondary object, that they regulate his 
 pronunciation. On this head, the following direction may be of 
 \^e : '• Tliough in reyriing, gieat attention should be paid to the 
 stops, yet a greater should be given to the sense ; and their corres- 
 pondent times occasionally lengthened beyond what i^-usual in com- 
 mon speech. 
 
 To render pau?es pleasing and 'expressive, tliey must not only be 
 nade in the right plaoo, but also accompanied vritli a propex tone of 
 
%% INTnODUCTION. 
 
 voice, by which the nature of these pauses is uitknated ;•" much 
 more than by llw length of them, which can sekloin be exactly meas- 
 wretl. Sometimes it is only a slight and simple suspension ofi voice 
 tl»at is proper ; sometimes a degree of cadence in the voice iis re- 
 quired ; and sometimes that peculiar tone and cadence which de- 
 note the sentence to be finished. In all these cases, we are to regu- 
 late ourselves by attending to the manner in which nature teaches us 
 to speak, when engaged" in real and earnest discourse with others. 
 The following sentence exemplifies the suspending and the closi7ig 
 pauses: " Hupe, the balm of life, sooths us under every misfortune." 
 The first and second pauses are accompanied by an inflection of 
 voice, that gives tlie hearer an expectation of something furthei to 
 complete the sense : tlie inflection attending the third pa^ise sigjiifies 
 t hat the sense is completed. 
 
 The preceding exam})le is an illustration of the suspending pa«se, 
 m its simple state : the following instance exhibits that pause with a 
 degree of cadence in the voice : " {f content cannot remove the dis- 
 quietudes" of mankind, it will at least alleviated them." 
 
 The suspending pause is often, in the same sentence, attended. with 
 both the rising and the falling infleetiofi of voice ; as will be seen i« 
 ihis example: "Moderate exeroiiie\ and habitual temperance', 
 rtrengthen the constitution."* 
 
 As the susy^ending pause may be thus attended with both the rising 
 arn] the falling inflection, it is the same with regard to the closing 
 pause : it admits of both. The falling inflection generally acconipa- 
 oies it ; but it is not unfrequently connected with the rising inflec- 
 ik)ii. Interrogative? sentences, for instance, are often terminatx>d^ 
 Ml this manner : as, " Am I ungrateful' r" " Is he in earnest' ?" 
 
 But where a sentence is begun by an ir.terrogntive pronoun or ad- 
 verb, it is commonly terminated by the falling inflection : as, " VMvM 
 has he gained by his folly^ .^" " Wno will assist hini^ ?" " Whe. s 
 fethe messenger''?" " When dicbhe arrive' ?" 
 
 When two questions are united in one sentence, and connected by 
 the conjunction' or, the first takes the rising, the second the filling 
 inflection : as, " Does his conduct support discipline'," or destroy 
 k' .?" 
 
 The rising and falling inflections must not be confounded with enr 
 phasis. Though they may often coincide,^ they are, in their nature^ 
 perfectly distinct. Emphasis scmetimes controls'" those inflections. 
 
 The regular application of the rising and falling infleciions, con- 
 fers so much beauty on expressl^on, and is so necessary to be studied' 
 by the young reader, that we shall insert a few more examples^ t?i 
 induce him to pay greater attention to the subject. In these instan- 
 oe«, all the infleciions are not marked. Such only are distinguished, 
 
 • Th» riung inflection t« denoted' by the acute •. tiu* faiu-- y- 
 
 
axTiloorcTiON. xsi 
 
 «s are roo«t stiiking, end will t)est serve lo show the reader their 
 utilitjr* and Importance, 
 
 *^ Manufa<iturB3\ trade\ ami agriculture^ certainly employ mor^ 
 than nineteen parts hi twenty of the human 8]>ecies."» 
 
 *" He who resT^ns* the world, has no temptation to envy', hatred^, 
 iTialice\* anger'; hut is in constant possession of a serene* mind: 
 he u^ho follows the pleasures of it, which oie in their very nature 
 disappointing, is in constant search of care\ solicitude','' reniorse'/ 
 and confusion\" 
 
 " To advise the ignorant^, relieve the ncedy^, comfort the afflict- 
 ed', arc duties that fdll in our way almost every day of our lives.'* 
 
 " Those evil spirits, who by long custom, have contracted jn the 
 body habits of lu^' and sensuality' ;/ malice', and revenge'; an 
 aversions' to every thingthat is good\ just\ and laudable',^ ate na- 
 turally seasoned and prepared for pain and misery." 
 
 " 1 am persuaded, that neither death', nor life' ; nor angels'', nor 
 principaHties', nor powers' ; northings present', northings to come' ; 
 nor height', nor depth'; nor any other creature', shall be able to 
 separate us from the 'love of God'." 
 
 The reader who would wish to see a minute and ingenioos inves- 
 tigation* of the nature of these inflections, and the rules by which 
 they are governed, iliay consult Walker's Elements of Elocution.-' 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 a Mcl-o-dy, mSl'-'li-di, mubick, har 
 
 mon^ of sound 
 b Ad-just, jid-jfist', to put in order 
 € CBB-8u-ral, B^-zu'-rA.!, rclatlBg to a 
 
 ctDsura 
 d De-graJe, d4-^ride', to lessen 
 
 vuiue, to dinuiiisli 
 e H«-mis-tich, lii-m!ri'-tlk, half a vorsc 
 / He-ro-ick, h6-r6'-!k, brave, reciting 
 
 tlio acts of hcroeij 
 jr Theme, thinie, a subject, original 
 
 word, root • 
 A Sac-ri-fice, sik'-kri-f Ize, to offer to 
 
 heaven, that which is offered to 
 
 heaven 
 
 i Il-lu-mine, !M6'-inln, to etilighten, il- 
 lustrate 
 
 j Ar-butli-not, ir'-bath-n6t, a friend itnd 
 cotemporary of Alexander Pope 
 
 * Op-or-raie, 6p'-pir-4te, lo act, pro- 
 duce effects 
 
 I Com-pi-ler, k6m-pr-lflr, a collector 
 from various authors 
 
 m Pu-pil, pu'-pil, a scholar, tho oyo- 
 ball 
 
 n Pre-par-a-tor-y, pr*-p4r'-r4-t5r-4, in- 
 troductory, previous 
 
 Peruse, p^-rdize', to read, to examine 
 
 Manner of reading verse. 
 
 When we are reading verse, there is a peculiar difficulty in ma- 
 king the pauses justly. The difficulty arises from the melodyaot 
 verse, which dictates to the ear pauses or rests of its own : and to ad- 
 just'' and compound these properly with the pauses of the sense, so 
 as neither to hurt theear,norcffend the understanding, is so very nice 
 a matter, that it is no wonder we so seldom meet with good reader* 
 ©f poetry. There are two kinds of pauses that belong to the melody 
 ©f verse : one is, the pause at the end of the line ; and the other, the 
 
Xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ccesural*^ pduse in or near tlie middle of it. With regard to the pause 
 at the end of the lino, which marks that strahi or verse to btf finished, 
 rhyme renders this alv/ays sensible ; and in some measure compels us 
 to onserve it in our pronunciation. . In respect to blank verse, we 
 ought also to read it so as to make every line sensible to the car : for, 
 what is the use of melod}"", or for whai end has the poet composed in 
 verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress his numbers, by omitiing 
 the final pause ; and degrade'^ them, by our pronunciation, into mere 
 prose ? At the same time that we attend to tliis pause, every appear- 
 ance of sing-song and tone, must be carefully guarded against. The 
 close of the line where it makes no pause in the meaning, ought not 
 to be marked by such a tone as is used in finishing a sentence ; but, 
 without either fall or elevation of the voice, it should be denoted only 
 .by so slight a suspension of sound, as may distinguish the passage 
 from one line to another, without injuring the meaning. 
 
 The other kind of melodious pause, is that which fails somewhere 
 about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemjstichs' ; a 
 pause, not so great as that which belongs to the close of the line, but 
 still sensible to an ordinary ear. This, wliich is called the caesural 
 pause, may fall, in English heroic/ verse, after the 4th, 6th., 6th, or 
 7th syllable in theUine. AVhere the verse is so constructed, that 
 this caisurai pause coincides with iJie slightest pr^use or division in 
 the sense, the line can be read easily ; as in the two first verses of 
 Pope's Messiah : 
 
 " Ye nymphs of Solyman^^ ! begin the song ; 
 
 " To heav'nly themes" V sublimer strains belong." 
 
 But if it should happen that words which have so strict and intimate 
 a connexion, as not to bear even a momentary separation, are divi- 
 ded from one another by this cjesural pause, we then feel a sort of 
 struggle between the sense and the sound, which rendersit difficult to 
 read such lines harmoniously. The rule of proper pronunciation in 
 such cases, is to regard only the pause which the sense forms : and 
 to read the line accordingly. The neglect of the caisura^Jjiause may 
 make the line sound somewhat unharmoniously ; but the effect would 
 be much worse, if the sense were sacrificed''* to the sound. For in- 
 stance, in the following line of Milton, 
 
 - " What in me is dark, 
 
 " Illumine ;' what is low, raise and support." 
 
 the sense clearly dictates the pause after illumine^ at the end of iho 
 third syllable, which, in r^^ading, ouglit to be made accordingly ; 
 though, if the melody only were to be regarded, illumine 'jhould be 
 connected with what followF, and the pause not made till the fourth 
 
 II 
 
• INTROOUCTION. XXlfi 
 
 [>r sixtU syllabic. So in the following Hue of Pope's Epistle to Dr» 
 ^rbuvhnot ;^ 
 
 " I sit, with sad civility I read.** 
 
 the ear plainly points out the cajsural pause as falling after sad^ the 
 tbuith syllable. But it would bo veiy bad reading to make any 
 pause there, so as to separate sad and civility. I'he sense admits of 
 no other pause than after the second syllable 5z7, which therefore 
 must be the only pause made in reading this part of the sentence. 
 
 There is another mode of dividing some verses, by introducing 
 what may be called denii-ca'.suras, which recjuire very slight pauses ; 
 and vvhicli the reader should manage withjudgment,or he wiU be apt 
 lo fall into an affected sing-song mode of pronouncing verses of this 
 kind. The following lines exemplify the demi-ca;sura. 
 
 " Warms' in, the sun", refreshes' in the breeze, 
 " Glows' in the stars", and blossoms' in the trees ; 
 " Lives through all life" ; extends' through all extent, 
 ** Spreads' undivided", operates'* unspent." 
 
 Before the conclusion of this introduction, the Compiler' takes the 
 liberty to recommend to teachers, to exercise their pupils'* in discov- 
 ering and explaining the cm}>hatic words, and the proper tones and 
 pauses, of every portion assigned them to read, previously to i heir 
 being called out to the performance. These preparatory" lessons, in 
 which they should be regularly examined, will improve their judg- 
 ment and taste ; prevent the practice of reauing without attention lo 
 the subject ; and establish a habit of readily discovering the mean* 
 ing, force, and beaiuy, of every sentence ttiey peruse. 
 
THE 
 
 ENGLISH READER, 
 
 PART L 
 
 ^itctti in ^voat. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 CSXiSCT SXJVTE27GSS AND PAJLAfi&APBS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 • IMI-i-g«nce, d!I'-i-jiiM«, indostry, mm- 
 
 •iduity 
 A In-(hw-try, In'-dfii-tri, diligence, eb- 
 
 •iduity 
 € M«-te-ri-a!, na4-li'-ri-il, -corporeal, 
 
 essMitial 
 d Ac-qui-sit-ion, Ak-kwi-rlth'-fin^ the 
 
 act of acquiriug 
 «• En dorw-meirt, ftn-dW-mint, weaW: 
 
 'be«Wwed,^ift«ot" nature 
 / Ba sis, bi'-sis, the foundation of any 
 
 tbilTjr 
 
 PiMri^y, p6'-ri-n, to ma4(« «r frow 
 
 pur« 
 k Tran <j«fl-i-ty, trin*k<wV-i4l, < 
 
 calm nets 
 I Re-ir«at, r^tr^te', r«tireaaft«t, to f»> 
 
 tire 
 J Be-nef i-cence, W-«rfr-*-»l«ee,a«t <i 
 
 goodneei 
 k 0«-ten-ia-4M&, U-i&n-xii-tiAn, Talk 
 
 show 
 CcM3a-pat-sioii-«i«, it&in-i^ah'-&a-4«S 
 
 merciful, to pitv 
 m Con-Bcicnce, ktn -«!iSn|e, the fae«)(;f 
 
 by whieh we j«<]go of <inraelv«a 
 
 BILIGENCE,« industry,* and proper improvement ci 
 time, are material duties of the 3'oung. 
 The acquisition*' of knowJedge is one of me mostbott* 
 urablc occupations of youth* 
 
 JjOTE. — In the first chapter tht> ooinpiter hae exhibited tenteneee in 
 ▼ariety of conBtructio*). and in all ib« diversity of punctuation. If well pra<y 
 ti»od lyiun, he presumes liiey wiJi fuily prepare the young reader for the vajiow 
 pauses^ iiiflec.i-onii, und nindulatiottfl of vo>oe, which the succeeding pieeec ni 
 ^uipe. Th«Author'ii '^^ English Exef«i«t.ii," under the head of Punctnatidkf 
 ^11 afford the learner additional fcopa £ur impfpyiof bimMtf ia T''<f4*fig mtt 
 
 C 
 
t6 English Keader. l^rt t 
 
 Whatever useful or en^«agin^ endowments* we possess, 
 virtue is requisite, in order to their shining with proper 
 lustr^. 
 
 Virtuous youth gradually brings forward accomplished 
 and flourishing manhood. 
 
 Sincerity arid truth, form the basis/ of every virtue. 
 
 Disappomtments and distress are often blessmgs in dis- 
 guii^e. 
 
 Change and alteration form the very essense of the 
 world. 
 
 True liappiness iS of a retired nature, and an enemy to 
 pomp and noise. 
 
 In order to acquire a capacity for happiness, it must be 
 Dur first study to rectify inward disorders. 
 
 Whatever purifies,!' fortifies also the heart. 
 
 From our eagerness to grasp, we strangle and destroy 
 pleasure. 
 
 A temperate spirit^ and moderate expectations, are ex- 
 «ellent safeguaros of the mind, in this uncertain and 
 changing state. 
 
 There is nothing except simplicity of intention, and 
 purity of principle, that can stand the test of near ap- 
 proach ana sti'ict examination. 
 
 The value of any possession is to be chiefly estimated, 
 . by the r -lief whida it can bring us in the time of our 
 greatest need. 
 
 No person who has once yielded up the government of 
 his mind, and given loose rem to his desires aad passions, 
 Cvin tell how far they may carry him. 
 
 Tranquillity^* of mind is always most likely to be at* 
 tained, when the business of the world is tempered with 
 thoughtful and serious retreat.*' 
 
 He who would act like a wise man, and build his house 
 on the rock, and not on the sand, should contemplate hu- 
 man life, not only in the sunsiiine, but in the shade. 
 
 Let usefulness and beneficence,; not ostentatipn* aod 
 vanity, direct the train of your pursuits. 
 
 To maintain a steady and unbroken mind, amidst all 
 the shocks of the world, marks a ^reat aiad noble spirit. 
 
 Patience, by preserving composure within, resists the 
 impression which trouble makes from without. 
 
 Compassionate' affections, even when they draw tears 
 from our eyes for human misery^ convey satisfaction to 
 the heart. 
 
 They who have nothing to give, can afibrdl relief t» 
 other«\ hv impartinai what they feeJ. 
 
Oiop. 1. 
 
 Select Sentences, &c 
 
 ft7 
 
 Our ignorance of what is to come, and of what Is rr«|*. 
 ly good or evil, should correct anxiety about worldly luc- 
 cess. 
 
 The veil which covers from our sight the events of sue- 
 ceeding years, is a veil woven bv the hand of mercy. 
 
 The best preparation for all tlie uncertainties of futu> 
 rity, consists in a well ordered mind, a good conscience,* 
 and a cheerftd submission to the will of Heaven. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 « Fol-lfi fSl'-Ii, weaknrgn, depravity 
 
 b Vic-Uoi, vik'-ilm, a Hucrifit-e 
 
 ( In-tem-per-uiice, 1n-t^in'-j>^r-4nse, ex 
 
 ce«« in meat or drink, a want of 
 
 tcin^ierancc 
 i In-do-lence, 1n'-d6-l^nse, larJnesi 
 f Cre-a-tor, kri-4'-lfir, (Jod, ono wIhj 
 
 creates 
 / Cuf-rcnt, kSr'-rJnt, circulatory, run- 
 
 n'\n^ Btreani 
 g Frustrate, frfis'-trite, to defeat, b.ilk 
 k Con-fer, k6n-fer',lo bestow, discours*^ 
 
 with 
 i Ex-t«r-nal, iks-tir'-nAI, outward, ap- 
 
 parent 
 j U-ni-\'^r«c, yA'-nA-v^fie, the who)* 
 
 world 
 k Di6-tru8t, d!«-tr&Bt', to dnubt, nuiil- 
 
 cion 
 / Cuv-il, kAv'-?1, to raiwi captioui ^k* 
 
 jection«, a captious argument 
 
 m Scop-tic-ul, t?p'-i!k-Al, uiihrlievinf 
 
 n In-di-cation, In-di-k4'-8h&n, nark, 
 
 Byniplorn 
 o Big-ot-ry, Mg'-gfit-tr*, blind cmI, ■•• 
 
 perKtiiion 
 p Max-im, m&kc'-Im, a general priMl- 
 
 pie 
 
 The chief misfortunes that befall us in life, can he tra- 
 ccd to some vices or follies'* which we have committed. 
 
 Were we to survey the chambers of sickness and dis- 
 tress, w^e should often find them peopled with the victims* 
 of intemperance-^ and sensuality, and with the children of 
 vicious indolence** and sloth. 
 
 To be wise in our own eyes, to be wise in the opinion 
 of the world, and to be wise in the sight of our Creator,* 
 are three things so vrry diflerent, as rarely to coincide. 
 
 Man, in hisliighest earthly glory, is but a reed floating 
 on the stream of time, and forced to follow every new 
 direction of the current./ 
 
 The corrupted teinper, and the guilty passions of the 
 bad, frustrate? the efiect of every advantage which tht 
 ■world confers* on them. 
 
 The external* misfortunes of life, disappointments, po- 
 verty, and sickness, are light in comparison of tbose^ in- 
 ward distresses of mind, occasioned by folly, by passioo, 
 and by guilt. 
 
 No station is so high, no power so great, no cbaractef 
 ?6^ unblemished, as to exempt ixieB U-om the fittacka e# 
 vasfoce^, malice, or envy. 
 
I 
 
 1» Kaolisu Reader. Pttft 1. 
 
 iMoral and religious instruction derires its efficacy, not 
 fco much irom what men are taught to know, as from 
 wliat they are hrought to feel. 
 
 He who pretends to great sensibility towards men, and 
 ct has no feeling for the high objects of religion, no 
 leart to admire and adore the great Father of the uni- 
 verse/ has reason to distrust* the truth and delicacy of 
 his sensibility. 
 
 When, upon rational and fsober inqinry, we have es- 
 tablished our principles, let us not suffer them to be sha- 
 ken by the scoffs of licentious, or the cavils' of the scep- 
 tical."' 
 
 When we observe any tendency to treat religion or 
 morals with disrespect and levity, let us hold it to be a 
 Kure indication'* of a perverted understanding, or a de- 
 praved heart. 
 
 Every degree of guilt incurred by yielding to temp- 
 tation, tends to debase the mind, and to weaken the ge- 
 nerous and benevolent principles of human nature. 
 
 Liixury, pride, and vanity, have frequently as much in- 
 fluence in corrupting the sentiments of the great, as ig- 
 norance, bigotry,** and prejudice, have in misleading the 
 opinions of the multituae. 
 
 Mixed as the present state is, reason and religion pro- 
 nounce, that generally, if not always, there is more nap- 
 ))iness than misery, more pleasure than pain, in the con- 
 dition of man. 
 
 Society, when formed, requires distinctions of proper- 
 ty, diversity of conditions, subordination of ranks, and * 
 multiplicity of occupations, in order to advance the ge« 
 neral good. 
 
 That the temper, the sentiments, the morality, and, in 
 general, the whole conduct and character of men, are in- 
 fluenced by the example and disposition of the persons 
 with whom they associate, is a reflection which has long 
 since passed into a proverb, and been ranked among the 
 standing maxims? of human wisdom, in all ages of th^ 
 world. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 « Tlr-tue, vSr'-tsh/i, moral goodness \d Hu-mane, hfi-mine', kind, benevolent 
 k Re-fine-ment, rA-fliie'-mSnt, a purify- a Txaii-sient, Uin'-ebiot^ ahort, mo* 
 
 ing, improvement mentary 
 
 « V«>-lup-ui-«H7, v^Wp'.t8h6-4-r&, onelf Lus-tre, 158*-rtr, bri^tneae, tjiJew 
 
ChajL U BeLSCT BE3rTENt:BS, &«. 
 
 f Com-«t, k6m-!T^ a licavenly body ^ 
 1 Ar-o-mnt-ick, ir-6-m&t'-Tk, Bpicy, fra- 
 grant 
 I Period, pA'-ri-Sd, a round of time, 
 
 full point 
 j rom-inuno, k6m-mi'ine', to converse 
 k La.-tent, ili'-tSnt, hidden, secret 
 
 i Su-per-stit-!oo, •^-p^r-stWr'-^, feb* 
 
 devotion 
 m Prej-ii-dice, prl(i'-ji>-itta, prep nw . 
 
 «ion, injury, to hurl 
 D»>-t»pon-(ieiit, d^-spoa'-dint, deepaJ»« 
 
 ing 
 
 The desire of improTpmont discovprs a libprni mind, 
 and is connected with many accomplishments, and many 
 virtues.^ 
 
 Innocence confers ease and freedom on the mind ; and 
 leavf's it open to ev(!ry pieJisinji; sensation. 
 
 Moderate and i^imp!c• pleasures reliijh liij^h Vvith the It'm- 
 perate: in the midst of the studied nilinements,* the ve- 
 in ptui.rv larij^uishes. 
 
 (Gentleness corrects whatever Is oin^.nsive in our manners ; 
 and by a constant train of hr»mi>ne<^ attentions, studies tm 
 allt'Niate tin; burden of common misery. 
 
 That }:;entleness which is the characteristic of a pjtxofl 
 man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the hrart : 
 and, let me add, no'tliing, except what Hows IVom tliw 
 heart, can render evm external manners truly ph.asirji^. 
 
 Virtue, to become eith<*r vi^^orous or usehif, nuist Ne 
 habitually active : not breaking forth occasitmally with a 
 transient' histi'c,/ like the; h'aze of a count -.s l)ut rt^irnlar 
 in its returns, like the Ifji^ht «d* daj^ : not like the arouiatic* 
 pale, which sometimes Toasts the sense; biit like ihe nr- 
 dimirv breeze, which purifies the air, and reiidr-rs A 
 heahhful. 
 
 The happiness of every man depends more upon tht» 
 state of his own mind, than upon* any one external cir- 
 cumstance: nay, more than u\H}n all external things |u*t 
 tojrthr'T. 
 
 Jn no station, in no period,' let us think ourselves se- 
 cure from the dangers which spiin?; from our passions. 
 T>.'2ry a;:c, and every station they beset ; from youth to 
 ^\c\y hairs, and from the peasant to the pi-iner. 
 
 itic.Ues and pleasures are the chitf temptatior»s to crim- 
 inal deeds. \et those riches, wh? n (ihtaiued. may very 
 pusiiibly oViM'whelni us witii miforesecn miseries. "^rht>se 
 pleasures mn.y cut short our heallh and life. 
 
 He who is fi/'cu.^tomed to turn aside from the >TorW, 
 and commime-' willi himself in retirement, will, Bome» 
 times at least, he.ixr the truths which the multitude do not 
 U>11 him. A more >.»uud »n<tructi»r will »ift his vaic^, «nd 
 
JEiXGLISn IVEADEO. 
 
 Pttrt U 
 
 nwaken within the heart, those latent* 8iif«;{;estions, which 
 the wokM had overpowered and supf ressed. 
 
 Amnh'ement often becomes the hiwiness, instead of the 
 rel;ixatiofi, of yoiinj^ persons : it is ti>en liij^hly pernicious. 
 
 He that waits for an opportunity, to do much at once, 
 may breathe out his life in idle wishes ; and rep;ret, in the 
 kist hour, his useless intentions and barren zeal. 
 
 spu'it ot true religion breatli 
 It {Hves a native, unaffected ( 
 
 tility. It {!;ives a native, unaffected ease to the behaviour. 
 It is social, kind and cheerful : far removed from that 
 gloomy and illiberal superstition,' which clouds the brow, 
 s-lurpens the temper, diijects the spirit, and teaches men, 
 to fit themselves for another world, by neglecting the 
 concerns of this. 
 
 Reveiit none of the secrets of thy friend. Be faithful 
 to his interests. Forsake him not in danj^er. Abhor the 
 thou^^ht ofac(juiring.any advanta.^e by his pir)p;judice.«" 
 
 Man, always prosperous, would be giddy and insolent ; 
 always adiicied, would be sullen or despondent." ifopes 
 and fears, joy and sorrow, are, therefore, so bleRdea in 
 his life, as both to give room for worldly pu-rsuits^ and to 
 recall^ from time to time, the admonitions ©I* coft»dence. 
 
 SECTION IV'. 
 
 A Mo-mont, mi'-m?n^, importance, 
 
 forco, ii point ct' time 
 h Sta-bic, ili'-Ul, fixed, conataot 
 
 • Av-e-nue, A.v'-^nii, an entrance, an 
 
 ailey 
 d CI»af-i"-ty,t»hAr'-i-ti, tenderness, bc- 
 n«voleiice 
 
 • G"wi.-a-ine, j4n'-&-ln, not spurious, 
 
 teal 
 
 / Fer.'-mcnt, ffiT-mhxl', to rarefy by in- 
 te»»tiije motion, of purts 
 
 j'Tiiii or-ous, t!m'-ar-flfl, fearl^k bash- 
 ful 
 
 A Distort, d1s-t6rt', to twi*r,. deform, 
 
 wrest 
 /■ Snm-mit, e?im'-mTt, the utmost hei^^ht 
 ; Ciin-daur, kAn'-dur, frankness, honesty 
 A: Al-lure, 41-liire', to entice to any 
 
 thing 
 I Eq-ui-pajfe, §k'-kw^-pAJe, fuiir)itur« 
 
 for a horsoman, carnage of state, 
 
 attendance 
 m Con-dii-cive, kou-du'-slv, promoting,. 
 
 aid in;? 
 n T6-ken, ti'-k'n, a si^n, memorial 
 Fund, fund, stock, capital 
 
 Time once past never return*: the m»mient<» which is 
 lost, is lost for ever. 
 
 There is nothrn-g on earth so stable,* as tO; assure us of 
 indisturbed rest ; nor so powerful, as tO' afford us con- 
 •tant protection. 
 
 The house of feasting too often becomes an avenue* tm, 
 the iiouse of mourning. Short, to the liceatious^ \» th# 
 MUrral between th^m. i 
 
It is of gr€»ftt Importance to us, to form a proper eati 
 mate of human life ; without eitlier loading it with ima • 
 cinary evils, or exjHicting from it greater advantages tlian 
 It is able to yield. 
 
 Among all our corrupt passions, there is a strong and 
 intimate connection. \Vhen any one of them is adopted 
 into our family, it seldom quits until it has fathered upoo 
 us all its kindred. 
 
 Charity, '^ like the sun, brightens every object on which 
 it shines ; a censorious disposition casts every character 
 into the darkest shade it Avill bear. 
 
 Many men mistake the love, for th« practice of virtue ; 
 and are not so Kiuch good men, as the fnends of good 
 ness. 
 
 (renuine' virtue has a language that speaks to every 
 heart throughout the world. It isa language which is un- 
 derstood by all. In every region, every climate, the ho- 
 mage paid to it is the same. In no one sentiment werw 
 ever mankind more generally agreed. 
 
 The appearances of our security are frequently deceit- 
 ful. AVhen our sky seems mosf settled and serene, in 
 some unobserved quarter gathers the little black cloud in 
 which the tempest ferments,/ and prepares to discharge 
 itself on our head. 
 
 The man of true fortitude may be compared to the cat- 
 tle built on the rock, which defies the attack of surround- 
 ing waters : the man of a feeble and timorous^^ spirit, to 
 a Inrt placed on the shore, which every wind shakes, and 
 every wave overflows. 
 
 Nothing is so inconsistent with self-possession as vio- 
 lent anger. It overpowers reason ; confounds our ideas; 
 distorts^' the appearance, and blackens the colour of every 
 object. By the storms which it raises within, and by the 
 mfscliiefs which it occasions without, it generally brings 
 on the passionate and revengeful man, greater misery thaa 
 he can bring on t\m object of his resentment. 
 
 The palace of virtue has, in all ages, been represented 
 as placed on the summit* of a hill; in the ascent of which, 
 labour is requisite, and ditiiculties are to be surmounted; 
 and where a conductor is needed, to direct our way, and 
 to aid our steps. 
 
 In judging of others, let us always think the best, and 
 employ the spirit of charity and candour.-' But in judg»- 
 feig of ourselves, we ought "to be exact and severe. 
 
 Xet hio:!, who desires to tie^ otliers happy, make haate 
 
/ 
 
 to ^r« whHe his gift can be enjoyed ; and remembef« 
 
 thaterc'ry moment of delay takes away something from 
 the Tiilue of his benefaction. And let him who proposet^^ 
 bis own happiness reflect, that while he forms his pur- 
 pose, the day rolls on, and ** the night cometh, when n* 
 man can work.'* 
 
 To sensual persons, hardly any thing is what it ap- 
 pears to he : and what flatters most, is always farthest 
 rroni reality. There are voices which sing around them ; 
 hut whose strains alhire* to ruin. There is a banquet 
 ipread, where poison is in every dish. There is a couch 
 which invites them to repose ; but to slumber upon it, is 
 4cath. 
 
 U we would judge whether a man is really happy, it is 
 nnt solely to His houses and lands, to his equipage' and 
 hi» retinue We are to look. Unless we could see firther> 
 and discern what joy, or what bitterness, his heart feels> 
 we can pronounce little concerning him. 
 
 The hook is well written ; and I have perused it with 
 pleasure and profit. It shows, first, that true devotion \% 
 wtional and well founded ; next, that it is of the highest 
 importance to every other part of religion and virtue ; 
 ana, lastly, that it is most conducive'" to our happiness. 
 
 There is certainly no greater felicity, than to be abit 
 to look back on a life uselully and virtuously employed ; 
 to trace our own progress in existence, by such tokens" 
 ft! excite neither shame nor sorrow* It ought there foro 
 to be the care of those who wish to pass the last hour* 
 with comfort, to lay up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, 
 fti shall sunport the expenses of that time, which is to d©» 
 pend wholly upon tlie fand* already acquired. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 f A-vail, JL-Tile', benefit, to prefit 
 h Qual-i-fy, kw&l'-tt-f I, to fit for any 
 purpoic, to abate, to soften 
 
 • E-iteetn, i-»\k^m\ to«et a value upon 
 d Jel-U-ty, j6r-l*-te, gaiety 
 
 * Dia-piay, dla-pli', to exiiibit, pomp 
 / Ai>-peal, *p-p41a' , to refer, a refer- 
 
 eooo 
 g Z>»-M»-tMM, 41i-kia-tlat', want of 
 
 content 
 h Un-war-ran-fa-ble, fin-wAr'-r4n-t4-M» 
 
 indefensible, not to be justified 
 » Ir-re-cov-or-a-ble, !r-ri-k&v'-&r-&-U, 
 
 not to be r«>gHii.'ed 
 j Squan-der, skw^n-dAr, to laviah, dia* 
 
 sipato 
 h Ef-fem-i-nate, tf-ftai'-^-nit*^ v^ 
 
 maaish, voiaptuoua, taader | 
 
 Wmat artils« the ihow of external liberty, to one Who 
 haM Wot tkk% Koveromont of himeelf t 
 
Chop, I. Selkct SEHTK?rcr>Sr Am% 38^ 
 
 He that cnnnot live well to-<!ay, (says Martial, (wifl bo 
 less qiutlifted* to live, -vv ell to-morrow. 
 
 Can we esteem'" that man prosperous, who is raised to 
 a situation which flatters his passions, hut which corrupt"! 
 his principles, disorders his temper, and finally oversets 
 his virtue ? 
 
 What misery does the vicious man secretly endtirc !— 
 Adversity ! how hlunt are all the arrows of ihy quiver, 
 in comparison with those of ^uilt ! 
 
 When we have no pleasure in goodness, we may with 
 certainty conclude the reason to be, that our pleasure is 
 all derived from an opposite quarter. 
 
 How stran;;ely are the opuiions of men altertid by a 
 change in their condition ! 
 
 How many have had reason to be thankful, for bein^ 
 disappointed in desijrns which tiiey earnestly pursued, but 
 which, it successfully accomplished, they have afterwards 
 seen would have occasioned their ruin I 
 
 What are the actions which alford in the remembrance 
 a rational satisfaction ? Are they the pursuits of sensual 
 pleasure,, the riots of jollity,'' or tlie displays* of show and 
 vanity] No : I npneal/to your hearts, my friends, if what 
 you recollect witii most pleasure, are iK)t the innocent, 
 the virtuous, the honourable parts of your past life. 
 
 The present employm.ent of time should freipiently be 
 an object of thouj^nt. About what are we now busied ? 
 What is tlic ultimate scope of our present pursuits and 
 cares ? Can we justify them to ourselves ? Are they like- 
 ly to produce any thinp; that will survive the moment, and 
 bring forth some fruit for futurity ? 
 
 Is it not strange (says an ingenious writer,) that some 
 perbons should be so delicate as not to bear a disagreea- 
 ble picture in the house, and yet, by their behaviour, 
 force every face they see about them, to wear the gloom 
 of uneasiness and discontent \i 
 
 If we are now in health peac*> ?.nd safety ; without 
 any particular or uncommon evils to aftlict our condi- 
 tion ; what more can we reasonably look for in this vain 
 and uncertain wortd ? How little can the greatest pros- 
 perity add to such a state ? Will any future situation ever 
 make us happy, if now, with so few causes of grief, w« 
 imagine ourselves miserable ? The evil lies in the state of 
 our mind, not in our condition of fortune ; and by no al- 
 terjition of circumstances is likely to be remedied. 
 When the h)ve of anwarrantableA plea8ures,ami of vicioiM 
 
9% EnG'Sisii Ueas^er. Pttrt ^ 
 
 •ofnpenions, is allowed to amuse youn|; persons, to 
 #njgro*3 their time, and to stir up their passions ; the day 
 0f ruin, — let them take heed, and beware ! the day of 
 Irrecoverable* ruin bejrins to draw nigh. Fo^rtune is squan- 
 dered '^ health is broken ; friends arc otretided, affronted, 
 cstranj^ed ; a<5ed parents, perhaps, sen45 afflicted andi 
 raournmg to the dust. 
 
 On whom does time hang so heavily, as on the slothfull 
 mnd lazy ? To whom are the hours so Irngering ? Who? 
 mre so often devoured wiih spleen, and obliged to fly to* 
 every expedient, which can help them to get rid of them- 
 lelves ? Instead of producing tranquilhty, indolence pro- 
 duces a fretful restlessnesfv of mind ; gi¥es rise to crav- 
 ings which are never satisfied ; nourishes » sickly, effem- 
 Viate* delkacy, which sours^ and corrupts ftvery pleasure^ 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 death 
 
 /; Con-tin-u-ance, k6n-l!n'-ii-iin», per- 
 manence 
 
 f Sal-u-ta-ry, sM'-lii-tl-ri, wholeioma, 
 
 r» Mifi-gate, ni!t'-tA gite, to soften, 
 
 alleviate 
 w As-pect, As'-p5kt, took, air, eountt 
 
 nance 
 Pluc-id, plAs'-sTd, pentle, mild 
 p Be-nev-o-hjnt, bi-nfiv'-A-lInt, kind), 
 
 chawtable 
 y Pro-fu-sion, pri-ffi'-zhfln, extrara- 
 
 ganco 
 r Mag-nif-i-cent, mig-n!f '-i-gintjjrandj: 
 
 pompous 
 s Per-pot-u-al, pfir-pit'-t»hi-il, noTor 
 
 ceasing, continual' 
 
 •iDii-trib-ute, d!«-tr!b'-ftte, to divide, 
 deal out 
 
 § Grat-i-tude, gr4t'-i-t6de, duty to be- 
 nefactors 
 
 ♦ B-lus-tri-ous, ll-lfis'-tr^-fls, conHpicu 
 
 ous, noble 
 4 Con-temp-ti-blc, kon-tSm'-ti-bl, wor- 
 thy of contempt 
 
 • Xn-fa-nw>ug, In'-fi-mfis, publickly 
 
 icandalous 
 ^ Lon-gt-nus, l6n-jr-nSK, a Greek philo 
 
 sopher and critick of Athens 
 jrEo-vt-oH«, Jn'-vi-Bs, infected with 
 
 envy or ill wUl 
 t Dig-ni-ty, dlg'-ni-tft, rank, grandeur, 
 
 preferment 
 It Sen-si-tive, sSn'-si-tlv, endowed with 
 
 feoKng 
 Xm-mor-tal, !m-mdr'-til, exempt from 
 
 We have seen th*e husbandman scattering. his seed up- 
 <Hv the furrowed ground ! It springs up, is gathered ir.to 
 his barns, and crowns his labours with joy and plenty.— 
 Thus the man who distributes«his fortune with generosity 
 and prudence, is amply repaid by the gratitude** of those 
 whom ne obliges, by the approbation of his own mind, 
 uitJ by the favour of Heaven. 
 
 Temperance, by fortifying the mind and body, leads to 
 hftppiness : intemperance, by enervating them, ends gen- 
 trallj in misery. 
 
 Title and ancestry render a good man more illustri- 
 •ua/ but an ill one, more coR^mptible> Vic^ is infa* 
 
Chap. V. SzLECT 2fENT£rfc&s, &c. S^ 
 
 mous/ though in a prince ; and virtue honourable, thmigb 
 i^ a peasant. 
 
 An elevated cenius, emploj^cd in little things, appears 
 (to use the simile of Longinu^/") like the sun m Ins eve- 
 ning declination : he remits his splendour, but retains hi* 
 magnitude ; and pleases more, though lie dazzles less. 
 
 If envious? people "were to ask themselves, whiifher 
 they would exchange their entire situations ^N'ith the per- 
 sons envied, (I mean their minds, passions, notions, a» 
 well as their persons, fortunes, and dignities,'') — 1 pre- 
 sume the selr-love, common to human nature, would 
 generally make them prefer their own condition. 
 
 We have obliged some persons : — very well ! — what 
 would we have more ? Is not the consciousness of doing 
 good, a sufficient reward ? 
 
 Do not hurt yourselves or others, by the pursuit of 
 pleasure. Consult your whole nature. Consider your- 
 selves not only as sensitive,'* but as rational beings ; not 
 only as rational, but social ; not only as social, but im- 
 mortalJ 
 
 Art thou poor? — Show thyself active and industrious, 
 peaceable and contented. Art thou wealthy ?— Show 
 thyself beneficent and charitable, condescending and hu- 
 mane. 
 
 Though religion removes not all the evils of fife, though? 
 it promises no continuance* of undisturbed prosperity, 
 Jwnich indeed it were not salui'ary' for man always to en- 
 loy,) yet, if it mitigates^* the evils which necessarily be- 
 long to our state, it may justly be said to give ♦* rest to 
 them who labour and are neavy laden." 
 
 What a smiling aspect" does the love of parents and 
 children, of brothers and sisters, of friendsr and relations, 
 give to every surrounding object, and every returning 
 aay ! With what a lustre does it gild even the small hab- 
 itation, where this placid^ intercourse dwells ! where such- 
 scenes of heartfelt satisfaction succeed uninterrupted to 
 one another ! 
 
 How many clear marks of benevolent^ intention ap- 
 pear every where around us ! What a profusion-? of beau- 
 ty and ornament is poured forth on the face of nature 5 
 What a magnificentr spectable presented to the view <y 
 man ! What supply contrived for his wants ! What c 
 variety of objects set before hi rn, to gratify his senses, in 
 employ his understanding, to entertain his imagioatic^ 
 lo cheer and gladden his heart ! 
 
M 
 
 BffOMMI Hbidkk. 
 
 Part I 
 
 Th« 1top« of fVittire hapj/lmHw )m r perpetuftJ* §ourM • 
 
 fK>nflolation to good men. Under trouble, it roctht th« 
 tnkida; amidst tiamptation, it supports their yirtuc; nHti 
 !• UlfJir dyinf moments, enables them to say, ** O death! 
 whMra 18 tliy sting? O grare ! where is thy victory T* 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 « A-srm-i-Ia-oi, A^JB-i-U'-Bs, king of I 
 
 B|Mrt8, wos son of Doryjhus, he 
 
 m&de war n^aitist Artaxerxi.-s 
 I In-eol-cate, 1n-k&r<k4te, to impresft 
 
 by admonition 
 • Mut-io, m6l'-to, a ient«nee added, a 
 
 derie* 
 i Ke;-li-fene«, n^g'-li-j^ns*, habit af i 
 
 heedle«fineiv 
 t ]Voz-iouff« n^'-sh&«, hortful, crimi- p 
 
 nal 
 / Ar-i»-to-t!e, ir'-?t- lA-tl, a famon^ 
 
 philosopher, born at Stagira, pre 
 
 ceplor to Alexander the Great 
 j^L'E«-trari«e, li-»trinje', a celebrated 
 
 French fabulist 
 1 Sal )j, a&l'-U, a e«Iebr&t*d attttesman 
 
 of France 
 i Rt-t&in, ri-tint', to keep tb mind, 
 
 keep 
 ^ CooTt-ier, kirte'-yfir, one who attends 
 
 the courts of prince* 
 i GiMft) gHt^ visitor, strangar 
 
 Soc-ra-tes, sAk'-ri-tAr, the n»oet eel^ 
 
 bratod nsoral philosopher, a naUn 
 
 of Athens 
 1 Cul-ture, k&l'-tsh&re, the act of tmllh 
 
 vution 
 Em-i-nent-ly, Sm'-i^nint-U, coiie^ 
 
 cuously 
 Phil ipSid-noy, fir-Hp-sld'-ni, a efe1»» 
 
 bruted militarv commander 
 Zut-phen, z&t'-f2a, tiie name af t 
 
 place 
 Al-ex-an-der, Al-2gz zin'-d^r, rtm^ 
 
 named tlie Great, king of Maeedo» 
 
 nia 
 In-fest^ In-f^at', to harass, distorb 
 An-to-ni-u8-Pi-us, in-t^'-ni-fi«-pl-fii^ 
 
 a celebrated Roman Emperor 
 Pres-er-va-tion, pr^z-zlr>v4'-eh5n, t)M» 
 
 act of prescrrjo^ 
 I-mag-ine, i-mid -jIn, to fancy, «ob» 
 
 trive 
 Im -mod-e-ratehr, )ni-n>6d'-^fo<Hr4l-lA^ 
 
 excessively 
 
 AoESiLAUS,' king of Sparta, being asked, ** Whatthingr 
 he tliought most proper for boys to learn," answered- 
 ** Those which they ought to practise when they come tr 
 b« men/* A wiser than Agesilaus has inculcated* th^ 
 same sentiment : ♦* Train up a child in the way he should 
 go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." 
 
 An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto,« thai 
 • time was his estate." An estate indeed which will pro* 
 dace nothing without cultivation ; but which will alwavi 
 abundantly repay the labours of industry, and satisfy tnc 
 most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie 
 wpste by negiigence,« to be overrun with noxious' plants, 
 or laid out for show, rather than use. 
 
 When Aristotle/ was asked, **What a man could ^:\in 
 hv teHing a falsehood," he replied, "not to be credited 
 when he speaks the truth." 
 
 I/Estfange,! in his Fables, tells us that a number of 
 fnHiiCdomc bay* ww^ one day watching /W>9s, «t th« ttdcr 
 
Chagk 1. SztflCT 9E9TBIVCE9, Jbe. 97 
 
 of A p«nd ; nnA ttiat, m any of them put their hftjid« sboiui 
 the wftt«*, they pelted tiiem down agRm with itoneB.— 
 One of tlie frogs, appeafin^ to tlie humanity of the hoy»| 
 made this striking observation; " Children, you do not 
 consider, that though this may be sport to you, it is death 
 to us." 
 
 Sully,* the great statesman of France, al^vays retain- 
 ed' at his tabl ', in his most prosperous days, 'the sam« 
 frugality to which lie had been accustomed in early life. 
 He was frequently reproached, by the courtiers,; for 
 this simplicity ; but he used to reply to them, in ti)e Txords 
 of an ancient philosopher: *' If the guests* are men of 
 sense, there is sufficient for them : if they are not, 1 can 
 Tery well dispense with their company." 
 
 Bocrates,' though primarily attentive to the cnUure** of 
 his mind, was not negligent of his external appearance. 
 His cleanliness resulted from those ideas of order and 
 decency, which governed all his actions ; and the otirc 
 which ne took of his health, from his desire to preserve 
 his mind free and tranquil. 
 
 Eminently pleasing and honourable was the friendship 
 between David and Jonathan. *' 1 am distressed for thee, 
 my brother Jonathan," said the plaintive and surviving 
 David ; ** very pleasant hast thou been to me : thy love 
 for me was wonderful ; passing the love of women." 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney," at the battle near Zutphen,p was 
 wounded by a musKct ball, which broke the bone of his 
 thigh. Be was carried about a mile and a half, to the 
 camp ; and bein^ faint with the loss of blood, and prob- 
 ably parched witn thirst through the heat of tiie weather, 
 he called for drink. It was immediately brought to him : 
 but, as he was putting the vessel to his mouth, a poor 
 wounded soldier, who happened at that instant to be car- 
 ried by him, looked up to it with wishful eyes. The gal- 
 lant and generous Sidney took the bottle from his mouth, 
 and delivered it to the soldier, saying, " Thy necessity is 
 yet greater than mine." 
 
 Alexander? the Great, dem.anded of a pirate, whom he 
 had tak«n,by what right he infested'* the se^as ] " By the 
 same right," replied ne, ** that Alexander enslaves the 
 world. But 1 am caUed a robber, because I have only 
 one small vessel; and he is styled a conqueror, because 
 he commands great fleets ana armies." We too ofteQ 
 judp. of m^ by the splendour, and not by the merit ok 
 their aotiona. 
 
 D 
 
Sii English RfiAMca* f^xrt |^ 
 
 Antotltnus Plus/ the Roman Emperor, waaan amiabte 
 and good man. When any of his courtiers attempted 
 to inflame him witb a passion for military glory, he used 
 to answer : ** That he more desired the preservation^ of 
 one subject, than the destruction of a thousand enemies. 
 
 Men are too often ingenious in making theniselves mis- 
 erable, byaggravatingto their own fancy, beyond bounds, 
 all the evils which they endure. They compare them- 
 gelves with none but those whom they imagine" to be 
 more happy ; and complain, that upon them alone has 
 fallen the w^hole load of human sorrows. Would they 
 look with a more impartial eye on the world, they would 
 see themselves surrounded with sufferers ; and find that 
 they are only drinking out of that mixed cup, which pro- 
 Tidence has prepared for all. *' I will restore thy daugh* 
 ter again to life,'* said the eastern sage to a prmce who' 
 grieved immoderately for the loss of a heloved child, 
 ** provided thou art able to engrave on her tomb, the 
 names of three persons who have never mourned." The 
 prince made inquiry after such persons ; but found the 
 inquiry vain, and was silent. 
 
 SECTION Vlll. 
 
 o Wrath, rith, or fith, anger, fury, rnge 
 if Stall, slAll, to keep in a stall or sta 
 
 ble, a crib in wJiich an ox is fed 
 g Ke-buke, ri' biike', to chide, reprehend 
 
 d En-e-iny, fm'-hmh, a foe 
 « Righ-te-ou8, ri'-tsh^-fis, juBt, virtuout 
 / Sluggard, slftg'-gurd, an inactive, la 
 zy fellow 
 
 He that hath no rule over his own spirit, is like a city 
 that is broken down, and without walls. 
 
 A softer answer turneth away wrath ;« but grevious 
 words stir up anger. 
 
 Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stal- 
 led* ox and hatred therewith. 
 
 Pride goeth before destruction ; and a haughty spirit 
 before a Tall. 
 
 Hear council, and receive instruction, that thou mayest 
 be truly wise. 
 
 Faitnful are the wounds of a friend ; but the kisses of 
 an enemy are deceitful. Open rebuke* is better than se^ 
 cret love. 
 
 Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit ? There if 
 more hope of a fool than of him. 
 
 He that is slow to anger, is better than the mighty ; and 
 he tkat ruktb his spirit, thai» he that taketh ts city. 
 
Chap. U SELECT Sente:vcbi. 
 
 He that h«th t>ity on the poor, lendeth to the Lord 
 that which he iiatn given, will he pay him a^cain, 
 
 Jf thine enemy' he hungry, give him hread to eat ; and 
 If he he thirsty, give him water to drink. 
 
 He that planted the ear, shaH he not hear? lie that 
 formed the eye, shall he not set*. '/ 
 
 I have heen youngs and now J am old ; yet ha^e I nev- 
 er seen the righteous* forsaken, nor his seed begging 
 bread. 
 
 it is better to he a door-keeper in the house of the 
 Lord, tlian to dwell in the tents of wickedness. 
 
 1 have seen the vrlcked in great power; andupreadinc 
 himself like a green bay-tree. Yet he passed away : 1 
 Bought him, but he eould not l»e found. 
 
 Happy is the man that findtth wisdom. Length of 
 days IS in her right hand ; and in her left hand, Fiches anil 
 honour. Her ways are ways of pleasantnessy aud ail her 
 paths are peace. 
 
 How good and how pleasant it is for bi-etiiren to dwell 
 together in unity ! It is like precious ointment ; like th« 
 dew of Hermon, and tlie dev/ that descended upon tlm 
 mountains of Zion. 
 
 The sluggard,'" will not plough by reason &i the col<$; 
 ke shall therefore beg in harvest, and have nothinjj. 
 
 1 went by the ftela of the slothful, and by the vineyard 
 of the man void of understanding : and to ! it was all 
 grown over with thorns ; nettles had covered its face : 
 and the stone wall was broken down. Then I saw, ana 
 considered it well : I looked upon it, and received iiv» 
 itruction. 
 
 Honourable age is not that which standeth in length o^ 
 time ; nor that which is measured by number of years ; 
 But wisdom is the grey hair to man ; and an unspotted 
 life is old age. 
 
 Solomon, my son, know thou the God of thy fathers ; 
 and serve him with a perfect heart and with a willing 
 pnind. If thou seek him, he will be t-ovmd of thee j. but 
 if thou forsake him, he will cast the©' idW i'or ever. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 « Ex-pe-ri-encc, Sks pi'-ri-5nse, prac 
 
 tice, to try 
 I Im-par-tial-iy, Jn>plr'-filiAl-li, equi 
 
 tably, justly 
 
 • Cbor-i8h,uhir'-riah,U> BupportfSheltMl to virtua 
 
 d Nuur-ish, n4r'-r!rih, t«. lupport bf 
 
 tood 
 e Pi-e-ty, pi'-i-t4,duty to God or parentf 
 / Rcp-ro-bater rey'-pr6-b4te, a tuan mm 
 
40 Enough Reai>zr. Pari K 
 
 %'oid of rnoaninf 
 
 h Sub-or-di-ria-iion, sfib-ir-di-ni-'-shfin. 
 inferiority of rank 
 
 9 Mo-tive, mA'-Uv, iqducemcnt, causing 
 rootifMi 
 
 j> Ir»-flu-encc, 1n'-fl6-2nse, ascendan 
 power, to act upon 
 
 k 0e-prav-i-ty, d^-priv'-i-t^, corrup- 
 tion 
 
 7 Prev-a-Umi, prSr'.vi-Hnl, prodoml 
 
 nniu 
 r Syin-pa-thy,s!m'-pi-tlaA, fellow fw^ 
 
 s Novelty, n6\ir'-vM-i4, B^wnesSf ia 
 
 novation 
 t In-no-cenl, In'-n4-jj5nt, pure, hana« 
 
 less 
 Ab-so-lnte, ab'-s6-ii>t», eompletey 
 
 positive 
 
 I Tm-pe-ri-ou!«, !m-^'-r^-Jis, tyrannical © As-cen-dant, 4s-s*^n'-d^nl, height, in- 
 «lt K.e-cep-ta-cle, r^-fcSp'-t4-k), a placcl fluencc. superiour 
 
 for receiving ijc Impair, !m-p^re', to, dinvinlnh, injuf* 
 
 ft Ue-pug-nant, ri-pu^'-nint, celactant 'z Vice, vise, ilio oppojw.te to virtue 
 
 contrary U Ve-ni-al, \k' lie-ii!, p»r4ona)>]e 
 
 # Can-ton, kin'-tfin, to diviil© into littltf'j Affio-i-ty, Af-flu'-n^-ti, relation by 
 
 parts, a part [ marriaga 
 
 f Sloth, slAth; laziness 1 
 
 That ever^^ day has Us pams and sorrows is wntversal- 
 \y experienced," and almost universally confessed. But 
 let us not attend only to mournful truths : if we look im- 
 partially'' about us, we shall find, that every day has like- 
 wise its pleasures and its joya. 
 
 We should cherish'^^ sentiments of charity to^vards all 
 men. The Author of all j^ood nourishes"^ much piety*, 
 and virtue in hearts that are unknown to us ; and beholds 
 repentance ready to spring up among many, whom we 
 consider as reprobates./ 
 
 No one ought to consider himself as jnsi^niftcaat^ in 
 the sight of his Creator. * In our several stations, we are 
 all sent forth to be labourers in the vineyard of our heav- 
 enly Father, Every m^an has his work allotted, his talent 
 committed to him ; by the due improvement of which 
 he may in one way or other, serve God, promote virtue, 
 and be useful in the world. 
 
 The love of praise should be preserved un(j€r proper 
 subordination* to the principle ot djjty. In itself, it is a 
 useful motive* to action ; but when allowed to extend its 
 influence^ too far, it corrupts the whole character, and 
 produces guilt, disgrace, and misery. To be entirely 
 destitute of it, is a defect. To be governed by It, is de- 
 pravity. ''^ The proper adjustment of the several princi- 
 ples of action in human nature is a matter that deserveg 
 our highest attention. For when any one of them be- 
 comes too weak or too strong, it endangers both our vir- 
 twe and our happiness. 
 
 The desires and passions of a vicious man, having; once 
 obtained an unlimited si^'ay tramp]« him under their feet. 
 
Thej makt him feel that he is subject to rarloua. c«»n- 
 tradictory, and imperious' masters, ivho often pull him 
 dijSeretit ways.. His soul is rendered the recep*tacle»» of 
 many repugnant" and jarring dispositions ; and resem- 
 bles some barbarous country, cantoned* out into different 
 principalities, which are continually waging war on ona 
 another* 
 
 Diseases, poverty, disappointment, and shame, are far 
 from being, in every instance, the unavoidable doom of 
 man. They are much more frequently the offspring of 
 his own misguided choice. Intemperance engenders dis- 
 ease, sloth'' produces poverty, pride creates disappoint- 
 ments, and dishonesty exposes to shame. The ungov- 
 eined passions of men betray them into a thousand fol- 
 lies; their follies into crimes; and their crimes into mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 When we reflect on the many distresses which abound 
 in human life ; on the scanty proportion of happiness 
 which any man is here allowed to enjoy ; on the small 
 difference which the diversity of fortune makes on that 
 scanty proportion ; it is surprising, that envy should ever 
 have been a prevalent? passion among men, much more 
 that it should have prevailed among Christians. Where 
 so much is suffered in common, little room is left for er»- 
 ry. Thei^e is more occasion for pity and sympathy^, and 
 inclination to assist each other. 
 
 At our first setting out in life, when yet unacquainted 
 with the worid and its snares, when every pleasure en- 
 chants with its smile, and every object shines with the 
 gloss of novelty,' let us beware of the seducing appear- 
 ances which suVround us ; and recollect what others hav« 
 iufftir^d from the power of headstrong desire. If we aJ- 
 Jew any passion, eren though it be esteemed innocent,* to 
 acquire an absolute" ascendant," our inward peace will be 
 impaired."' But if any, which has the taint of guilt, take 
 early possession of our mind, we may date, from that 
 moment, the ruin of our tranquillity. 
 
 Every man has some darling passion, which generally 
 affords the first introduction to vice.=^" The irregular gra- 
 tHications, into which it occasionally seduces him, appear 
 nnder the form of venialv weaknesses ; and are indulgedi 
 hi the beginning, with scrupulousness and reserve. But, 
 by lonj^ar practice, these restraints weaken, and the pow- 
 er of habit rrows. One Tice bring? m another to it* add, 
 B]r « Bori of natural affinitj^ they cenneet aim] tatwttiti 
 
KHiSLISH KbaDEIU 
 
 Pnri %. 
 
 fhemselvee together ; till their roots come to be B«)ro{»/f 
 ■<ride and deep over all the soul. 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 a Av-mo3-phere, At'-mus-fire, the 
 tliat encompasses the earth 
 
 b In-clem-eiit, lu-klSm'-ment, unmerci- 
 ful, rugged 
 
 e De-bil-i ly, dfe-bU'-^-t^, feebleness, 
 veakne!^ 
 
 d Im-p*>-tent, !iB'-|>A-l2nt, feebie, weak 
 
 t Ad-ver-si-ty, 4.d-v5r'-s^-t^, calumjty, 
 misery 
 
 / L»-C6ii-tJous,ll-s2n'-shfls,w»»cstrainetl 
 
 g^ Rev-el, rSv'-Sl, lo carouse, riot 
 
 A Des-o-late, datj'-si-iilc, uuitthabited 
 
 « A-d»«u, A-du', farewell 
 
 j Fa-mil-iar-ize, fA-mlJ'-y4r-lze', to 
 make easy by habitude 
 
 k Ab-hor-renee, &b-h6r'-xSnse, detesta- 
 tion 
 
 I Vi-cis-si-tude, vA-sls'-i-titde, change 
 succession 
 
 m In-ure, Inure', to habituate, to mak( 
 ready or willing by cuatour, to ac 
 custom 
 
 n Vum-i-ty, vAn'-^-t^, emptiness, petty 
 pride 
 
 Sal-u-ta-ry, sil'-li-ti-r^, wholeaome, 
 sate 
 
 p U)i-sat-is-fac-tor-y, ftn-sit-tls-fik'- 
 t&r-i!;, noi salisfactory 
 
 7 Fa-tal, fa'-tal, destructive, inevita- 
 ble 
 
 r Wur-thy, wSr'-th^, deserving, valu'" 
 able 
 
 .5 Re-conrse, r^-kirse', application for 
 help, access 
 
 t In-teg-ri-ty, in-tSg'-r^-ti, honesty, pu- 
 rity 
 
 a A-mi-a-ble, i'-m^-ibl, lovely, pleas- 
 ing 
 
 V rn-ter-course,!n'-l§f-k6rse, commerces 
 
 <^Nui-sance, nii'-sinse, someiiiing of- 
 fensive 
 
 x Pro-pen-si-fy, pr6-p2n'-Bi-t^, inclina- 
 tion, pronenesd 
 
 y Ardent, 2ir'-dent, vehement, zealou*' 
 
 Whence arises the misery f>f this present world ? It 
 b not owing to our cloudy atmosphere/* our changing 
 fceasons and inclement* skies. It is not owing to the de- 
 bilityc of our bodies, or to the unecuial distribution of the 
 goods of fortune. Amidst all disadvantages of this kind, 
 a pure, a steadfast, and enlightened mind, possessed of 
 •trong virtue, could enjoy itself in peace, and smile at the 
 impotent'^ assaults of' fortune and the elements. It i* 
 within ourselves that misery has fixed its seat. Our dis- 
 ordered hearts, our guilty passions, our violent prejudices, 
 and misplaced de.«ircs, are the instruments of the trouble 
 which we endure. These sharpen the darts which ad- 
 versity would otherwise point in vain against us. 
 
 While the vain and the licentious/ are revelling;? in the 
 midst of extravagance and riot, how little do they think 
 of those scenes ot sore distress which are passing at that 
 jnoment throughout the Avorld ; multitudes strugghng for 
 
 poor subsistence, to support the wife and children wliom 
 *ney love, and who look up to them with eager eyes for 
 that bread which they can hardly procure ; multitudes 
 groaning under sickness in desolate* cottages, untended 
 and unmouroed } many, apparently in a better situation 
 
^kajL i. Select SEirrK^cxs* dco. 40 
 
 of life, pining away in secret with concealed grieft : fe- 
 inilies weeping over the beloved friends whom they navo- 
 lost, orin all tne bitterness of anguish, bidding those whe- 
 are just expiring, the last adieu.' 
 
 Kever adventure on too near an approach to what is 
 evil. Familiarizey not yourselves witli it, in the slightest 
 instances, without fear. Listen with reverence to every 
 reprehension of conscic.iee ; and preserve the most quiet 
 and accurate srnsibility to rij;:;ht and wrong. If ever your 
 moral impressions be^nn to decay, and your natural ib- 
 iiorr^^nce^ of guilt to lessen, you have ground to dread 
 that the ruin of virtue is fast approaching. 
 
 l^y disappointments and trials the violence of our pas- 
 sions is tamed, and our minds are formed to sobriety and 
 redection. Jn the varieties of life, occasioned by tlie vi- 
 cissitudes' of worldly fortune^ we are inured^ to habits 
 both of the active and the suffering virtues. How much 
 soever we complain of the vanity of the world, facta 
 plainly show, that if its vanity were less, it could not an- 
 swer the purpose of salutary discipline. Unsatisfactory^ 
 as it is, its pleasures are still too apt to corrupt our hearts. 
 How fatal'/ then must the consetjuences have been, had 
 it yielded us more complete enjoyment ? If, with all its 
 troubles, we are in danger of beinjr too much attached to 
 it, how entirely would it have seduced our affections, if 
 no troubles had been mingled witli its pleasures ? 
 
 In seasons of distress or difiiculty, to abandon ouirselves 
 to dejection, carries no tnark of agreat or aworthy^'mind. 
 Instead of sinki«jij under trouble, and declaring *' that hi» 
 Koul is weary of life," it becomes a wise and a good man,, 
 in the evil day, with firmness to maintain his post: to bear 
 tip against the storm ; to have recourse* to those advantages 
 which, in the wo^rst of times, are always left to integrity* and 
 virtue ; aod never to give up the hope that better uays may 
 yet arise. 
 
 How many young persons have at first set out in the- 
 world with excellent dispositions of heart ; generous, chari- 
 table, and humane ; kind to their friends, and amiable" a- 
 mong all with whom they had intercourse" ! And yet how 
 often have we seen all those fair appearances unhappily 
 blasted in the progress of life, merely through the influ* 
 I'.nce of loose and corrupting pleasures : and those very 
 persons, who promised once to be blessings to the world! 
 Hunk dowot in the end, to le the burd^a and aubancat' of 
 KDcift)ty i 
 
£{fOLI5« itEADXR. 
 
 Port 1 
 
 Tb© most common propensity* of mankind, fs, to store 
 futurity with whatever is agreeable to them ; especially 
 \n those periods of life, when imagination is lively» ana 
 bope is ardent.!/ Looking forward to the year now negin- 
 ning, thev are ready to promise themselves much, from 
 the foundations of prosperity which they have laid ; from 
 the friendships and ccmnexions which they have secured y 
 and from the plans of conduct w^iich they have formed. 
 Alas 1 how deceitful do ail these dreams of happinet^s of- 
 ten prove ! While many are saying in secr^it to their 
 hearts, ** To-morrow shall be as this day, and more 
 abundantly,'' w^e are obliged in return to say to them; 
 ** Boast not yourselves of to-morrow ; for you know not 
 what a day may bring lorth !** 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SECTION L 
 
 • IH-««n3r«-i-n8,dl-i-n!Bh i-fis.lhe tyrant 
 
 of Sicily and enemy of Carthago 
 t Dem-O'cles, d&ni'-mi-kl<'>z, one of the 
 
 flatterers of Dionysius 
 « Bpo-cious, Bpi'-Bhfis, showy, plausibl* 
 d Com-pU-meiit, k6in'-pl&-in^nt, an act 
 
 of civihty, to flatter 
 
 • Bano-uet, bftnk'-kwgt, a feast, to fea: 
 / Bo-ta, s6'-fi, a splendid seat covered 
 
 with carpets 
 g Em-broi-der-y, *m-br6^/-d5r-4, va 
 
 regated needle work 
 k Paje, pije, a boy attending on a great 
 
 person, one grde of a leaf 
 Fra-g/ani, fri'-gr4nt, of «weet fnitlt 
 
 odorous 
 j Cbap-lct, tshAp'-l5t, a garland, or 
 
 wreath 
 /; Ex-tiui-site, £ks -kw6-z!t, excellent 
 
 consninniuto 
 Im-pend, iiii |i«nd', to bang over 
 I Vi-'nnd, vi'-und, food, meat drt.-ssed 
 n Gar-land, gLr'-lirid^ a wreath offlow- 
 
 e..s 
 ij Trcits nro, trSzh' ura. wealth hoarded, 
 
 to hoard 
 
 No rank or possessions can make the guilty mind happy. 
 
 \. injYONYSlUS.a the tyrant of Sicily, was (nr 
 3J from heing happy, thou^^h he possessed great 
 «lcnes, and all the pleasurt;s -which wealth and power 
 Could procure. Damocles,^ one of his flatterers, deceiv- 
 ed by those specious'^ appearances of happinese, took oc- 
 casion to compliment'' him on the extent of his power, 
 lite tveasureit and royal xaa^i£lc€(>ce i and declared that 
 
Chap. IB. WaRUATIVE PlE€Et« 46 
 
 no monarch had ever been greater or happier than Dkw 
 
 nysius. 
 
 £. "* Hast thou a mind, Damocles," says the king, •• ttt 
 taste this happiness ; and to know, by experience, what 
 the enjoyments are, of which thou hast so high an idea ]*• 
 J)amocles, with joy, accepted the offer The king order- 
 
 < d that a royal banquet' should be nrepared, and a eil- 
 ded sofa,/ covered with rich embroiaery»ir placed for nit 
 favourite. Side boards, loaded with gold and silver plate 
 
 cif immense value, were iirranjred in the apartment. 
 
 S. Pages'" of extraordinary beauty were ordered to at- 
 tend his table, and to obey his commands with the ut- 
 most readiness, and the most profound submission. Fra- 
 grant' ointments, chaplets./ o 111 owe rs, and rich perfumesj 
 were added to the entertainment. The table was loadea 
 with the most exquisite^ delicacies of every kind. Damo- 
 < les, intoxicated with pleasure, fai>cie4 him.self amongst 
 FuperioT beings. 
 
 4. Hut in the midst -of all this happiness, as he lay in- 
 dulging liimself in state, he sees let clown from the ceilinp, 
 exactly over his head, a glittering sword hung by a singit 
 Jiair. The sight of impendiii^' destruction put a speedy 
 r.nd to his joy and revelling. The pomp of his attenaance, 
 tne glitter' or the carved plate, and the dehcacy of the 
 > iands,« cease to afford him any pleasure. 
 
 5. lie dreads to stretch forth his hand to the table.— 
 He throws off the garland" of roses. He hastens to re- 
 move from his dangemus situation ; and earnestly en- 
 treats the king to restore him to hijt former humble con- 
 dition, having no <iesire to enjoy any longer a happinesi 
 so terrible. 
 
 6. By this device, Dionysius intimated to Damocles 
 Jiow miserable he was in the midst of all his treasures;* 
 and in possession of all the honours and enjoyment* 
 which royalty could bestow. cicero. 
 
 Jo-t^m, j6'-r&m, a king of Israel 
 
 ^ Ben-ha-dad, bSri-ha'-tJ4d, & king of 
 
 Syria 
 € I-dol-a-ter, 1 d6r-li-t5r, one who wor- 
 
 ehips iniajre>! 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 5- Tyr-aii-ny, l?r'-r4n-*, cruel govern* 
 
 ment 
 ^ In-dig-na-tion, ln-d!g-ni.'-«h8n, angei 
 
 mingled with disgust 
 7 Predict, pr^-dlkt', to foretell, forcehow 
 
 ^ l8-«ue, fsh'-tihii, to eome out, j»Toceed,ij Jc lio-a-haz, ji-lii'-4.-l)4z, a king ot 
 
 to send out j I^raeI. 
 
 ■4 Haz-a-ei, hiz'-4-21, one of the kingd A: Trnns-foim, tr&ns-fdrm', to ctangt 
 
 of Syria , 1 foroi, tobaciianged 
 
 /PwKpkWick, pfA^lt'-ttiA fcre«8«iBj^/fa iq-ui-ty, !o-!k' kvtii-tJ, wpMU90, 
 
 or forefC'Mit^ vnsdlie>dne€e, Qrua« 
 
49 English Ueadkr. Fart 1 
 
 Chftnf^e of external condUion is often adveT9s to virtue* 
 
 1. liT the (lays ofJoramrt kinji; of Israel, flourished the 
 prophet KUsha. His character was so enirnent, and his 
 fame s*o widely spread, that IJenhadad,'' thinking of Syr- 
 ia, thoujijh aii*idohiter,c sent to consult him, concernmg 
 the isHue«< of a distemper which threatened his life. The 
 inesscnt^er employed on this occasion was llazael,«who 
 appears to have f)een one of the princes, or chief men of 
 tne Syrian court. 
 
 2. Oharp;ed with rich*jr;ift"S from the king;, he presents 
 himself hefore the prophet; and accosts him in terms of 
 the hip;liest respect. During; the confwrence which they 
 held toj^ether, lilisha flxt^l his eyes stedfastly on the 
 conntei.ance of ll.jzncl ; and discerniri};, l.»y a prophetic/ 
 spirit, liis future tyranny;/" and cruelty, he could not con- 
 tain himself from hurstuip;iiito a flood of tears. 
 
 8. VVhc.n lla/»u'l, in surprise, innuired into the cause of 
 this sudden emotion, the prophet plainly informed him of 
 the crimes and barl)arities, which he foresaw that he would 
 afterwards commit. Tlie soul of llazael ahhorrcid, at this 
 time, thoupjhts of cruelty. IJncorrupted, as yet, by am- 
 bition or greatness, hisindignationA rose at bemg thought 
 capable of the savage actions which the pro])het had 
 mentioned ; and with nuich warmth he replies ; ** But 
 ivhat / is thy servant a dog, that he should uo this great 
 thing ?" 
 
 4. lOlisha makes no return, but to point out a remark- 
 able chinige, whien was to take ])lace in his condition 
 •*The Lord hath shown me, that thou shalt be king over 
 Syria.'* In coufse of time, all that had been predic- 
 ted* came to pass, llii'/ael ascended the throne, and am- 
 bition took possession of his heart. *' JI<^ smote the chil- 
 dren of Israel in all their coasts. He oppressed them du- 
 ring all the days of king Jehoahaz> :'* and, from what is 
 left on record of his actions, he plainly appears to have 
 proved, what the prophet foresaw him to oe, a man of 
 ▼iolence, cruelty, and blood. 
 
 5. In this ]>assage of history an object is presented, 
 which des-erves our serious attention. We behold a man 
 who, in one state of life, could not look upon certain 
 crimes without surprise and horror ; who knew so little oC 
 ^intself, as to believe it impossible for him ever to be con- 
 cerned in com;nitting them ; that same man, by a change 
 of<x>rKlitJou, and an unguardcwd state of miod, transform- 
 
Chap, t. Narrative Piecbs. 4T 
 
 ed* in all his -erntinientj* ; and hs he roeo In CTcatness, rw 
 in{5 also in Euilt ; till at last lie conmlctcd that Vfhoi^ 
 cJiaracter of iniquity/ which he once detested. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 a A-h«i«-o-«-rux, i-hAzh-u-i'-rJm, kitigj Ex tcr ml nato, *ki-t*r'-m*n4to, to 
 
 of IVTHia I (Jrslroy 
 
 h Ar-m .xcrx-('8, fcrtA-rirkn'*/., k'wg k Do-cu-'O, d*-kr^^', an wlirt, a inw 
 
 ~ Y.^iu, lio Mucctjjudud Ins fullivr / I:5ut>-inis Dion, »{\b-mliih''&n, rmifn*- 
 
 X«rxi!d 
 c Ila-mdii, liA-mAn, a tniniiiter uf tho 
 
 Pornian court 
 d S(ir-vil«', i»«*r' v!l, vlaviKh, m<uin 
 t Il(>iii-ri{;u, h6iir-Aj(», norvico, rcqtrrt 
 / i'roH-iralo, pr6u'-irAl«', lo full down 
 
 ill ndorntioii, lyinx ut len<;th 
 g^ Ad-u iu-lioii, Ad "j/i-Wi'-flifiii, tlnllory 
 A Mor-di) cai, iiidr' <l*-k.\, a cuicLiiiled 
 
 Jow 
 i Rov-or-rnco, r£v'-^r-iiue, vonoratiun, 
 
 to vunuikio 
 
 tioii, obudietico :^ 
 
 in Ut-inorit, fii'-in6iit, oxtrome, tho nfUH 
 
 that run lio 
 n Tri-iiinph, til'-ftinf, pomp or joj for 
 
 vl<'tory. to exult 
 o A{,'-<»-iiy, A^'-6 ni^, nnpuinh, mhttf 
 p Zu-roidi, •/.k'-t^hU, tho wilu (ifllainoa 
 y Pro iuii-hr»', pri' Am-lil, intruductioB ^•';.'|: 
 r Su «|U(>I, t^'-tjwJII, Hucccedingnort 
 M Troiin, pr6no, inclinod to, bondlnf 
 '||j06v\*nward 
 
 Hainan ; or, the misery of pride, 
 
 1. AiiASUKKUS," who is sijpposea to he the princo 
 known anions th<; Greek historiaps hy the name of Ar- 
 taxeixt'S,* had advanct^d to the r.hief aij:;nity in his king- 
 dom, llanian/ an Amalekite, who inherited all the an- 
 cient (Muuity of his race to the Jewish nation, lie ap- 
 pears, fnnu'wiiat is recorded of him, to have heen a verjr 
 wickr'd minister. Jiaised lo j^reatness without merit, ho 
 employed his power solely for the grutification of his 
 passions. 
 
 2. As the honours which he possessed were next to 
 royal, his nride was every day fed with that servile'^ horn- 
 aj^e,* whieli is peculiar to Asiatic courts ; and all the ser- 
 vants of the kinj^ prostrated/ themselves before him. In 
 the midst of this p;eneral adulation^ one person onjy 
 stooped not to llaman. 
 
 8. This was Mordecai* the Jew; who, knowing thii 
 Amalekite to be an enemy to the people of God, and 
 with virtuous indignation, despising that insolence ol 
 prosperity with which he saw him lifted up, *' bowed not, 
 nor did him reverence.'" On this appearance of disre- 
 spect from Mordecai, ILiman ** was full of wrath : but hti 
 tnought scorn to lay hantls on Mordecai alone.*' 
 
 4. Personal revenge was not sufficient to satisfy hus. 
 t3o violent and black ivere hib passions, that he r«aolf«<i 
 
45 09CHLi8a BjupBAf Fmt \ 
 
 l» cxtwiijh\at«/ the whole nation tjo which Mordecai b©» 
 
 lonced. Abuljing, for his cruel purpose, the farour of hit 
 credulous sovereign, he obtained adecree* to be sent forth, 
 tliat, against a certain day, all the Jews throughout th« 
 Persian dominions should be, put to the sword. 
 
 5. Meanwhile, confident of success, and blind to ap- 
 proaching ruin, he continued exulting in his prosperity. 
 Invited by Ahasuerus to a royal banquet, which Esther 
 the queen had preparecl, ** he went forth that day joyful, 
 and with a glad heart." But behold how slij^ht an inci- 
 dent was sufficient to poison his joy 1 As he went forth, he 
 saw Mordecai in tne kings's gate ; and observed, that he 
 «rill refused to »' . him homage : ** He stood not up, nor 
 was moved for aim ;" although he well knew the tormi- 
 dable designs, which Haman was preparing to execute. 
 
 6. One private man, who despised his greatness, and 
 disdained submission,' while a whole kingdom trembled 
 before him ; one spirit, which the utmost"* stretch of his 
 power could neither subdue nor humble, blasted his tri- 
 umphs.'* His whole soul was shaken with a storm of pas- 
 sion. Wraths pride, aud desire of revenge, rose into fury. 
 
 7. With dilhculty he restrained himself in public ; but 
 as soon as he came to his own house, he was forced to 
 disclose the a^ony* of his mind. He gathe,^d together 
 his friends ana family, with Ztreslv^ his wife. ** lie told 
 them of the glory ol his riches, and the multitude of hia 
 children, and of all the things wherein the king had pro- 
 moted him ; and how he had idvanced him above thft 
 princes and servants of the king. 
 
 8. He said, moreover, Yea, Esther the quecn suffered no 
 man to come in with the king, to the hanouet that she had 
 prepared, but m}^self ; and to-morrow also am I invited 
 to her -with the kmg." After all this preamble,-? what is 
 the conclusion ?• **Yet all this availetfi mc notMng, so 
 long a« I see Mordecai the Jew sitting it the king's gate." 
 
 9. The sequjKl'- of Haman's history I shall not now pur- 
 sue. It might afford matter for much instruction, by the 
 conspicuous justice of God in his fall and punishment. 
 But contemplating only the singular situation, in which 
 the expressions just quoted present him, and tlie violent 
 agitation of his mind which they display, the following 
 reflections naturally arise : 
 
 10. How miserable is vice, when one guilty passioil 
 creates so much torment ! how unavailing is prosperrtv 
 wt^o in the height of it, a 5ingie ^diBappomtment can da» 
 
€7ktj». C 
 
 ItARRATiTis Pieces. 
 
 49 
 
 utroy the relish of all its pleasures ! how weak ts human 
 ■nature, which in the absence of real^ is thus prone* to 
 form to itself imaginary woes ! blaia. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 a Afi-plre, i»-plrc% to deeire wiUi eager- 
 ness 
 Modern, m5d'-dflrn, late notancieni 
 Il«j^er-A«-cliani, rij'-jfir-ia'-kini, tu- 
 tor to Queen Elizabeth 
 
 i Re-(iJ«ie, r^-pl^tc', quite full 
 
 s Lit-ci--a-ture» flf-lir-jA-t6re, learning, 
 skill 
 
 / Prer-€r-a-ble, prAr-fir-l-U, eligible, 
 better 
 
 g' En-ter-pri«e, *n'-tir-prlze, a hazar- 
 douR utidertakiiig 
 
 h Re-Jin-quinh, r^-rtng'-kwlsli, to for- 
 sake, leave, release 
 
 t Ten-der, tSn'-diV, to ofTer, soft 
 
 j Zeal, zile, ardour ibr any person or 
 
 cause 
 For-ti-tudo, f5r'-ti-t6dc, «ouraf«, 
 
 bravery 
 Fu-lic-i-iy, ft-iia'-i-ti, happincH, 
 |>!fa?ure 
 m 6caf-fo!d, 6k4r'-ffild, a slight frame 
 Con-8tau-cy, k6o'-st5n-B*, resolu- 
 tion 
 Oflence, if-finse', crime, injury 
 p In-fringe-ment, In-rr!nju'-iii£al,brea«b, 
 
 violation 
 7 Con-Ptrain, k6n-6trinc', to eotnpel 
 r A-tone, A-tine', to answer for 
 .* Fil-ial, tir-y4l, pertaining to a son 
 t Tend, tfind, to watch, to move te 
 wards 
 
 Lady Jone Gray. 
 
 1. This excellent personage was descended from th« 
 royal line of FjigljincI by bolfi her parents. 
 
 »She was carefully educated in the principles of the re- 
 formation ; and her wisdom and virtue rendered her a 
 shining example to her sex. I$ut it was her lot to con- 
 tinue only a short period on this stage of being ; for, in 
 Ctirly life, she fell a sacrifice to the w«ild ambition of the 
 duke of Northumberland, who promoted a marriage bc- 
 tiFcen her and his son, lord Guilford Dudley ; and raised 
 her to the throne of England, in opposition to the rights 
 of Mary and Elizabeth. 
 
 2. At the time of their marriage she was only about 
 eighteen years of age, and her husband was also very 
 young : a season of life very unequal to oppose the inter- 
 ested views of artful and aspiring- men ; who instead of 
 exposing them to danger, should have been the protec- 
 tors of their innocence and j'outh. 
 
 5. This extraordinary young person, besides the solid 
 endowments of piety and virtue, possessed the most en 
 gaging disposition, the most accomplished parts ; and be- 
 in^ of an equal age with king Etiward VI. she had re- 
 ceived all her education with him, and seemed even to 
 I)ossess a greater facility in acquiring every part of man-' 
 y and classical literature. 
 
 4. She had attained a knowledge of the Roman and 
 Grtek laiiguages, aswt^J as of sereral modern^ UmQ^nfft 
 
10 English Reader. Part h^ 
 
 had passed most of her time in an application to learning ; 
 and expressed a great indifference lor other occupations 
 and amusements usual with her sex and station. 
 
 5. Roger Aseham/ tutor to the lady Elizabeth, having 
 at onetime paid her a visit, found her employed in read- 
 ing Plato, wliile the rest of the family were en^a^ed in a 
 party of hunting in the park ; and upon his admiring the 
 singularity of her choice, she told htm that she *' receiv- 
 <*d more pleasure from that author, than others could reap 
 from all their spurt and gaiety." 
 
 fi. Her heart, rqiletc^ Avitii this love of literature* and 
 serious studies, andwith tenderness towards her husband, 
 who was deserving of her affection, had never opened it- 
 self to the flattering allurements of ambition ; and the in- 
 formation of her advancement to the throne was by no 
 means agreeabh^. to her. She even refused to accept the 
 crown ; pleaded the preferabla^ right of the two prin- 
 cesses ; expressed her dread of the consequences attend- 
 ing an enterprize^ so dangerous, not to say so criminal ; 
 and desired to remain in that private station in which she 
 was born. 
 
 7. Overcome at last with the entreaties, rather than 
 reasons, of her father, and father-in-law, and above all, 
 of her husband, she submitted to their will, and was pre- 
 vailed on to relinquish^ her own judgment. Rut her 
 elevation was of very short continuance. The nation de- 
 clared for queen Mary ; and the lady Jane, after wearing 
 the vain pageantry of a crown during ten clays, returned 
 to a private life, with much more satisfaction than she 
 fell when royalty was tendered* to her. 
 
 6. Queen IVIary, who appears to have been incapable of 
 generosity or clemency, determined to remove every per- 
 f»on, from whom the least danger could be apprehenaed. 
 Warning was., therefore given to lady Jane to prepare for 
 death ; a doom which she had expected, and which the 
 innocence of her life, as well as the misfortunes to which: 
 «he had been exposed, rendered no unwelcome news to 
 her. 
 
 9, The queen's bigoted zeal,^ under colour of tender 
 mercy to the prisoner's soul, induced her to send priests, 
 who molestea her with perpetual disputation ; and even 
 a reprieve of three days wa« granted her, in hopes that 
 she would b^ persuaded, dunng that time, to pay, by a 
 timely conversion to poperv^ sojiie regard to her etcrnaJ 
 ^rclfftfc. 
 
Chap. t. NARRATxrE Piicf.8. si 
 
 10. Lndy Jane had presence of mind, in those Tnc!^n 
 cholv circumstances, not only to clefi'nd her relip;ion by 
 soliu argument, but also to "^Tiite a letter to her sister, in 
 the Greek language ; in 'which, besides sending lur a co- 
 py of the Scriptures in that tongue, she exhorted her tv 
 maintain, in every fortune, a like steady perseverance. 
 
 11. On the day of her execution, htr husband, lord 
 Guilford, desired permission to see hvv ; but she refused 
 her consent, and sent him "vvord, that the tenderness of 
 their parting would overcome the fortitude* of both ; and 
 would toomucli unbend their minds from that constancy, 
 which their approaching end required of them. Their 
 separation, she said, would be only for a moment ; and 
 they would soon rejoin each other m a scene, where their 
 affections would be' forever united ; and where death, dr«w 
 appointment, and misfortune, cou'd no longer have access 
 to them, or disturb their eternal feFhcity.^ 
 
 1^. It had been intended to execute the lady Jane and 
 lord Guilford together on the same scaffold,"* at Tower 
 hill ; but their council, dreadmg th(; compassion of the 
 people for their youth, beauty, innocence, and noble 
 nirtn, changed their orders, an^ gave directions that she 
 should be beheaded within the verge of the 'Jower. 
 
 13. She saw her husband led to execution ; and hav- 
 ing given him from tlie window some token of her remem- 
 brance, she waited with tranf^uillity till her own appointed 
 hour should brinj^: her to a like fiite. She even saw his 
 headhjss body carried back in a cart ; and found herself 
 more conlhmed by the reports which she heard of the 
 constancy" of his end, than shaken by so tender and me- 
 lancholy a spectacle. 
 
 14. Sir John Gage, constable of the tower, whtn he 
 led her to execution, desired her to bestoW' on him some 
 small present, which he might keep as a memorial of her. 
 She i^avehim her table book, in which she had just writ- 
 ten tnree sentences on seeing her husband's dead body; 
 one in Greek, another in Latin, and a third in English. 
 
 15. The purport of them was, "that human justice 
 was ajrainst his'body, but the Divine IMercy would' be fa- 
 vourable to his soul ; and that if her fault 'deserved pun- 
 ishment, her youth, atleast, and her imprudence, were wor- 
 thy of excuse; and that God and posterity-, she trusted, 
 would show her favour." On the *.caflbid, iilie made a 
 Mieech to the bystanders, in wiiich the mildness of her 
 disposition led her to take the blame trttirely on herself. 
 
5t English Keader. Fart t 
 
 without uttering one complaint against the severity with 
 which she liad neen treated. . 
 
 16. She said, that her offence" was, not that she had 
 laid her hand upon the crown, hut that she had not re- 
 jected it with suiRcient constancy ; that she had less er- 
 red through ambition than through reverence to her pa- 
 rents, whom she had lit^en taught to respect and obey : 
 that she willingly received death, as the only satisfaction 
 which she could now make to the injured state ; and 
 tliough her infringement^ of the lawsiiad been constrain- 
 ed,? she would show, by her voluntary submission to their 
 sentence, that she was desirous to atone- for that disobe- 
 dience, into which too much filial* piety had betrayed 
 her : that she had justly deserved this punishment for'be- 
 ing made the instrument, though the unwilling instru- 
 ment, of the ambition of others : and that the story of 
 her life, she hoped, might at least be useful, by proving 
 tliat innocence excuses not great misdeeds, if they ten(P 
 any way to the destruction of the commonwealth. 
 
 17. After uttering these words, she caused herself to 
 be disrobed by her women, and with a steady serene 
 countenance, submitted herself to the executioner. 
 
 HUME. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 « Or-to grul, 6r'- tA-grfil, 
 
 h Viz-ier, viz'-yire, prime minister of 
 the Turkish empire 
 
 e Di-van, di-vin', council of the ori- 
 ental princes, a hall 
 
 d Cyg-net, slg'-n^t, a young swan 
 
 e Man-date, ni4n'-d4te, a command, o 
 precept , 
 
 / Veo-er-a-tion, v^n-ir-i'-shSn, awful 
 
 Ortogrul ; or^ the vanity of riches. 
 1. As Ortogrul* of Basra was one day wandering 
 along the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of 
 merchandise which the shops opened to his view ; and 
 observing the different occupations which busied the mul- 
 titude on e\yvy side, he was awakened from the tranquil- 
 lity of meditation, by a crowd that obstructed his pan 
 sage. He raised his eyes, and saw the chief vizier* whet 
 having returned from the divan,*- was entering his palace. 
 ; a. Ortogrul mingled with the attendants; and heiojf 
 mpp09ed to have aome petition for the ^zier, wz» joer 
 
 respect 
 
 cr De-iiii-er-ate, d^-flb'-Si iite, to think 
 in order to chose 
 
 k Riv-u-let, r!v'-6-lgt, a« brook, a 
 streamlet 
 
 i Fiction, t!k'-Khfm, tlic act of feign- 
 ing, a falsehood 
 A-niass, 4 -mAs', to heap up 
 
Qhap. t. Na&rativ£ Piecxs. 99 
 
 mitted to enter. He surveyed the gpaciousneo* uf tht; 
 apartments^ admired the walls hung witii gulden tapestry, 
 and the floors covered with silken carpets ; and despised 
 tlie simple neatness of his own little habitation. 
 
 3. *' Surely," said he to himself, '* this palace is the 
 seat of happmess : where pleasure, succeeds to pleasure, 
 and discontent and sorrow can have no admission. — 
 Whatever nature has provided for the delight of sense, is 
 here spread forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope 
 or imagine, which the master of this palace has not ob- 
 taitievl i The aishes of luxury cover liis table ! the voice 
 of harmony lulls him in his bowers ; he breathes the fra- 
 grance of tiie grovcr of J;;Ya, and sleeps upon the down 
 of the cygnets'^ of Ganges. 
 
 4. " lie s|)eakH, and his mandate* is obeyed ; he wish- 
 es, and his v isii is gratified ; all, whom he Sf.es, obey 
 him, and all, wliom he ht-nri', ilattcr him. How diilerent. 
 Oh OrlogruJ, is thy condition, who art doomed to the 
 perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire : an<i who hast 
 no amusement in thv pov/er, that can withhold thee from 
 thy own reilecticnis ! 
 
 5. " They tell thee that thou art wise ; but what does 
 wisdom avail v\ith poverty : None will flatter the poor ; 
 and the wise have very little power of flattering tjiem- 
 selves. That man is surelv the most wretched of th 
 sons of wretchedness, who Fives with his own faults and 
 follies always Iw^fore him ; and who has none to recon- 
 cile him to himself by nrnise and veneration^/" 1 have 
 long sought content, and have not tbund it; I will from 
 this moment endeavour to be rich." 
 
 6. Full of his new resolution, he shut himself in his 
 chamber for six month to deliberate*: how he should grow 
 rich. He sometimes purposed to oiler himself as a coun- 
 sellor to one of the kings of lii^'.ia ; and sometimes re- 
 solved to dig for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. 
 
 7. One day, after some hours passed In violent fluctua- 
 tions of oj>inion, sleep insensibly seized him in his chair. 
 He dreamed, that he was rangmg a desert country, in 
 search of some ore that mi^d^t tench him to grow rich ; 
 aj*d .tshe .stood on the top of a hill, shaded with cy})ress, 
 in do«il»t whither to direct iiis steps, his father appeared 
 on a sudden slanding before him. '* Ortogrul,*' said the 
 old man, " I know thy perplexity; listen to thy father; 
 turn thine eye on the opposite mountain." 
 
 ft. Ortogrul looked, and s^iw a torrent tumbling dcwa 
 If 9. 
 
M EyohiEH XtKADER. Part 1. 
 
 the rocks, roaHng with the noise of tliunder, and scat- 
 tering its foam on thfi inipendinj^ woods. *' Now,'* said 
 his father, "'■ behold the valley tli^it lies between the hills." 
 Ortojcrul looked, and espied a little well, out of whii-ii 
 issiied a small rivulet. " Tell me now," said his father*. 
 *•" df»st thou Avish for sudden afiluence, that may pour up- 
 on thee like the mountain torrent ; or for a slow and j^rad- 
 ual increase, reseirsbiiuj; the rill glidinj^ from the well ?" 
 
 9. " Let me be ({uickly rich," said Orto^rul ; '' let the 
 golden stream be quick and violent." *" Look round 
 thee," said his father, *' once again." Ortogrul looked 
 aiid perceived the channel of the torrent dry and dusty; 
 but following tlie rivulet/' from the v/ell, he traced it to a 
 wide lake, *which the supply, sIoav and constant, kept al- 
 ways full. He awoke, and determined to grow rich oy si- 
 lent profit, and persevering industry. 
 
 10. Having soki his patrimony, he engaged in mer- 
 chandize ; and in twenty years purchased lands, on which 
 he raised a house, equal, in sumptuousness to that of the 
 vizier, to which he invited all the ministers of pleasure, 
 t^xnecting to enjoy all the filicity which he had imagined 
 ritMies abie to af!ord. Leisure soon made him weary of 
 himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great 
 and happy. Me was courteous and liberal : he gave all 
 that approached him hopes of pleasing him, and all who- 
 should please hhn, hopes of bein«; rewarded. Ever}- art 
 
 • of praise was tried, and ever^^source of adulatory fiction* 
 was exhausted. 
 
 n. Ortognd heard his flatterers without delight, be- 
 cause he found liimself unable to believe them. Mis own 
 heart told him its frailties; his own understanding^ re- 
 proached hijn with faults. " How long," said he, with a 
 deep sigh, " have 1 been labouring in vain to amass 
 wealth, which at last is useless ! Let no man hereafteit' 
 wish to b^ -ich, who is already too wise to be flattered." 
 
 Dli. JOHxNSOPf. 
 
 SECTION VL 
 
 a Fo-li-JUje, f^'-li-ndje, leaves, tufu of 
 leaves 
 
 b Ro-u>iin-t.ick, rA-iriir/-l!k, wild, im- 
 probable 
 
 e Frag-met>t, frig'-mSnt, a broken 
 piece 
 
 d Sooth, nftith, to flatter, ploaso 
 
 irrej,'ul!ir thought 
 / In snire. Id ^plie", fo brcalh into, to 
 
 infiisH into the mind, to impress oa 
 
 the fancy 
 g' As ton-ish-mcnt, 6B-t6n'-!Bh-raSnt, ox, 
 
 trome surprise 
 A Ad-rai-ra-tion, 4d-mi-ri'-«hfiQ| Vfittr 
 
€haj%. t. 
 
 l^AflllATITK riECES 
 
 i War-ble, wi/-bl, to quaver, r 80und(c Rfvtard, ri-iftjif , to bkxiw 
 
 j Preo-i-pice, prfes'-si-pw, a headlongu/ Tor-pe-do, t(Sr-p6'-dA, a fish whaaf ^ 
 
 ,tcpp touch benumbs 
 
 k De-vi-ous, d4'-vi-iis, erring, going a- « Lan-gnor, ling-gw&r, a faiiUD^w, la*- 
 
 stray siturio 
 
 I Ex-cur-sion, eks-kBr'-slifln, an expc- / Tinge, tluje, to impregnate, lo t*^ 
 
 bue 
 0-bliv-i-on, A-bl!v'-4-fin, forgetful 
 
 ness, amnesty 
 h Sei-ence, sl'-enee, knowledge, eK 
 
 nitaincd by precepts, or bailt oa 
 
 principles 
 En clmnt-mcnt, 2n-tghAnt'-m8nt, mag 
 
 ical charms 
 J Un-re-mit-ted, fin-ri-Tn!t'-lW, imt 
 
 wearied 
 Ex-hil-a-ra-ting, £gz-hU'-&-rti-l1n|s 
 
 making cheerful 
 I Ever-green, Av'-fir-gr^^n, a plant t«*- 
 
 dunt through tl>e year 
 m Kf ful-gence, fef-ffil'-j^n**, KmUo^ 
 
 »!plendonr 
 n Ar-dour, ir'-dJir, heat of afieclioa, m 
 
 love, desire, courage 
 I)i-vino, d<^-vlno', partaking of tbm 
 
 nature oi' Cod 
 p Te-nign, bi-nlne', kind, liberal 
 y Ra dj-ance, r4'-jc:-4nKO, cporkUnf 
 
 lustre 
 r Sage, skJQ, % philosopher, leArncd is 
 
 philosophy 
 s Ilcr-mit, h£r'-in!t, a r«clufO, a tohtMif 
 
 monk 
 ( Em-i-nence, im'-i-n^nM, height, eft> 
 
 lebrity 
 
 diiion 
 ia Pur-ti-al-i-ty, pir-shi-il'-i-ti, une 
 
 qua! judgmci't 
 n Ec con-irick, ek-s?n'-tr?k, deviating 
 
 fiom th(! centre 
 
 l>e-nde, dA-rlde', to meek, ridicule 
 l> Toii-somc, ifill'-sflm, laborious, fa- 
 tiguing 
 
 q Im-por-tu-ni-ty, !m-pdr-t6'-ni-ti, in- 
 cessant solicitation 
 
 r Coni-ply, k6m-pll', to yield to, agree 
 
 t A»-por-i-ty, 4s-per'-6-t^, uncveuiiess, 
 roughness 
 
 1 Hugged, rug'-gid, rough, stormy, 
 
 ru<lc 
 u Whole-some, h4Ie'-s5ra, sound, sal 
 
 ntary 
 V Rc-lrish, r6-fr?ah', to relieve after 
 
 pain 
 w Ob-siruc-tion, 6b-struk'-shBn, Jiin 
 
 drunce, obstacle 
 » En-tice, ^ji-ilse', to allure, attract 
 y lu-nu-uier-a-blo, Innii'-mZir-A-bl, noi 
 
 •o be counted 
 z For-ni'-dii-bio, fdr'-mi-di-bl, terrible 
 
 ilreadful 
 a Im-per-ccp-ti b!y, !m-p?r-p?p'-t^-bli 
 
 in a manner not to bo perceived 
 h llos-tii-i-ty, h6s-ili'-i-ti^ open war 
 
 enmity 1 
 
 Jilt hill of science. 
 
 In that season of the year, Avhen the serenity of th« 
 sky, the various fruits Avhich cover the ground, the di%r 
 colourpd foliaj^e" of the trees, and all the sweet, but fa- 
 dhii: }i;races of inspiring}: autumn, open the mind to benev- 
 olence, and dispose it for contemplation, I was wandering 
 in a beautiful and romantic^ country, till curiosity began 
 to give way to weariness ; and 1 sat down on tlie frag- 
 ment'' of a rock overj^rpwn with moss ; where the rust- 
 hng of the tiiilin}.^ leaves, the dashing of w^aters, and th« 
 hu.ii of tne distant city, soothed*^ m}/- mind into a most 
 perfect tranquillity ; and sleep insensibly stole upon me, 
 as I was indulj:injg the aji^reeaole reveries,/ which the ob- 
 jects around me naturally inspired/. 
 
 2. 1 immediately found myself m a vast extended plaiiw 
 tn the middle of which arose a laountaio higher tnAO I 
 
ExfOLiSH Kbadca. Iktri JU - 
 
 kad befbre any conception of. It was covered with a xnul** 
 titude of people, chiefly youth ; many ol whom pressed 
 lorward with the liveliest expression of ardour m their 
 countenance, though the way was in many places steep 
 and difficult. 
 
 S. i observed, that those, who had but |ust began to 
 climb the hill, thought themselves not far from the top ; 
 but as they proceeded, new hills were continually risine 
 to their view ; and the summit of the highest they coula 
 before discern seemed but the foot of another, till the 
 mountain at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. 
 As 1 was gazing on these things with astonishmenUr, a 
 friendly instructer suddenly appeared ; '* the mountain 
 before thee," said he, ** is the iiill of Science. On the 
 top is the Temple of Truth, whose head is above the 
 clouds, and a vale of pure light covers her face. Observe 
 the progress of her votaries ; be silent and attentive." 
 
 4. After 1 had noticed a variety of objects, I turned 
 my eye towards the multitudes who were climbing the 
 steep ascent ; and observed among them a youth of a live 
 ly look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and irregular 
 in all his motion. Ills name was Genius. He darted like 
 an eagle up the mountain ; and left his companions ga* 
 zing after him with envy and admiration :a but his pro- 
 gress was unequal, and mterrupted by a thousand capri- 
 ces. When pleasure warbled^ in the valley, he mingled 
 in her train. 
 
 5. When Pride beckoned towards the precipice,^ he 
 ventured to the tottering edge. He delighted, in devious* 
 and untried paths ; and made so many excursions' from 
 the road that his feebler companions often outstripped 
 him. I observed that the muses beheld him with par- 
 tiality :* but Truth often frowned and turned aside her 
 face. 
 
 C. While Genius was thus wasting his strength in ec- 
 eentric flights, I saw a person of very different appear* 
 ance, named Application, He crept along with a slow 
 and unremitting pace, his eyes fixed on ttie top of the 
 mountain, patiently removingevery stone that obstructed 
 his way, till he saw most of those below him, who had 
 lit first derided" his slow and toilsome? progress. 
 
 7. Indeed, there were few who ascended the hill with 
 equal, and uninterrupted steadiness ; for besides the dif«- 
 .iiculties of the way, they were continually solicited to 
 'tMra a«idft by a numerous crowd of appetitea, pai a i i>n % 
 
CkcBp. «. Narrative Pif.cks. ^7 
 
 and pleasures, whose importunity,* when once conipliedr 
 with, they hecame less and less able to resist: and though 
 they often returned to the path, the asperities' of the road 
 were more severely felt; the hill appeared more «teep 
 and rugged;' the fruits, -which ^vere wholesome" and re- 
 freshing," seemed harbh and ill tasted ; their sight grew 
 dim ; and their feet trii:»t at every httle obstruction."' 
 
 8. 1 saw, wjlii ion.e surprise, tJiat themuses, whose bu- 
 siness was to cheer and . hcourage those who weretoilinj; 
 up the ascent, woiua often sing in the bowers of pleasure, 
 and accompany tlia^e wIjo were enticed-*-' away at the call 
 of the passions. T'sey accompanied them, however, but 
 a little wa}^ ; and always fursook them when they lost 
 sight of the hill 1 he tyrants then doubled their chains 
 upon the unhappy r ptives ; and led them away, without 
 resistance, to the cells of Ignorance, or the mansions of 
 misery. ^ 
 
 9. Amongst the innumerable'/ seducers, who were en- 
 deavourinjj to draw away the votaries of Truth from the 
 path of science, there was one, so little formidable^ in her 
 appearance, and so gentle and languid in her attempts, 
 tnat I should scarcely have taken notice of her, but for 
 the numbers she had imperceptibly loaded with her 
 chains. 
 
 10. Indolence, (for so she was called,) far from pro- 
 reeding to open hostilities,'' did not attempt to turn their 
 feet out of the path, but contented herself with retard- 
 ing* their progress ; and the purpose she could not force 
 them to abandon, she persuaded them to delay. Her 
 touch had a power like that of the torpedo,** which with- 
 -ered tlie strength of those who came within its influence. 
 Her unhappy captives still turned their faces towards the 
 temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; but the grour d 
 seemed to slide (lom beneath their feet, and they fountl 
 themselves at the bottom, before they suspected they had 
 changed their place. 
 
 11. The placid serenity, which at first appeared to 
 their countenance, changed by degrees into a melanchol 
 }y langour,' which was tinged/ with deeper and deeper 
 gloom, as they glided down the stream of Insignificance; 
 a dark and sluggish water, which is curled by no breeze, 
 and enlivened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, 
 where startled passengers are awake/ied by the shock» 
 and tlie next moment buried in the gulf of obhvion.^ 
 
 1£. Of all tiie unhappy deserters from the paths of 
 
<3tg K.VOl^SU tlKiOKR. /%»-/ 1.^ 
 
 Science/ «0!>e seemed U*s« r.hlc to return th?vn the follow- 
 ers oi* indolence. The captives of ajipetite and pasnion. 
 would often seize the. moment >vhen thenr tyrants -were' 
 languid or asleep, to escape from their enchantment;' but 
 the dominion of Indolence was constant and unremit- 
 ted ;> and seldom resisted^ till resistance was in vain. 
 
 13. After contemphitij; these thinjj^s, I turned my eyea 
 towards the top of the ni<)untain, where the air Avas al- 
 ways pure and exhiKiratin^;:/- the piitli shaded with laurel* 
 and ever^^reens,' and the effulgence** which beamed from-, 
 the face of Science seeme<4 to shed a j^lory round her vo-. 
 taries. Happy, said i, are they who are permitted to as- 
 cend the nn)untaJn ! Kut while 1 was pronouncing thiif 
 exclamation, with uncommon ardour," I saw, standing 
 beside me a forin of diviner"- features^ and a more be- 
 n'l^ny radiance.-/ 
 
 14. " Happier," said she, ** are they whom Virtue 
 conducts to the Mansions of Content!" *-* Wrtat," saidl^ 
 •* does Virtue then reside in tiie vale ?" " I am foimd,*'' 
 said she, " in the vale, audi illuminate the mountain^ 
 I cheer the cottaji;er at his toil, and itippire the sa<2;e'- at 
 his meditation. 1 mingle in the crowd of cities, and 
 bless the hermit' in his cell. 1 have a temple in every 
 heart that owns my iniluence ; and to him that wishe* 
 fo^* me,l am already present. Science may raise thee 
 to eminence :' but I alone can guide thee to felicity !" 
 
 15. While Virtue was thus sneaking, 1 stretched out 
 my arms towards her, Avith a veiiemence which broke my 
 slumber. The chill dews were falling around me, and 
 the siiades of evening stretched over the landscape. 1 
 hastened homeward ; and resigned the night to silence 
 and meditation. - aiken. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 a O-bi-dah, i-bl'-«1ft, 
 
 b Ah-en-si-na, ab-b^n-si'-nA, 
 
 c Cnr-a-van-se-ru, kAr-i-vAn'-K^-rii, a 
 
 house built for tlie reception of trn- 
 
 vellcrs 
 d Vig-or-oui, vl^'-fir-fijj forcible, 
 
 stroiifr 
 t Tn-cile, !n-sltft', fo stir up, animate 
 / Par-a-dise, p4r'-ri-(Jis«, a place of 
 
 folicity 
 g Merid-inn, m^-r!d'-i-AT, tlie line 
 
 vhich tht ifuii crutises a; nuon> thu 
 
 bighest point of power or glory 
 
 h Coni-mo-rii-uus, kcSni-nii'-j^ as, or 
 k6m-nit>'-(li^s, convenictit, useful 
 VtT-durc, vfr'-j6re, grp*;n colour 
 
 j Ir-re-sia-ti-bly, ir-ri'/.!s^-t*-ble, in ft 
 drjTree superiourto opposition 
 
 k Rc-inis sion, re-inlsh'-fin, abatement, 
 pardon 
 
 I Wc-itt) (ier, m6-St)'-d?ir, jnazc, laby- 
 rinth, to run winding 
 
 in SuB-pRct, sas-pckt', to imagine Mhtd 
 hi iM>t kuown 
 
Vkap, %. 
 
 Narrative I'iecics. 
 
 K Di*vert, di-T&rt', to turn asid«, to 
 
 plea»e 
 • Ech-o, Sk'-k4, repcrcuBsion of any 
 
 Kound, to pound back 
 p Cas-cade, kis-kide', a cataract, wa- 
 
 ter-faJI 
 q Cir-cum-vo-iu-tion, s?r-k6m-vA-16'- 
 
 sli'iH, ihe act of rolling 
 r lioi-ter, 16t^'-tftr, to linger 
 s To'-ffciit, idr'-r^nt, violent and rapid 
 
 stream 
 t Ta-per, ti'-pflr, a wax candle, conical, 
 
 to lessen 
 « Wil-dcr-ness, wll'-dfir-nSs, adesort 
 V Oc-cur-r«nce, 6k-kBr'-r^nse, incident, 
 
 atcidental event 
 10 Fer-vour, f^r'-vfn-, warmth, zeal 
 % Vig-il-ance, v1d'-jll-4nse, waichful- 
 
 ij Purpose, p&r'-p{t», iot«otioB, to i»- 
 
 lolve 
 
 I Sol-ace, s6r-lfts, comfort, to cheer 
 a Ad-e-quuie, id'-i-kwiu*, priipoftio*- 
 
 ate 
 b Iin mcrjje, !m-niSrjo', to put mulM 
 
 waijjr 
 Luxury. I'k'-ehA-r*, volnptnoo#«««i 
 d Lab-yr-iiitij, l&b'-bgr-1ntl>, u uttM^ 
 
 intricacy 
 c In-vude, !ii-vAde, to attack a rotin- 
 
 try, to a8*;jiil, to assault 
 / Ob struct, ub-6tr5kt', to hinder, \» 
 
 oppose 
 
 fr Effort, fif'-Hbrt, Btrii^^gle, ondeavour 
 h Oni-iiip-o-lcnco. 6m-ulp'-p^l4a**, 
 
 olmigijty power 
 
 The journey of a day ; a picture of human Ufi. 
 
 1. Obidah,^ the son of Abcnsina,* left the canivanscra* 
 early in the morning, and pursued his joiHne>i through the 
 plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vTgorous*' with 
 rest ; he was animated with hope ; he was incited' by tie^ 
 sire; he walked swiftly forward over the vallics, and saw 
 the hills gradually rising before him. 
 
 2. As he passe'd alonj^, his ears were delighted with the 
 morning song of tlie bn-d of paradise ;/ he was fanned 
 by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled 
 with dew by groves of spices. He sometimes contem- 
 plated the towering height of the oak, monarch of th« 
 nill ; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of th« 
 primrose,' eldest daughter of the spring : all his senses 
 were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart. 
 
 3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his men- 
 dian,f and the increased heat preyed upon his strength ; 
 he then looked round about him for some more commo- 
 dious^' path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seem- 
 ed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation ; he enterett 
 it, and found the coolness ana verdure' irresistibly^ pleas- 
 ant. 
 
 4. He did not, however, forget whither he was travel- 
 ling : but found a narrow way bordered with flower»^ 
 which appeared to have the same direction with the main 
 Toad; and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, 
 he had found means to unite pleasure with 'business, anil 
 to gain tlie rewards of diligence without stiflering its fa- 
 tigues. 
 
 9. lie, therefore, still contini^d to walk lor ft thn^ 
 
.60 ExGLraH HEADE&. i*art 1. 
 
 without the least remission* of his ardour, except that ' 
 was eometimes tempted to stop by the music of th« 
 birds, ■which the heat iiad assembled in the shade; and 
 sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers 
 that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that 
 hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began 
 to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among the 
 hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmunnj; 
 with waterfalls. 
 
 6. Here Obidah paused for a tjime, and began to con- 
 sider whether re we're longer- safe to forsake the known 
 and common track ; but remembering that the heat was 
 now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty 
 and uneaven, he resolved to pursue the new path, whicn 
 he supposed only to make a few meanders.,^ in co.npli- 
 ance with t-he varieties of the grouiiu, and to end av Usi 
 in the common road. 
 
 7. Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his 
 pace, thoujgh he suspected'" that he was not eaining 
 cround. This uneasiness of his mind inclined nim to 
 Liy hold on every new object, and give way to every sen- 
 sation that might sooth or divert" Kim. He listened to 
 tsvery echo ;" he mounted every hill for a fresh pros} ect ; 
 he turned aside to every cascade •/ and pleased himself 
 with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among 
 Ihe trees, and watered a large region with innumerabU 
 circumvolutions.? 
 
 8. In these amusements, the hours passed away unac- 
 counted ; his deviations had perplexed his memory, anc 
 he knew not towards what pomt to travel, ^ He stood 
 pensive and confused, afraid to go forward, lest he should 
 go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering'* was 
 now past. While he w^as thus tortured with uncertamty, 
 tlie sKy was overspread with clouds ; the day vanished 
 from before him ; and a sudden tempest gathered rount 
 his head. 
 
 9. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and 
 painful remembrance of his folly ; he now saw how happi- 
 ness is lost wiien ease is consulted : he lamented the un 
 manly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in 
 the grove ; and desnised tiie petty curiesity that led him 
 on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus' reflecting, the 
 air grew blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his medi- 
 ation. 
 
 10. He now resolved to do what ret remaihed in hi§ 
 
C^OP^ S' KABaATIVK PlECKt. 0| 
 
 power, to tread bnck the ground which he h.ftd passed, and 
 try to find some issue where the wood niiglit open into 
 the phiin. lie prostrated hhnself on the ground, and re- 
 commended liis hfe to the Lord of naiure. He rose with 
 contidence and tranquilhty, and pressed on with resolution^ 
 The beasts of the desert W(;re in motion, and on every 
 hand were heard the mingled howJs of raji;e and fear, and 
 ravage and expiration. All the horrors of darkness and 
 solitude surrounded him : the winds roared in the woods ; 
 and the torrents* tumbled from the liills. 
 
 11. Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through 
 the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or 
 "whether he was every jTioment drawmg nearer to safety, 
 or to destruction. At lengtii, not fear, but lahowr, began 
 to overcome him ; his breath grew short, and his kneea 
 trembled ; and he was on the point of lying down in re- 
 signation to liis fate, when he beheld, through the bram- 
 bles, the glimmer of a taper.* 
 
 12. He advanced towards the light ; and finding that 
 it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he, cilled num- 
 bly at the door and obtained admission. The old man 
 set before him such provisions as he had collected for 
 himself, on which Obidali fed with eagerness and grati- 
 tude. 
 
 13. When the repast was .over, ** tell me," said the 
 hermit, ** by what chance thou hast been brought hither ? 
 1 have been now twenty years an inhabitant oi the wil- 
 derness," in which I never saw a man before." Obidah 
 then related the' occurrences" of his Journey, wjtli(»ut any 
 concealment or palliation. 
 
 ; 14. ** Son," said the .hermit, ** let the errors and fol- 
 lies, the dangers and escape oif this day, sink deep into 
 thy heart. Remember my son, tiiat human life is the 
 journey of a day. We rise \n the morning of 3'outh, full 
 of vigour, and full of expectation ; we set forward with 
 spirit and hop>\ with gaiety and with diligence, and trav- 
 el on a while in the direct road of piety towards the man- 
 sion of rest. 
 
 15. ** In a short time, we remit our fervour" and en- 
 deavour to find some mitigation of our dutv, and some 
 more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then, 
 relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to he terrified 
 with crimes at a distance : but rely on our own constant 
 ^jTf and venture to approach what we rwiolve never !• 
 
touch. We thus enter tlie bowers of eaae, and repo«e h» 
 
 the shades of security. 
 
 16. **Here the heart softens, and vigilance* subsides; 
 we are then willing to inquire whether another advance 
 camiot be made, and vhether we may not, at least, turft 
 our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach 
 them ^vith scrupb and hesitation ; we enter them, but en- 
 ter timorous and trembling ; and always hope to pass 
 through them without losing the road of virtue, whichy 
 for a while, we keep in our sight, and to which we jDur- 
 posey to leturn. But temptation succeeds temptation, 
 and one compliance prepares us for another ; we in time 
 lose the happiness of innocence, and solace* our disqui- 
 et with sensual gratification. 
 
 17. '*By degrees, we let fall the remembrance of our 
 original intention, and quit the only adec[uate« object or 
 rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, im- 
 merge* ourselves in luxury,'^ and rove through the laby- 
 rinths'^ of inconstancy ; till the darkness of old age begms 
 to invade' us, and disease and anxiety obstruct/ our way. 
 We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sor- 
 row, with repentance ; and wish, but too often vainly 
 wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. 
 
 18. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from 
 thy example, not to despair ; but shall remember, that, 
 though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there 
 yet remains one effort- to be made : that reformation is 
 never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted; 
 that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors ; 
 and that he who implores strength and courage from a- 
 bove, shall find danger and dilfic dty give way before him. 
 Go now, my son to thy repos( ; commit thyself to the 
 care of Omnipotence ;'• and when the morning calls again 
 to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." 
 
 IXR. JOHNSON* 
 
CHAPTER 111. 
 
 SECTION 1. 
 
 # In-he-rent, !n-h*'-Ti*nt, exisfiHg in vlt In-sig nif-i-cnpt, !n-s!g-nir-fJ-4Ai>(|^ 
 
 t Al lij-nion, Al-li'-zhfln, n leffreiice ti ' uwini|fortant, uninf.aning 
 
 e Stat-ue, Bl4t'-t8liu,un iuuijrf; 'i Do-ay, df^-nl', lo refustj, d'tAOxrn 
 
 «i Su por-tlu-oDK, 5^ |)f r'-llu-is, exubc \j IJii-iipca kn-lde, fin-sp6'-AA-bl, not tA 
 
 rant, over-iihun(iaiU 
 e Sciilp-tor,hkfllj»'-lfir, a carver in wood 
 
 or gtoiie 
 / Plo-b«-ian, pli'-b^-yin, vulgar, com 
 
 nioii, mean |ic:><)ii 
 g Fl-del i-ty, fi-del'-i li, faithful ad 
 
 hcrcncc 
 
 b* cxpres!f:«!d 
 /.- Fi.iur isb, lifir'-r!sh, to prosper, boa«* 
 / Phid-i-Hs, fW'-*-As, a celcbraied itar 
 
 luary of AtlioiiB 
 
 ;*ru.\-ii-ul<"s, priksh'-^-lix, a far 
 
 tiious dcutpiur uf lUugiia Gjaeci^ 
 
 ,1 
 
 2Vif importance of a good Education. 
 
 CONSIDER, a human soul, without educfllio!^, 
 like marble in a quarry ; wliich shows none of its inher- 
 ent* beauties, until the skill of th(^ polisher letches out the 
 colours, maker, the surface shine, and discovers every or- 
 namental cloud, s|)ot, and vein, that rurs through the bo- 
 dy of it. Education, after the same manner, ^vheu it 
 works upon a noble mmd, draws out to view every latent 
 virtue iind perA ction, M'hieh, without such helps, are ne- 
 ver able to make their appearance. 
 
 2. If my reader will give me leave to chanjre the allu- 
 sion'^ so soon upoo him, I shall make use of the same in- 
 stance to illustrate the force of education, w hich Aristotle 
 has brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, 
 when he tells us that a statue*^ lies hid in a block of mar- 
 ble : and that the art of the statuary onfy clears away the 
 superfluous'^ matter, and removes tfle rubbish. The fig^- 
 ure is in the stone, and the sculptar only finds it. 
 
 S. What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is 
 to a human soul. The philosopher, the saint, or the he- 
 ro, the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lit^ 
 hid and concealed in aplebeian,/which a proper educatioa 
 might have disinterred, and have brought to light. I am 
 therefore much delighted with reading the accounts oi 
 •ava{;e nations ; and with contemplating thos« virtuui 
 
iM EnoI/ISH KcADeR. Pari 1. 
 
 which are wild and uncultivated : to ece courage ei:erting 
 itself in fierceness, resolution in obstinacy, wisdom in cun- 
 jiinj;, patience in suUenness and despair. 
 
 4. Men's passions operate variously, and appear ;n dif- 
 ferent kinds of iictions, according as tiiey are more or less 
 rectified and swayed by reason. When one hears of ne- 
 groes, wh >, upon tlie death of their masters, or upon 
 changing theirservice, hang themselves uponthenext tree> 
 as it sometimes happens in our American plan tactions, who 
 can forbear ad.ninng their fidehty.,s though it exprtB&es 
 itself in so dreadful a manner ? 
 
 5. What might not that savage, greatness of soul, which 
 appears in those poor wretches on many occasions, b« 
 raised to, were it rightly cultivated ? And what colour of 
 exxiuse can there be, for the contempt with which we 
 treat this part of our species ; that we should not put 
 them upon the common footing of humanity ; that we 
 should only set an insignificant' line upon the man who 
 murders them ; nay, that we shouM, as much as in us 
 •tes, cut them oft* from the prospects of happiness in an- 
 other world, as well as in this ; and deny* them that which 
 ire look upon as the proper means for attaiiii^ig it ? 
 
 6. It is therefore an unspeakable; blessing, to be born 
 X thos.e parts oi the world where wisdom and knowledge 
 f JAurish ;* though, it must be confessed, there are, even m 
 trese parts, several poor uninstructed persons, who are 
 but little above the inhabitants of those nations, of which 
 I nave been he;re speaking ; as those, who feave had the 
 advantages of a more liberal education, rise above one 
 another by several different degrees of perfection. 
 
 7. For, to return to our statue in the block of marble, 
 wc see it sorxietimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes 
 rough hewn, and but just sketched '.nto a human figure; 
 sometimes we see the' man appearing distinctly in all his 
 limbs and features ; sometimes, we find the figure wrought 
 up to great elegancy ; but seldom meet with any to which 
 the hand of a rhidias^or a Praxiteles'" could not give se^ 
 veral nice touches and finishings. addison. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 m Dif-fi-cu1t,d!r-f%-kfilt, hard to please, 
 
 troublesome 
 .k PoB-i-tive, p6z'-zi-ilv, real, direct 
 M En-join, 4n-idln', to direct, to order 
 d B*n-o-fiL, b6a'-4-nt, a Iundj3«ss, &d- 
 
 «tOt«f«,t>0 j»«lp 
 
 e En-joy, Jn-jAA', to feel with pleiuure 
 / Seii-sa-tiou, nin-si'-sh&u, perceptiua 
 by the seuses 
 
 f Ex-alt, ^^z-ilt', to eksvate, to extol 
 E!»p-tur».. r4p'-Ub6re, ec«t*ey. trui 
 port 
 
CkajK ft. 
 
 BlDACTlC FiSCXtr 
 
 On Gratitude. 
 
 1. There Is not a more pleasing exercise of the mind, 
 than grdtitude. It is accompaniea with so great inward 
 satisraciion, that the duty is sufficiently rewarded by the 
 ptrformance. It is not .»ke the practice of many other 
 virtues, difficulta and painful, but attended with so much 
 pleasure, that were there no positive* command which en- 
 loined' it, nor any recompense laid up for it hereafter, a 
 generous mind would indulge it, lor the natural gratifica- 
 tion which it afibrds. 
 
 $. if gratitude is due from man to man, how much 
 mor» from man to his Maker : The Supreme Being docs 
 not only confer upon us those bounties which proceed, 
 more immediately from his hand, but even those benefits* 
 which are conveyed to us by others. Every blessing wc 
 enjoy,' by what means soever it may be derived upon us, 
 is the gift of Him who is the great Author of good, and 
 the Father of merci< s. 
 
 S. If gratitude, when exerted towards one another, na- 
 turally produces a very pleasing sensation/ in the mind of 
 a grateiul man, it exalts^ the soul into rapture,^ when it is 
 cnmloyed on this great object of gratitude : on this be- 
 ntficent 15eing, who has given us every thing we already 
 
 Possess, and iVom whom we expect every thing we yet 
 ope for. ADDisoif. 
 
 SECTION ill. 
 
 « Eq-ul-ty, ?k'-kwi-tA, jnslico, right 
 k In-i'X o-ra-blR, !n-iko'-4 r&-bl, not U 
 
 be jcritrcu.ed, not to be inuvcd b} 
 
 eniieaiy 
 B Con-s'fiou!?, k6n'-sl:iig, inwardly per 
 
 suad.ed, admitted to the knowlrdgf 
 
 «f any thing, knowing from nicni- 
 
 nrv 
 d Frail-ty, fi^le'-ti, weaknesB, instabil- 
 ity 
 e Mutual, m/i'-tshii-Al. reciprocal 
 / For-he-ur-ance, rirbiic'-iinse, eom- 
 
 maad of temper 
 
 ^ Re tali-ate, rft-tAl'-i-ite, tofivtttk« 
 
 lor hke 
 
 fi Exur bi-tant, ^gz-hr'-bk-tkni, tnor* 
 inouii, excesHive 
 
 i Pre-icribe, pri-skrlbe', to order, direct 
 
 j Suc-cuu-sion, sfik-H^iEh'-Su, llDoai or- 
 der 
 
 Jc Uiiz-nrd, hAz'-&rd, chance, daogvr^ 
 to rihk 
 
 I Kft-gion, ri'-j6n, country, tract if 
 spnce 
 
 m Wi;^-nan-i-mou3, mig-D4n'-i-m£jB, 
 ^'rea.t of mind 
 
 On Forgiveness. 
 1. Thk most plain and natural Bcntiments of eouity« 
 concur with divine authority, to enforce the duty of for^r 
 
 fiveness. Let him who has never in his Hfe done wrong, 
 e allowed the privilege of remaining inexorable.* But 
 |«C such a6 are conscious' c f frailties^ and crinxea^ consi^ 
 
00 Errousn Rkadjui. fori | 
 
 er for^renesa as a debt which they owe to others. Com 
 mon wilings are the stron*;est lesson to mutual* forbear- 
 ance./ Were this virtue unknown among men, order and 
 comfort, peace and repose, would be strangers to human 
 life. 
 
 £. Injuries retaliated? according; to the exorbitant* 
 measure which passion prescribes,' would excite reseat- 
 mient in return. The injured person would become the 
 injurer; and thus wron^^s, retaliations, and fresh injuries, 
 would circulate in endle.-s succession,^ till the world was 
 rendered a field of blood. Of all the passions which in- 
 vade tile human breast, reven.i;i' is the most direful. 
 
 8. When allowed to reign with full dominion, it is more 
 |(han sulhci'^nt to poison the few pleasures which remain 
 to man in his present state. How much soever a person 
 may sulff-r from injustice, he is ahvays in hazard<= of suf- 
 fering more from the prosecution of revenji^e. The vio- 
 lence of an enemy cannot iiillict what is equal to the tor- 
 ment he creates to himself,, by the means of the fierce 
 and desperate passions which he allows to rage in his 
 Boul. 
 
 4. Those evil spirits who inhabit the regiorrs' of mise- 
 ry, are represented as delightinp; in revenge and cruelty. 
 But all that is great and good in the universe, is on the 
 side of clemency and mercy. The Almighty Ruler of 
 the world, thougli for ages offended by the unrighteous- 
 ness, and insulted by the impiety of men, is ** long suf- 
 fering and slow to anger." 
 
 5. His Son, when he appeared in our nature, exhibH- 
 ed, both in his life and his death, the most illLstrious ex- 
 ample of forgiveness wliich the world ever belield. if we 
 look into the history of mankind, we shall find that, in 
 every a^e, they who have been respected as wort'^y, or 
 admired as great, have been distinguished for this virtue. 
 
 6. Revenge dwells in little minds. A noble and mag- 
 nanimous"* spirit is always superior to it. It suflers not 
 from the injuries of men those severe shocks wliich oth- 
 ers feel. Collected within itself, it stands unmoved by 
 their impotent assaults ; and with generous pity, rather 
 than anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct. It 
 has been truly said, that the greatest man on earth can 
 no sooner commit an injury, than a good man can make 
 tiimself greater, by forgiving it. Bt-iia. 
 
Okz^S- 
 
 DiDACTrC PiXCKS. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 0^ 
 
 • Pro-mot^, pr6-mAto', %o forward, »jx- 
 nil, prefer 
 
 k Cbjtr-ttC-fer, kir'-ik-tfir> reputation 
 niaik, '.fitter 
 
 c Iii-(!ul ^ence, !i)-d6r-j?.ri8e, tendofuesK 
 ffvrgivrnesR 
 
 d Sc-ver-i-fy, si-vSr'-^-t*^, cruel treat- 
 ment 
 
 e Ku-ti-tle, ?n-fl'-tl, to give a clajm 
 
 / Rrj-or-ons, r?g' gftr-iii«, Hlrirt-,, severe 
 
 ff Piidc, pride, inordinate self- esteem 
 
 A In cent-ive, !n-s?nt^-!T, that whicfc 
 
 kindles, provokes, or encourages, 
 
 •a motive 
 IMc'-di-um, mfe'-d^-fim, the iniddi« 
 
 state 
 j Fab-rick, fib' r!k, a building, a %f»' 
 
 tern 
 k Al-ioii-ate. il^'-y^n-ite, to withdraw 
 
 the nflections 
 I An-tic-i-pntc, An-tfp'-i-pkle, to taX» 
 
 up before the time 
 
 Motives to the- practice of g*;ntleness>. 
 
 1. To promote the virtue of ^entlcnrss, wp oueht to- 
 view our charactpr'' with an imnarti?il eye ; and tT[3 Iran), 
 from our own AfTTmgs, to j^ive that indnljiience,*^^ which in 
 our turn wc claim. It is pridr wliicli fills Xha work! with 
 §o much harshness ard severity. '^ In the fullness of self- 
 estimation, we forjcet w hat wi; are. TVe claim attentions 
 to which we are not entitled.'- We are riviorous/ to of^ 
 fences, as if we had never offended ; unfeeling to distress, 
 as if we kneAv not what it was to sufTt^r. From lliose airy 
 Fcgions of pride i*^ and folly, let us descend to our proocix 
 level. 
 
 2. Let us survey the natural equality on which ^.oV\ 
 dence has placed mafi with man, and reflect on the infir 
 mities common to all. U the reflection on natural e(]ual- 
 ity and mutual offences, he insufficient to prorr.pt human- 
 ity, let us at least n-memher what we are in the sight of 
 our Creator. Have we none of that forhearance to g've 
 one another, which we all so earnestly intreat from hea- 
 ven ? Can we look for clemency or «]^entleness from our 
 Judg-e, when we are so hack ward to shew it to our breth- 
 ren I 
 
 S. Let us also accustom ourselves, to reflect on the 
 small moment of those things, which are the usual incen- 
 Hvtsh to violence and contention. In the ruffled and an- 
 p;ry hour, we vii'w every appearance throuj:;h a false me- 
 dium.' The mo&t incons'^derahle point of interest, or hon- 
 our, swells into a ir.omentous object : and the slightest at- 
 tack seems to threaten immediate ruin. 
 
 4. Hut after passion or pride has subsided, we look a-v 
 round in vain for the mi?:htvm.ischiefs we dreaded. The 
 fabric,.? which our disturbed imap;ination had reared, to- 
 tally disappears. 15ut though the cause of contention 
 bas dwiiiidled away. 'Us con&e(|b)enc€« resoaia. We bavs 
 
Ot; En&usn Rsadeiu i^rt 1 
 
 alienated* a fiiend ; we have embittered an enemy ; tt« 
 have sown the seeds of future suspicion, malevolence, or 
 disgust. 
 
 5. Let us suspend our violenice for a moment, when 
 causes of discora occur. Let us anticipate' that period 
 of coolness, which of itfcelf, will soon arrive. Let us re- 
 flect how little we have any prospects of j^aining by fierce 
 contention ; but how much of the true happiness of life 
 wc are certain of throwing away. Easily, and from the 
 smallest chink, the bitter waters of strife are let forth ; 
 but their course cannot be foreseen ; and he sddom fails 
 of suffering most from their poisonous cfi'ect, who first 
 lUlowedtUem jto How. bjlair. 
 
 SECTION V, 
 
 conception, seiznre 
 
 g- Treach-er-y, trSish' 4r -i, ;>erfid7 
 breach of failli 
 
 A Ir-ri-tate, Ir'-r^-li.te, to provoke, ex- 
 asperate 
 
 » El-i-gi i>le. ?r-4-ji-bI, preferiLWe, fit !• 
 Uo chosen 
 
 j Cav-crn, k4v'-urn, a cave, den, hole 
 
 « Sus-pic-oiii, iSi-plsh'-as, inclined to 
 
 suspect 
 h As-per-i-ty, is-pir'-i-ti, rougIine<JS, 
 
 har»l)nei's 
 c In-cur, In-kfir', to become 'iable to 
 d Jeal-ous-y, jil'-lis-i, Buspicioo ir 
 
 love 
 § Spy, spl, one who watches others 
 / Ap-pre-honnion, 4p-pri-li6ii'-sh5n, 
 
 A suspicious temper the source of misery to its possessor. 
 
 1. As a suspicious" spirit is the source of many crimes 
 and calamities in the world, so it is the sprinjj; o? certain 
 misery to the person who indulges it. I J is friends will 
 be few ; and small will be his comfort in those whom he 
 possesses. Believing others to be his enemies, he will of 
 course make them such. Let his caution be ever so ^reat, 
 the asperity^ of his thoughts will offcien break out m his 
 behaviour ; and in return for suspecting and hating, he 
 will incur suspicion and hatred. 
 
 2. Besides the external evils which he draws upon him- 
 self, arising from alienated friendship, broken confidence, 
 and open enmity, the suspicious tenmer itself is one of 
 the worst evils which any man can suiter. If " in ail fear 
 there is torment," ht)vv miserable must be his stMte who, 
 by living m perpetual jealousy, / lives in perpt'tual dread ? 
 
 S. Looking upon hmiself to be surrounded with spies,* 
 enemies, and designing men, he is a stranger to n^hance 
 and trust, lie knows not to whom to open himself. He 
 dresses his countenance in forced smiles, while his heart 
 l.h»o>b8 within from apprehensioos/ of secret ttetucheryj 
 
Chap. 5, Didactic Pieces. Cf 
 
 Hence fretful noss and ill-humour, dlsrust rt the world, 
 and all thf painful sensations of / ted* and embit- 
 
 tered mind. 
 
 4. »S(» numerous and {i^reat are the evils ar:s»np: from a 
 suspicious dis[»oiiit.i(in, tliat, of ihe two e\'*r«ejnes, it is 
 mure, cii^iljle- to exptise <juiselves to (iC':asi«»nai disadvan- 
 ta^^e frn'M thinking tt».» well of others, than to sufljiT con- 
 tinual mis«'ry U\ thiiikin;: always ill t>f them. It is bet- 
 ter to b<* r^onietnnes imposed upon, than never to trust. 
 Safety in pur^'hased at loo dear a rate, wlien, in order to 
 seen e it, ue are ol)lij;ed to be always clad in armour, and 
 to live in ])erpetual hostility with our fellows. 
 
 5. This is, for the sake of living;, to deprive ourselves 
 of the comfort of life. Tlie man of candour enjoys his 
 situation, whatever it is, with cheerfulness an^l peace. 
 J*rudence directs his intercourse with the world; but no 
 black susjiicions haunt his hours of rest. Accustomed 
 to view- the characters of his neighbours in the most fa- 
 vourable light, he is like one who dwells amidst those 
 beautiful scenes of nature on which the eye rests with 
 pleasure. 
 
 6. Whereas the suspicious man having his imagination 
 filled with all fhe shocking forms of human falsehood, de- 
 ceit, and treachery, resembles the traveller in the wilder- 
 ness, who discerns no objects around him but such as are 
 either dreary or terrible ; caverns> that open, serpents 
 that hiss, and beasts of prey that howl. blair. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 « Resource, ri-. 6 rgc', resort, "xpedierr 
 b I>y-lu-«ive, di-lii -flv, apt to (!t^c<i\f 
 c G«u-«r-«ui>, j<-n'-hrfii>, lioble, munid- 
 
 ccnt 
 d Iii-ac-ces-»ii-i)le, tn-Alc-siti'ei-bl, not 
 
 to bo appmarhed 
 e Rcf-u;,'©, uC-i'iuije^ shelter, protec* 
 
 tiiMi 
 / Re-iuiu, ri-t4co', to keep in raiod, 
 
 an tu dismiss 
 
 Comfort of Religion* 
 1. Therk are many who have passed the age of youth 
 andbeauiy; who having resigned the plcasur-es oT that 
 smiling season ; who be^in to decline into the vale of 
 years/impaired in their health, denrevised in their for- 
 tiint^s, stript of their friends, their cniidren, and perhaps 
 Btill more tender connexions, \\hat resfuirce« can this 
 world aftbrd them ? Jt presents a dark and dreary waste, 
 through which there does not i^tsue a single, ray ofeo^Di- 
 
70 Ejn'glisii Header, Part I 
 
 2. Everj'^ delusive* prospect of ambitlQa Is now at an 
 end ; lonj; experience of mankind, an experience very 
 different from what the open and generous'' soul of youtU 
 had fondly dreampt of, has rendered the heart almost in- 
 accessible'^ to new friendships. The principal sources 
 'of activity are taken away, when they for wliom we la- 
 hour are cut off from us ; they who animated, and who 
 sweetened all the toils of life. 
 
 .' 3. Where can the soul find refuse,* hut in the bosom 
 of Reli5;ion ? There she is admitted to those prospects 
 of Providence and futurity, which alone ean warm and 
 fill the hfvart. 1 speak here of such as retain/ the feel- 
 ings of humanity : whom misfortunes have softened, and 
 perhaps rendered more delicately sensible ; not of such 
 as possess that stupid insensibility, Avhich some are pleas- 
 ed to dij^nify with the name of philosophy. 
 
 4. It migfit therefore be expected, that those philoso- 
 phers who think they stand in no need themselves of the 
 assistance of reli^^^ion to support their virtue, and who ne- 
 Tcr feci the want of its consolations, would yet have tho 
 humanity to consider the very different situjition of the 
 rest of mankijid ; and not endeavour to deprive them of 
 what habit at least, if they will not allow it to be naturfi. 
 has made necessary to their morals, and to their happi- 
 ness. > ,^ 
 
 5. It might be expected, that humanity would prevent 
 tViem from breaking into the last retreat of the unfortu- 
 nate, who can no longer be objects of their envy or n»- 
 sentment ; and tearing from them their only remaining 
 comfort. The attempt to ridicule religion may be agree- 
 able to some, by relieving them from restraint upon their 
 pl-easures ; and may render others very miserable, by ma- 
 king them doubt those truths, in which they were most 
 deeply interested ; but it can convey real good and hap- 
 piness to no one individual. Gregory. 
 
 SECTfoN VIL 
 
 « Biu-cern, fHz-7.?rn', (o see, cli>;tin£riiis}i[ / Ex-plodn, ^ks-pIAde', to decry, drlv* 
 k Hu-niil-i-ry, hu-rnil'-i-t^, modesty, tuit witl) nun^o 
 
 lowliiiRss \g Con-fu-U.-rion, k6n-f6-ti ,hfin, act 
 
 • Grace-fiil-ly, grise' ful-1^, beautiful-j of confuting 
 
 ly A Am-ber, Am'-biV, a yellow tri».ns|vr 
 
 d Ro,-Berve, r^'-z&rv', to keep in store j rem sul/stnnc^' 
 « Pio-ric i«n cy, prA-fL-h'-fen-ee, ad- < Maws, mis, a body, the servtco of thi 
 
 ir«iiic«muiii in !t<!SLr;nn^', ptolit .) li^rufti} <>lturcii' 
 
Chop, *. Didactic Vi&qes^ 71 
 
 Dijfidence of our aljiliiks^ a mark of wisdom, 
 
 1. It is a sure indication of good sense, to be diffident 
 ftf it. Wo then, and not till then, are growing Avise, 
 ivhen -vve begin to discern t how weak and unwMse we are. 
 An absolutes perfection of understanding, is impossible: 
 lie makes thr near(!st approaches to it, who has the Ecnse 
 to discern, and the humility'' to acknowledge its imper- 
 ft'ciions. 
 
 2. JModt'sty always sits gracefully^ upon youth; it cov- 
 ers a multitude of (aults, and doubles the lustre of every 
 virtue which it seems to hide : the perfections of men be- 
 ing like those flowers which appear more beautiful, when 
 tiaeir U^aves are a little contracted and folded up, than 
 when they are full blown, and display themselves with- 
 out any reserve,-^ to the view. 
 
 3. VVe are some of us very fond of knowledge, and apt 
 to val<ie ourselves upon any proficiency* in the sciences : 
 jne science, however, there is, worth more than all the 
 rest, and that is, the science of living well ; w hich shall 
 remain, when '* tongues shall cease,' and ** knowledge 
 shall vanish away.'* 
 
 4. As to new notions, and new doctrines, of which 
 this age is very fruitful, tlie time will come, when we shall 
 have no'plfrasure in them : nay, the time shall come, when 
 they shaU be exploded,/ and would have f)een forgotten, 
 if they iiad r>ot been preserved in those excellent books, 
 which contain a ccmfutation*^ of them ; like insects pre- 
 served for ages in amber,^ which otherwise would soon 
 have returned t-o the common mass' of things. 
 
 5. JUit a firm belief of Christianity, and a practice suit- 
 able to it, will su})port and invigorate the mind to the last ; 
 and most of all, at last, at that important hour, which 
 must decide our hopes and apprehensions : and the wis- 
 dom, which, like our Saviour, cometh from above, will 
 through his merits bring us thither. All our other stu 
 dies and 'pursuits, however dififerent, ought to be subser- 
 vient to, and centre in, this grand point, the pursuit of 
 eternal happiness, by being good in ourselves, and useful 
 
 o the world. seed. 
 
 SECTION Vlll. 
 
 "I 
 
 m Coro-mit, kAm-in!t', to intrust, impri-l who has a thiii?, in trtiflt, a place 
 
 •on, perpetrat«i v. here a thing if deposited 
 
 * D«^«»->t-ft-rv, d*-j>4»'-Jt-A-f A, onojc Spa€o, spitse, room, quantity Of tin» 
 
Tl 
 
 fiNGMSH ReaDEIU 
 
 Jhx-i I. 
 
 d Eki-erottcti, In-krittV, to rnak« inva- 
 sion upon ihe rightu of others 
 e DM-po-sai, d!8-pi'-zi-l, rcj|^ulatiua,dis 
 
 tributiun 
 / Sur-re«-<lcr, sfir-rfn'-dSr, to deliver 
 
 up 
 f Cha.-(fS, kii'-is, the state of matter 
 
 before the creation, irregular mix 
 
 tare 
 k Ap-pre-ci a-tion, Ap-pr<^-slii 4,'-s}i?h<, 
 
 estimation, ilic act of letting a val 
 
 ue upon any thi»« 
 « S»iuan-der, *kw6B-d5r, to lavifch 
 
 wast« 
 j Ifl-cou-«id-er-at«, 1n-k6ji-s!il'-^r-ite, 
 
 thoughtless 
 k Pro-fu-sion, pri-fi'-zhfia, extrava 
 
 |^attc« 
 
 I Cov-6-tous, kfiv'^vJ-tibi, &T«rie{oai^ 
 
 eager 
 m Proa-i-gal, pr4d'-d4-gil, wa6t«fu^ a 
 
 gpeiMlthrift 
 H Re gret, r^-gr5t', bitter reflection, to 
 
 fci.eiit 
 « Coiitu-sion, k»n-fi'-zhfiu, astonish* 
 
 ineul, tniijult 
 p lio-jKjnt-ar.ce, r^-]>Sni'-Anse, sorrow 
 
 lor sin 
 q An guisij, ing'-gw?sh, excessive paio 
 r Maii-i-fold, niAn'-ii«i-l^id-, of diftereiit 
 
 s Re-deein, r*-d*iro', to ransom, to 
 
 pardon 
 t Pro-iong, pr'A ling', to lengthen out 
 u Ar-rest, 4r-rgtii', a restraintof a raan'i 
 
 IJerson, to slop 
 
 On the importance of order in the distribution of our time. 
 1. Time we ouj^ht to consider as a sacred trust com- 
 initted« to us by God ; of which we are now tlie deposi- 
 taries,*' and are to render an account at the last. That 
 portion of it which he has allotted to us, is intended part- 
 ly for the concerns of this world, partly for those or the 
 next- Let each of these occupy, in tne distribution of 
 our time, that space^ which properly belongs to it. 
 
 4- Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure inter- 
 fere with the discharge of our necessary affairs ; and let 
 not what we call necessary affairs, encroach** upon the 
 time wiiich is due to devotion. To every thing there is 
 a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. 
 If we delay till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, 
 "we overcharge the morrow with a burden which belongs 
 not to it. We load the wheels of tim«, and prevent thein 
 from carrying us along smootlily. 
 
 3. He who every morning plans the transactions of the 
 day, and follows out that oian, carries on a thread which 
 MiJl guide him through tiie labyrinth of the most busy 
 life. The orderly arrangement" of his time is like a ray 
 of light, which darts itself through all his affairs, liut, 
 where no plan is laid, where the disposal' of time is sur- 
 rendered.^ mere y to the chance of incidents, all tilings lie 
 litiddled t(»g<ither in one chaos,*' which admits neitiier of 
 distribution nor review. 
 
 4. The first re<juis5te for introducing order into the 
 management of our time, is to be imjjressed ^"ith a just 
 fien^. of its vjue. Let us consider well tiow much de- 
 f«ed9 ^ipoa it, and how hsi it fljea away. The bulk of 
 
Vhap, ». piOACTic PIECES t5 
 
 tnen an? in nothing more capricious or InoonslBtcnt, than 
 in tlieir appreciation'' of time. When they think of H» ^ 
 the measure of their continuance on earth, they highly 
 prijie it, and with the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it 
 out. 
 
 5« But when they view it in separate parcels, they ap- 
 'near to hold it in contempt, and squander' it v. ith incon- 
 iidenite> prolusion. t Wliile tho.y comphiin that life is 
 short, they are often wibhinj:; ilb dlllerent periods at an 
 end. Covetous^ of ertry ottior possession, of time only 
 they are prodigal.'" They iiUovv' every idle man to be 
 master of this property, and make every frivolous occu* 
 pation welcome tliat can h^lp them to consume it. 
 
 6. Amonff those v*^ho are so careless of time, it is not td 
 be expected that order shoidd be observed in its distri- 
 bution, liut by tliis fatal neglect, how many materials 
 of t<evere and lasting regret" are they laying up in store 
 for themselves I The time which they softer to pass away 
 in the inidst of confusion,* bitter repentances* seeks after- 
 >\'ards in vain to recal. What was omitted to be done at 
 its proper moment, arises to bo the torment of some fir^ 
 ture sciison. 
 
 7. Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neg- 
 lected youth. Old age, oppressed by cares that belong- 
 ed to a former period, labours under a burden not its own. 
 At the close of life, the dyin^man beholds with anguish^ 
 that his days are finisliing, when his preparation for eter- 
 nity is hardly commenced. Such are the effects of a 
 disorderly waste of time, through not attending to its 
 value- Every thing in the life of such persons is mis- 
 placed. Nothing is performed aright, trom not being 
 performed in due season. 
 
 8- But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, 
 takes the proper method of escaping those manifold'' 
 evils. He is justly said to redeem* the time. By pro- 
 per management, he proloiijs' it. He lives much in little 
 space ; more in a fiiw years than others do in many. He 
 can live to God i nd Ins own soul, and at the same time 
 attend to all the lawful interests of the present world. 
 *le looks back on the past, and provides for the future. 
 
 9. He catches and arrests" the hours as they fly. They 
 are marked dywn for useful purposes, and their memory 
 remains. Vr hereas those hours fleet by the man of con- 
 fusion liV 'a shadow. His day^ and years are either 
 blanks of which he has no remembrance, or they are iL 
 
74 English Keader Part i. 
 
 led up with BO confused and Irregular succession of un- 
 finished transactions, that though he remembers he has 
 been busy, yet he can give no account of the business 
 which has employed him. blair. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 A t\-^^^ o5rn', to deck with orna 
 
 ments 
 h Poi>-u-lar, p6p'-pi-lAr, pleasing to the 
 
 p/M)!)!© 
 
 « Blo-ral-i-ty, mi-ri'.'-i-t^, the doctrine 
 of the duties of life 
 
 d In-teg-ri-ty, in-»lg'-gri-t4, honesty, 
 purity 
 
 § Conj-pU-ance, kim-pU'-Aiise, yielding. 
 accord 
 
 / De-gen-er-ate, d4-j?n'-Sr-4te, unwor- 
 thy, base 
 
 £■ Mul-li-tud^, mfil'-ti-tfade, a great 
 
 number 
 
 /* In-flex i-ble, fn-flSks'-i-bl, not to be 
 beiit 
 
 i Pos-ter-i-ty, p6s-tSr'-^-t4, offspring, 
 children 
 
 j A-pos-ta-tize, i-p6s'-tiL"tlze, to for- 
 sake one's religion 
 
 k Tiai)s-late, trAns-liie', to remove, ex- 
 plain 
 
 I Con-ta-gi-on, k6n-ti'-j4-fin, infection, 
 pestilence 
 
 7/1 Fir-ina-ment. f§r'-m4-mSnt, the sky, 
 the heavens 
 
 Hie dignity of virtue amidst corrupt examples. 
 
 1. The most excellent and honourable character which 
 ean adorn" a man and a Christian, is acquired by resist- 
 ing the torrent of vice, and adhering to the cause of God 
 and virtue against a corrupted multitude. It will be found 
 to hold in general, that they, who, in any of the great 
 Mnes of life, have distinguished themselves for thinking 
 profoundly, and acting nobly, have despised popular^ pre- 
 judices ; and departed, in several things, from the com- 
 mon ways of the world. 
 
 2. On no occasion is this more requisite for true hon- 
 our, than where religion ard morality are concerned. In 
 times of prevailing licentiousness, to maintain unblemish- 
 ed virtue, and uncorrupted integrity ;<' in a public or a 
 private cause, to stand firm by what is fair and just, a- 
 midst discouragements and opposition ; despising ground- 
 less censure and reproach ; disdaining all compliance' with 
 public manners, wnen they are vicious and unlawful ; and 
 never ashamed of the punctual discharge of every duty to- 
 wards God and man ; — this is what shows true greatness 
 of spirit, and will force approbation even from the degen- 
 erate/ multitude^ themselves. 
 
 S. "This is the man," (their conscit^nce will oblige 
 them to acknowledge,) ** wnom we are ui^uble to bend tO 
 iTiean condescensionn. We see it in vain *eirher to flatter 
 or to threaten him ; he rests on a principla wuh.inj^ which 
 we cannot siiak'e To this man I'/e may on any occa.sion, 
 
 1 
 
Chap. S, Didactic Pieces. 7 
 
 Bafely commit our cause. Ho is incapable of betraying 
 his trust, or deserting his friend, or dcnyinjj his faith." 
 
 4. It is, accordinj!;iy, this steady iniU'xibley' virtue, this 
 regard to principle, superior to all custom and opinioi 
 which peculiarly marked the characters of lliose in an_y 
 age, who have shown with distir.guishtd lustre ; and hai^ 
 consecrated their memory to posterity.' It was this that 
 obtained to ancient Enoch the most singular testimony 
 of honour from heaven. 
 
 5. lie continued to " walk with God," when the world 
 apostatized^ from him. IJe pleased God, a ^d was belov- 
 ed of him ; so that living among simiers, he was transla 
 ted^ to heaven without seeing death ; " Yea, speedily was 
 he taken away, lest wickedness should have altered his 
 understanding, or deceit beguiled his soul.'- 
 
 6. When Sodom could not furnish ten righteous men 
 to save it, Lot remained unspotted amidst the contagion 
 lie lived like an angel among spirits of darkness ; an?i the 
 destroying llame was not permitted to go forth, till the 
 cood man was called away, by a heavenly messenger, 
 from his devoted citv. 
 
 7. When "all llesh had corrupted their way upon the 
 earth," then lived Noah, a righteous man, and a preacher 
 of righteousness. He stood alone and was scolled at by 
 the profane crew, liut they by the deluge were swept 
 away : while on him, Proviuence conferred the immortal 
 honour of being the restorer of a better race, and the fa- 
 ther of a new world. Such examples as these, and such 
 honours conferred by God on tlum who withstood the 
 multitude of evil doers, should often be present to our 
 minds. 
 
 8. Let us oppose them to the numbers of low and cor- 
 rupt examples, which we behold around us ; and when 
 we are in hazard of being swayed by such, let us fortify 
 our virtue, by thinking of those who, in former times, 
 shone like stars in the midst of surrounding darkness, and 
 are now shining in the kingdom of heavfen^ as the bright- 
 ness of the firmament,'" for ever and ever. blair. 
 
 SECTION X 
 
 (i In-dolge, ln-dilje',lo favour, grati- 
 fy 
 ■ i Pre-dom-h-nant. pri-d&m'-4*D4nt, pre- 
 M valeat, over rulio^^ 
 
 I « iloi-ti-fl-ea'tioD, mdr-t^fi-k&'-eh&u,^ hot 
 
 a gangrene, vcjatr'A 
 d Di6-uii'trou0, dlz&s'-u&s, unlock jf, oft- 
 
 iamitoufi 
 • ^-«-crate, 2k'<c^krite, to cun^ tJb 
 
76 ExVOLisii Readee. Part U 
 
 Tkt mortijications of vice greater than those of virtue. 
 
 1. Though no condition of human life is free from un- 
 easiness, yet it must be allowed, that the uneasiness be- 
 longing to a sinful course, is far greater, than what attends 
 a course of well-doing, if we are weary of the labours 
 of virtue we may be assured, that the world, whenever 
 we try the exchange, will lay upon us a much heavier 
 load. 
 
 2 It is the outside only, of a licentious life, which is 
 gay and smiling. Within, it conceals toil, and trouble, 
 and deadly sorrow. For vice poisons human happiness 
 in the spring, by introducing disorder into the neart. 
 Those passions which it seems to indulge," it only feeds 
 with imperfect gratifications, and thereby strengthens them 
 for preying, in the end, on their unhappy victims. 
 
 S. It is a great mistake to imagine, that the pain of 
 self-denial is confined to virtue. He who follows the 
 world, as much as he who follows Christ, must ** take up 
 his cross ;" and to him assuredly, it will prove a more op- 
 pressive burden. Vice allows all our passions to ran^e 
 uncontrolled; and where each claims to be superior, it is 
 impossible to gratify all. The predominant'' desire can 
 only be indulged at the expense of its rival. 
 
 4. No mortifications*" which virtue exacts, are more se- 
 Tere than those, which ambition imposes upon the lore 
 of ease, pride upon interest, and covetousness upon van- 
 ity. Self-denial, therefore, belongs, in common, to vice 
 and virtue ; but with this remarkable difference, that the 
 passions which virtue requires us to mortify, it tends to 
 weaken ; whereas, those which vice obliges us to deny, it, 
 at the same time, strengthens. The one diminishes the 
 pain of self-denial, by moderating the demand of passion ; 
 the other increases it jy rendering those demands impe- 
 rious and violent. 
 
 5. What distressej that occur in the calm life of virtue, 
 can be compared ao those tortures, which remorse of 
 conscience inflicts oa the wicked ; to those severe humil- 
 iations, arising from guilt combined with misfortunes, 
 which sink them t* the dust ; to those violent agitations 
 of shame and dis^^ippointment, which sometimes drive 
 them to the most fatal extremities, and make them ab- 
 hor their existence ! How often, in the midst of thos« 
 disastrous*' situations, into which tlieir crimes have brought 
 thezn, have they execrated^ the seductions of vice; ind 
 
Chap* a. Dl&ACTlC iPlECSSI- ^ IT 
 
 with bitter regret, looked back to the day on which they 
 Irst forsook the path of innocence ! blaul 
 
 € Al-cby-mist, il'-ki-mtfet, one win 
 
 professes tlie Bcieiicc of nlciiymy 
 h Batt-ifih, b&n'-iiUh^ to drive away, ti 
 
 exile 
 e Ex-tin giiish, SK-et*ng'-gw!gh, to put 
 
 oat, destroy 
 d In-or-di naie, In-dr'-di-nite, irrc2u!ar 
 
 odd. 
 
 SECTION XI. 
 
 c Con-dole, k6n-dile', to lament wicJi 
 / Ac-(]ui-esce, ik-kw4-fig', to Tomtin 
 
 .'•Ktiallcil 
 
 flr Out-vie, dut-vl', to exceed, uurpjiiw 
 k C(Mt)-pli-cu-tiou, k6ni-|!l«; ki' t>l)Ciii, a 
 mixture 
 Es-sHv, 58-«i.', attempt, trial, to *i 
 
 le.i'ilit 
 
 On Contentment. 
 
 1. CoNTENTMKNT produccs, in some measure, all thofl« 
 cffiicts which the alciiyr^iist" usnally astrihcs to what he 
 calls thit nliilosoph* r's btunc ; nv.d if it docs not hrinj: 
 riches, it does the same thin,^, hy hanishing- liic (Jesire o? 
 them. If it cannot remove ihe disfiuietudes arisihg from 
 a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under 
 them. Jt has indeed a kindly iiilhunee on the soul of 
 man, in respect of every heinj^ to wiium lie stands rela- 
 ted. 
 
 2. It extinguishes-^ all murmur, repinin*^, and inj^rati- . 
 tude, towards that heing; \Nhohas allotted liiui his part to 
 act in this \^^)r!d. It destroys all inordinjite'^ amhilioiit 
 and every tendency to corruption, witii rej^rard to the com- 
 munity wherein he is placed. It gives sweetness to bit 
 conversation, and a perpetual serenity to ail liis thoughts. 
 
 3. Amon;; the many methods which mit^ht he made 
 use of for ae<^uinnoj this virtue, I shall mention only the 
 two following. First of all, a man should always consid- 
 er how much ho has more than he wants ; and, secondly, 
 how much more unhappy he mij^ht he than he really is. 
 
 4. First, a mr.n should always consider how much ho 
 has m.«»re th.m he wants. I am wonderfuJly pleased with 
 the vvp]y which Aristippus made to one, who condoled* 
 with hi?n u;:.on the loss of a farm : "Why," said he, ** I 
 have throe farms still, aivl you have hutonc ; so that 1 
 ought ;aiher to be atliicted (or you, than you for me.*' 
 
 .'). On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to con- 
 «idei, what they have lost, than what tiiey poss^iss ; and 
 to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than thenj- 
 «elves, rather than on those w ho are under greater diffi- 
 culties. All the real pleasures and conveniencies of life 
 lift io ;i narrow compass ; hut it h the humour of mav^ 
 G « 
 
f8 ^mtMH^iSU RsADKR. Port 1. 
 
 kind to be ftl^^^^rnHH^ng forward : and straining after 
 one who has ?;'H*1^HH8% of them in wealth ;>nd honour. 
 
 6. For this reasTniSr S none can be properly railed rich, 
 who have not more tlian they want, there are few rich 
 inen in any of the politer nations, but amon^ the mid 
 die sort of people, who keep their wishes within theii 
 fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to 
 enjoy. 
 
 7. Persons of a higher rank live in a kind of splendid 
 })overty ; and are perpetually wanting, because, instead 
 of acquiescing/ in the solid pleasures oflife, they endeav- 
 our to outvie" one another m shadows and appearanc<^s. 
 Men of sense have at all times beheld, with a great deal 
 of mirth, this silly game tliat is playiog over their heads ; 
 and, by contracting; their desires, tney enjoy all that se- 
 cret satisfaction which others are always in cpiest of, 
 
 8. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary 
 pleasures, cannot he sufHciently exposed, as it is the great 
 source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let 
 a man's estate he what it may, he is a poor man, if he 
 does not live within it ; and naturally set'^ himself to sale 
 to any one that can give him his price. 
 
 9. When J*ittacus, after the death of his brother, who 
 had le'ft him a good estate, v/as otlered a great sum of 
 money by the king of Lydia, he thanked him for his kind- 
 ness ; but told him, he had already more by half than he 
 knew what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to 
 wealth, and luxury to poverty; or to give the thought 
 a more agreeable turn, " Content is natural wealtfi," 
 Fays Socrates ; to which 1 shall add, luxury is artificial 
 
 'poverty. 
 
 10. I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of 
 those, who are always aiming at superliuous and imagi- 
 nary enjoyments, and who will not be at the troubhi of 
 contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Jiion the 
 
 f-ihilosopher, namely, " That no man has so much care, a9 
 le who endeavours after the most happiness." 
 
 11. In the second place, every one ought to reflect how 
 ■much more unhappy he might be, than he really is. The 
 
 'former consideration took in all those who are sufficient- 
 ly jvrovided with the means to make themselves easy; 
 tTif? regards siuh as actually lie under some pressure or 
 misfortune. These may receive great alleviation, from 
 such a comparison as the unhappy person may make be- 
 tween himself and others y 04- LU.wet*n the misfortune 
 
%lh€ip..S. Didactic ^ ^^^^^^H[ T9 
 
 which he suffers and greater mi»foTVV|HIHp idi(jM - 
 have befallen him. nfm^ 
 
 12. 1 like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, up- 
 on breaking his leg by a fall from the main-mast, told tns 
 standers by, it was a great mercy that it was not his neck* 
 To which, sitice 1 am got into quotations, give me leave 
 1 9 add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after hav- 
 ing invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruf- 
 fled by a person that came into the room in a passion, 
 and threw* down the table that stood before them : ** Ev- 
 ery on," says he, " has his calamity ; and he is a hap- 
 py man that has no greater than this. 
 
 IS. Wv. find an instance to the same purpose, in tha 
 life of doctor Hammond, written by bishop Fell. A«' 
 this good man was troubled with a complication^ of dis*- 
 tempers, when he had the gout upon turn, he used to 
 thank God that it was not the stone ; and when he had 
 the stone, that he had not both these distempers on him 
 at the same time. ' ^ 
 
 14. J cannot conclude this essay without observing, tha 
 there never was any system besi'des that of Christianitjt 
 which could effectually produce in the mind of man Xh 
 virtue 1 have been hitherto speaking of. In order to 
 make us contented with our condition, many of the pre- 
 gent philosophers, tell us, that our discontent only hurts 
 ourselves, without being able to make any alteration in 
 our circumstances ; others, that whatever evils befalls us 
 is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which superior 
 beings themselves are subject ; while others, very gravely, 
 lell the man who is miserable, that it is necessary that 
 he should be 5o, to keep up the harmony of the universe; 
 and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled 
 and perverted were he otherwise. 
 
 15. These, and the like considerations, rather silence 
 than satisfy man. The)' may show him that his discon 
 tent is unreasonable, but they are by no means sufficient 
 to relieve it. They rather g;ive despair than consolation. 
 In a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, 
 as Augustus did to his friend, who advised him not to 
 grieve for the death of a person whom he loved, because 
 his grief could not fetch him again : *' It is for that very 
 reason," said the emperor, '* that 1 grieve." 
 
 IG. On the contrary, religion bears a more tender re* 
 gard to human nature. It prescribes to every miserab^ 
 xnaa the meanp^».'' bettering his condition • nay, U show. 
 
lily eH^n the remt 
 
 J 
 
 l4«Xf C^^^^^Hfms afflictions as he ought to do^ will 
 naturally eH^n the removal of them. It makes him 
 ea»y here, because it can make him happy hereafter. 
 
 SECTION XII. 
 
 « Ma-I»-nt-ty, m4-I1g'-ni-ti, malice, ill- to the hons* 
 
 wHT e Ret-i-nue, ret'-^-ni, a train of attwj 
 
 i Em-b.-ir-raBs-ment, 4m-b4r'-ris-m&nt, dants 
 
 perplexity / Ti-tle, ti'-tl, imme, claim of right 
 
 t List-leB«-neK8, l!»t'-lJs-n?s, inattention^ Op-u-Ient, 6p'-piIi-l^iU, rich, weailhy 
 d D»»-mes-lick, dA-mSs'-Uk, belonging' 
 
 Rank and riches afford no ground for envy. 
 
 1. Of all the grounds of envy among men, superiority 
 in rank and fortune is the most general. Hence, the ma- 
 lignity* which the poor commonly bear to the rich, as 
 engrossing to themselves all the comforts of life.— < 
 Hence, the eyil eye with which persons of infeiior sta-' 
 lion scrutinize those who are above them in rank ; and 
 if they approach to that rank, their envy is generally 
 strongest against such as are just one step higher than 
 themselves. 
 
 2. Alas ! my friends, all this envious disquietude, which 
 agitates the world, arises from a deceitful figure which 
 imposes on the public view. False colours are hung out : 
 the real state of men is not what it seems to be. The 
 order of society requires a distinction of ranks to take 
 place : but in point of happiness, all men come much 
 nearer to equality than is commonly imagined ; and the 
 circumstances, which form any material difference of 
 happiness among them, are not of that nature which reiy 
 ders them grounds of envy. 
 
 3. T!ie poor man po&sesses not^ it is true, some of the 
 conveniences and pleasures of the rich ; but, in return, he 
 is free from many embarrassments'' to which they are 
 subject. ]^y the simplicity and uniformity of his liui, he 
 IS tielivered from that vaViety of cares, which perplex 
 those who have great affairs to manage, intricate plans to 
 pursue, many enemies, perhaps, to encounter in the pur- 
 •uit. 
 
 4. In the tranquillity of his small habitation, and pri- 
 vate family, he enjoys a peace which is often unknown at 
 courts. The gratifications of nature, which are always 
 th9 mottft 9»tift»otory, are possessed b^ him to their fuU 
 
Chap. 5. iTlDACTIC I*IKCF.t. ^ II 
 
 Gxtcnt ; nnd If he be a Rtranger to the rtiftned pleamret 
 of the wealthy, he is unaccjuaiuted also with a desire of 
 tiiem, and by conse(juence, i'etils no want. His plain 
 meal satisfn's' his appetite, witli a relish probably higher 
 han that of the rich man, who sits down to his luxuri- 
 ous banquety ^^ 
 
 5. His sleep is more sonnd ; his health more firm; he 
 knojv^^iS^ii<it spleen, languor, and iistlessiir'ss*^ arc. 
 His aPc|H5HB^e!nj)loym»uits or lal)ours are not more 
 opprf'Ssive^WBLjn, than tlie labour of attendance on 
 courts and t!in7J^||^t, the labmirs of dress, the fatijjue of 
 amusementsJlhe very weij^lS'of idleness, frequently arc 
 to the rich.,.«^ 
 
 6. in the mean time, all the l^anty of the face of na« 
 ture, all the enjoyments of domestic'' society, all the gai- 
 ety and clu'erlulness of an easy mind, are as 0})en tonini 
 as to those of the highest rank/ The^splendour of retinue,* 
 the sound of titles,/ the appearance^ of high respect, are 
 indeed soothing, for a short time, to the great, liut, be 
 come familiar, they are soon h)rgotten. Custom effaces 
 their im})ression. Tliey sink into the Fank of those or- 
 dinary things, which daily recur, without raising any sen- 
 uation of joy. 
 
 7. Let us cease, therefore, from looking up with dis- 
 content and envy to those, whom birth or lortune has 
 placed above us. Let us adjust the balance of happiness 
 lairly. \\ hen we think of the enjoyments we want, we 
 should think also of the trouhh^s from which w^e are free, 
 if we allow their just value to the comforts we possess, 
 we shall fiiul reason to rest satisfied, with a very mode- 
 rate, though not an opulent>' and splendid, condition of 
 fortune. OCten, did we know the w hole, we should be 
 inclined to |»ity the state of those whom we now envy. 
 
 BLAIR. 
 
 SECTION xm. 
 
 • U-ni-for-mi-ty, yi-ni-fdi'-mi-i*, 
 
 »Rmcii©»i, fesem bianco to itself, 
 
 even t»inour 
 h Lev-i-ty, Idv'-vi-t^, lightness, incon- 
 
 ■tancy 
 t In-io-lent, In'-sA-lSnt, iiaughty, over 
 
 bearing 
 d Spouse, rpd&ze, one joined in mar 
 
 riare 
 
 # Tfir-^u-Ienea. t&r'-b{i-<l4i)M turaalt, 
 
 violence 
 / Ex-rlaim, iks-klime', to cry ttut 
 
 with veli«nience 
 rr Giddy, g!d'-ci*, whirling, unitoadf, 
 
 haedie£ti 
 k E-fjua uim-i-ty, i-kMrl-iiIm'-A-ti, •^ 
 
 venncsi of mind 
 X Mag-ni-fy, m&(;'-ni-f 1« to m&ke Sr«l% 
 
 extol 
 
i ' 
 
 Patience under provocations our interest as tcttt as duty. 
 . 1. Thk wide circle of huniim society is diversified by 
 ^n endless variety -of cliaracters, dis])Ositions, find passions. 
 Uniformity" is, in no respect, the genius of the world. — 
 Every man is niarkeri by some peculiarity which distin- 
 j;iiishes him from another : and no wliere can two indi- 
 viduals be found, who are exactly and in ail respects alike. 
 Where so much diversity obtains, it cannot but iiap{)en, 
 that in the intercourse wiiich men are obliged to main- 
 tain, their tempers will often he ill adjuste4l4o that inter- 
 course ; will jar, and interfere with eijclv otlier. 
 
 S. Hence, in every station, the hij^hest as well as the 
 lowest, and in every condition of life, public, private, and 
 domestic, occasions of irritation fi-equently arise. We 
 are provoked, sometimes, by the folly and levity'' of those 
 with whom we are connecled : sometimes, by their in- 
 difference or neglect; by the incivility of a friend, the 
 hauj^htiness of a superior,* or the insolent" behaviour of 
 one in lower station. 
 
 5. 'Hardly a day passes, without somewhat or other 
 occurrinj!;, which serves to rfUflle the- man of impatient 
 spirit. Of course, such a man lives in a continual storm. 
 iie knows not what it is to enjoy a train of j^ood humour. 
 Servants, neij^hbours, friends,' spouse, '^ and children, all, 
 through the unrestrained violence of his temper, become 
 sources of disturbance and vexation to him. In vain is 
 Jiflluence ; in vain are health and prosperity. The least 
 trifle is sufficient to discompose his mind, and poison his 
 pleasures. His very amusements are mixed with turb'j 
 lence« and passion. 
 
 4. 1 would beseech this man to consider, of what small 
 moment the provocationf? Avhich he receives, or at least 
 imagines himself to receive, are really in themselves ; but 
 of what great moment he makes them, by suffering them 
 to deprive him of the possession of himself. I w-ould be- 
 seech him, to consider, how many hours of happiness he 
 throws away, which a little more patience would a'.low 
 him to enjoy : and how much he puts it in th(; |)ower of 
 the most msignificant persons to render him miserable. 
 
 5. " But who can expect," we hear him exclaim,/ 
 " that he is to possess the insensibility of a stone? How 
 is it possibld for human nature to endure so many repeat- 
 ed provocations 1 or to bear calmly with so unreasonable 
 behaviour V My brother I if tiiou canst bear with no itt- 
 
€hap' ft Didactic ixcss>. t4 . 
 
 «tftuce« of unreasonable behaviour, T^ithdraw thjsei/ fro^jj 
 "Oit world. Thou art no longer fit to live in it. LeatA 
 the intercourse of men. Retreat to the mountain, and 
 the desert ; or shut thyself up in a cell. For here^ in \J^ 
 ttiidst of society, offences mmt cnmc. 
 
 6. We might as well expect when v/e behold a calm al(*> 
 mospliere, and a clear sky, that no clouds were ever to 
 rise, and no winds to blow, as that our life were long to 
 proceed without receiving provocations from human frail- 
 ty. The careless and the imprudent, the ^iddy^ and the 
 fickle, the ungrateful and the interested, every where meet 
 us. They are the briers and thorns, with which the paths 
 of human life are beset. iJe only, who can hold hia 
 course among them with patience and equanimity,* hv 
 "who is prepared to bear what he must expect to happen, 
 is worthy of the name of a man. 
 
 7. If we preserved ourselves composed but for a mo- 
 ment, we should perceive the insignificancy of most of 
 thos-e provocations which we magnify so highly. When 
 a few'suns more have rolled over our heads, 'the storm 
 will, of itself, have subsided ; the cause of our present 
 impatience and disturbance will be utterly forgotten.— 
 Can we not then, anticipate this hour of cahnness to our- 
 selves ; and begin to enjoy the peace which it will cer- 
 tainly bring ? 
 
 8. It^ others have behaved improperly, let us leave them 
 to their own folly, without becommg the victim of their 
 caprice, and punishing ourselves on their account. Pa- 
 tience, in this exercise of it, cannot be too much studied 
 by all who wish their life to flow in a smooth stream. It 
 is the reason of a man, in opposition to the passion of a 
 child. It is the enjoyment ol peace, in opposition to up- 
 roar and confusion*. blair. 
 
 SECTION XIV. 
 
 c Sphere, sfJre, a globe, orb, circuit 
 
 i Prim-i-tivo, pr!m'-^-v!v, ancient, for- 
 mal 
 
 e Am-bit-ion, im-blsh'-fin, tho desire of 
 preferment 
 
 d Ul-ti mate, il'-t^-mit, the very last, .'. 
 final 
 
 « En-groB8, en-grise', to purchase the 
 
 Moderation in our tcishes recommended. 
 1. The active mind of man seldom or never rests so^ 
 isfied with its present condition, how frowf^ervisa sowr^f- .. 
 
 whole of any commodity, fbr the 
 
 sake of tielling at a high price 
 / Pre-cip-i-tate, pr^-klp'-p^-tiite, to hh*- 
 
 ten, hurry rashly 
 /r Fal-la-cious, fAi-li'-thfi», deccittitl 
 h Wo, w6, grief, (sorrow, misery 
 ' Per-nic-joui, pkr-nlah'-tt^ de«tni9> 
 
 live 
 
•4 Knglish Header. Fart 1. 
 
 Or^iminy formed for a wider rari^c of objects, for 
 lligher sphere* of enjoyments, it hnds itself, in every 
 situation of fortune, strained and contined. Sensible of 
 deSciency in its state, it is evor sendinj^ forth tlie fond 
 desire, the aspiring wish, after sometiiini; beyond what is 
 enjoyed at present. 
 
 k. Hence that restlessness which prevails so generally 
 among mankind. Hence, that disgust of pleasures whict 
 they have tried ; that passion for novelty ; that ambition 
 of rising to some degree of eminence or fehcity, of which 
 they have formed to themselves an indistinct idea. All 
 which may be considered as indications of a certain na- 
 tive, original greatness in the human soul, swelling beyond 
 the limits of its present condition ; and pointing to the 
 higher objects for which it was made. Happy, if these 
 latent remains of our primitive^ state, served to direct 
 our wishes towards their proper destination, and to lead 
 us into the path of true bliss. 
 
 3. But in this dark and bewildered state, the aspiring 
 tendency of our nature unfortunately takes an opposite 
 direction, and feeds a very misplaced ambition.'^ The 
 flattering appearances Avhich here present themselves to 
 «ense ; the distinctions which fortune confers ; the ad- 
 vantages and pleasures which we imagine the world to 
 be capable ot bestowing, fill up the ultimate'' wish of 
 most men. 
 
 4. These are the objects which engross* their solitary 
 musings, and stimulate their active labours ; which warm 
 the breasts of the young, animate the industry of th(i 
 middle aged, and often keep alive the passions oi the old, 
 until the very close of life. 
 
 5. Assuredly, there is nothing unlawful in our wishing 
 to he freed from whatever is disagreeable, and to obtaii; 
 a fuller enjoyment of the comforts of life. But wher. 
 these wishes are not tempered by reason, they are in 
 danger of precipitating/ us into much extravagance ant. 
 folly. Desires and wishes are the first springs of action. 
 When they become exorbitant, the wiiole character is 
 likely to be tainted. 
 
 6. If we suffer our fancy to create to itself worlds of 
 ideal happiness, we shall discompose the peace and or- 
 der of our minds, and foment many hurtful passionr. 
 Here, then, let moderation begin its reign ; by bringing 
 within reasonable bounds the wishes that we form. As 
 •oon as they become extravagant, Je us check the»a, bj 
 
Chnp. %. DiDACTir: PtECES. 91 
 
 proper rr/!ectlnna on the raUacious/ nature of those ob- 
 j» CIS, which the workl iianji;» out to allure dcjirt*. 
 
 7. You havf. strayed, my friends, from the road which 
 ronducts to felicity ; you have dishonoured the nativo 
 di;;nily of your souls, in allowing your wishes to termin- 
 er e on nothing hi;^her than worldly ideas of j!;reatness or 
 liappiness. \ our imagination roves in a land of shadows. 
 Lnri!al forms deceive you. It is no more than a phan- 
 tom, an illusion of happiness, whicii attracts your fond 
 admiration ; nay, an illusion of happiness, which often 
 conceals mu£h real misery. 
 
 o. Do you imagine that ail are happy, who have attain- 
 ed to those sununits of distinction, towards which your 
 wishes aspire / Alas ! how freciuenlly has experience 
 filiuwn, that where roses were sup]K>sed to bloom, nothing 
 but briers and thorns grew! Reputation, beauty, riches, 
 grandeur, nay, royalty itself, Avould, many a lime, have 
 been gladly exchanged by the possessors,' for that m»r« 
 quiet and humble station, with which you are now dis- 
 satisfied. 
 
 9. With all that is splendid and shining in the world, 
 it is decreed that there should mix many deep shades of 
 wo.^ On the elevated situations of fortune, the great ca- 
 lamities of life chiefly fall. There, the storm spends its 
 violence, and there the thunder breaks ; while safe and 
 unhurt, the inhabitants of the vale remain below ; — lie- 
 treat, then, from those vain and pernicious* excursions of 
 extravagant desire. 
 
 10. batisfy yourselves with what is rational and attain- 
 Able. Train your minds to moderate views of human 
 life, and human happiness. Remember, and admire, the 
 wisdom of Agur's petition : ** Remove far from me van- 
 ity and lies. Give me neither poverty nor riches. Feed 
 me with food convenient for me : lest I be fijl and deny 
 thee ; and say, who is the Lord? or lest 1 be poor, and 
 steal ; and take the name of my God ia vain." blair. 
 
 SECTION XV. 
 
 • Plan-ct, plln'-lt, a body tliat moves 
 '. round the bum 
 
 I* E-ther, 4'-thir, an element finer tlian 
 I air 
 
 |« Lumi-na-ry, J6'-mA-n4-r4, a body 
 I that givM lijrht 
 14 Gal-81-y, f4I'-lik-«*, the roilky way 
 
 e Maj-es-ty, mW-jin-ti, dignity, royti 
 
 ttiie 
 / Mil-ton, nifl'-t'n, a celebrated Po«t 
 / Con-stel-la-tion. k4ii-sUil-14'-«h6a, a 
 
 cluster (»f fixed Biars 
 h Or-dain, 6r-dine', to appoint, d«ei«* 
 i In-fi-i>it«>,Iii'-fA-ntt,uabouiided,«iidlM 
 
 H 
 
Knalxbh Kxa^%&« 
 
 Pai^i^ 
 
 j An-trf4ii-late, An-nr-M-lite, to reduce 
 
 to nothing, (Jestroy 
 k Chasm, kizm,*a cleft, gap^ vacuity 
 I Tel-e-8cope, t21'-I6-sk6pe, a g.asa to 
 
 Tiew distant objects 
 m Hny-ge-ni-us, ht-j^'-n^-Ba, 
 n Stint, sttnt, to bound, restrain, limit 
 • Suc-cour, Ei'ik'-kftr, to help, relieve 
 
 aid, assistance, help in distrcjis 
 p Om-ni!?-ci out, 6rn-nish'-6-ent, infi- 
 nitely wise 
 
 q Im-men-rf-ty, Im-nido'-oA-tA, tmbowt^ 
 
 ded greatnesa 
 r Van-ish, v4n'-!3h,to disappear, be lost 
 s Re-gard, r6-gird', to yaiua, observe^ 
 
 respect, reverence 
 t Oc-ca-sion, 6k-kA'-zhfin, to cause, & 
 
 cause 
 u Con-fi-dent, k6n'-r4-d5nt,- a boiom 
 
 friend, positive, bold 
 V Mcr-cy, mSr'-s^, tenderness, clenaen 
 
 cy 
 
 Omniscience and omnipresence of the Deity, the source oj 
 consolation to good men. 
 
 1. I was j^esterday, about sun set, walking in the open 
 fields, till the night insensibljr fell upon me. I at nrst 
 amused myself with all the richness and variety of co- 
 lours, which appeared in the western parts of heaven. In 
 proportion as they faded away and went out, several stars 
 and planets" appeared one after another, till the whole fir- 
 m'ament was in a glow. The blueness of the ether* was 
 exceedingly heightened and enlivened, by the season of 
 the year, and the rays of all those luminaries*^ that passed 
 through it. 
 
 2. The galaxy^ appeared in its most beautiful white. 
 To complete the scene, the full moon rose, at length in 
 that clouded majesty,*^ which Milton/ takes notice of 
 and opened to the eye a ncAV picture of nature, which was 
 more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights than 
 that which the sun had before discovered to us. 
 
 3. As I was surveying the moon walking in her bright* 
 ness, and taking her progress among the constellations,*' a 
 thought arose in me, which I believe very often perplex- 
 es and disturbs men of serious and contemplative natures. 
 David himself fell into it in that reflection ; '* When 1 
 consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon 
 and the stfl's which thou hast ordamed ;^ what is man 
 that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that 
 thou regardesthim !" 
 
 4. In the same manner, when 1 consider that infinite* 
 host of stars, or to speak more philosophically, of suns, 
 which were then shinmg upon me ; with those innumera- 
 hle sets of planets or worlds, which were moving round 
 their respective suns ; when 1 still enlarged the idea, and 
 supposed anotker heaven of suns and worlds, rising still 
 above this which we discovered : and these still enlight- 
 ened foy a superior firmameot of luminaries, which are 
 
Ckap.Q^ Didactic Vizckb fit -*- 
 
 planted at so great a distance, that llicy may appear to 
 the inhabitants of the former, aa tiie stars do to us : in 
 short, -wiiile I pursued this tliouj^ht, 1 could not hut reflect 
 on that little insij^niiicant figure ^vhich I myself bore 
 amidst the immensity of Cod s works. 
 
 5. Where the sun which enlightens this part of the 
 'creation, with all the host of ])lanetary worlds that move 
 above him, utterly extinguislu'd *ana anniliilated,.' tliey 
 would not be missed, more than a grain uf sand upon th« 
 sea-shore. The space they possess is so exceedingly 
 little in comparison of the whole, it would scarcely make 
 a blank in the cn-ation. 
 
 6. The chasm^ would be imperceptible to an eye, that 
 could take in the wiif)!e compass of nature, and pass from 
 pne end of the creation to the other; as it is possible 
 there may be sucii a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in 
 creatures which are at present inore exalted than our- 
 selves. ]iy the help of glasses, we see many stars, which 
 we do not discover with our naked eyes; and the iincT 
 ©ur telescopes' are, the more still are our discoveries. 
 
 7. lluyj^enius'" carries this thought so far, that he does 
 not think it impossible there may be stars, whose light has 
 not yet travelled down to us, since their first creation. 
 There is no 'question that the universe hafi certain bounds 
 set to it ; but when we consider that it is the work of In- 
 finite Power, promj)t.ed by In/iriite Goodness, with an in- 
 Anate space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set 
 any bounds to it ? 
 
 8. To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could 
 not but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being 
 that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had 
 so great a work under his care and superintendency. 1 
 was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of 
 nature; and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, 
 which in all probability, swarm through alftlTesc immeas- 
 urable regions of matter. 
 
 9. In order to recover myself from this mortifying 
 thought, I considered that it took its rise from those nnr- 
 row conceptions, which we are apt to entertain of the Di- 
 vine Nature. \Ve ourselves cannot attend to many dif- 
 ferent objects at the same time. If we are careful to in- 
 gpect some things, we must of course neglect others. — 
 This imperfection which we observe in ourselves, i? an 
 imperfection that cleaves, in some degree, to creatures of 
 
US English Rbadf.r. Port I. 
 
 thft higliftsrt capacities, as they are creatures, that is, be- 
 ings of finite and limitefi natures. 
 
 10. The presence of every created being is confined to 
 a certain measure of sj)ace ; and consequently his ubser- 
 vatioB is stinted" to a certain nuinber of objects. The 
 sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of 
 a wider circumference to one creature, than another, ac- 
 cording as we rise one above another in the scale of ex- 
 istence. But the widest of these our spheres has its cir- 
 cumference. 
 
 When, therefore, we reflect on the Divine Nature, 
 "we are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in 
 ourselves, that we cannot forbear, in some measure, as- 
 cribing it to HIM, in whom there is no shadow of imper- 
 fection. Our reason indeed assures us, that his fittri- 
 hutes are infinite ; but the poorness of our conceptions is 
 such, that it cannot forbear setting bounds to everything 
 it contemplates, till our reason comes again to our suc- 
 cour," ana throws down all those kittle prejudices^ which 
 rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man. 
 
 12. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melan- 
 choly thouj^bt, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in 
 the multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those 
 objects among which he seems to be incessantly employ- 
 ed, if we consider, in the first place, that he is oranipres- 
 %nt ; and in the second, that he is omniscient.^ 
 
 13. If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being 
 passes through, actuates, and supports the whole frame 
 ot nature. His creation, in every part of it, is full of 
 him. There is nothing he has ipade, which is either so 
 distant, so little, or so inconsiderable, that he does not es- 
 sentially reside in it. His substance is within the sub- 
 stance of every being, whether material or immaterial, 
 lind as intimately present to it, as that being is to itself. 
 
 14. It would be an imperfection in him, were he able 
 to move out of one place into another ; or to withdravv 
 himself from any thing that he has created, or from any 
 part of that space which he diffused and spread abroad 
 to infinity. In short, to speak of him in the language of 
 the old philosopher, he is a being whose centre is every 
 where, and his circumference no where. 
 
 15. In the second place, he is omniscient as well as 
 omnipresent. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and 
 naturalljr flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but 
 b« conscious of everv motion that arisec m the whole ma ' 
 
Chmp^ 4. AnouMsrvTATiVB Pieces. ii 
 
 terial world, which he thus essentially pervades ; and of 
 every thought that is stirrinj^ in the intellectual worlds to 
 every part of which he is thus intimately united. 
 
 16. Were the soul separated from the Dody^and should 
 It with one glance of thought start heyond the hounds o» 
 the creation; should it for millions of years, continue its 
 prop^ress through infinite space, with the same activity, it 
 would still find itself within the emhrace of its Creator, 
 and encompassed by the immensity^ of the Godhead. 
 
 17. In this consideration of the Almighty*s omnipres- 
 ence and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought van 
 ishes.** Me cannot but regard* every thing that has be- 
 ing, especially such of his creatures who fear they are 
 not regarded by him. He is privy to t\H their thoughts, 
 and to that anxiety of heart in particular, which is apt to 
 trouble them on this occasion ;' for, as it is impossible he 
 should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be con- 
 fident" that he regards with an eye of mercy,* those 
 who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice; 
 and in unfeigned humility of heart, think themselves un» 
 worthy that he should be mindful of them. adpison. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 SECTION 1. 
 
 « In-qtii-ry, !a-kwi'-rl, interrogation.! and Tro, to he uncertain, to ftmyg 
 i)(!urch |e En i^eiicp, ^i*'-a£nae, cxuteDCt, p«r 
 
 I Fluc-tu-ale, fl&k'-Uhi-ite, to roll to' fume, odour 
 
 Happiness is Jbunded in rectitude of conduct, 
 
 1. xak LL men pursue good, and would be happy, if 
 they knew how : not hap])y for minutes, and miserable 
 for hours; but hanpy, if possible, through every part of 
 their existence. Either, tnerefore, there is a good of this 
 steady, durable kind, or there is not. If not, then all 
 ^ood must be transcient and uncertain ; and if so, an ob- 
 ject of the lowest value, which can little deserve our it^ 
 tention or inquiry.* 
 
 £• But U tnert) be a better good, such a good bj w« mm 
 H * 
 
fi^eLisa Keamciu 
 
 Pari I. 
 
 seeking ; like every other thing, \t must be derived from 
 jSorae cause ; and that cause must either be external, inter- 
 nal, or mixed ; in as much as, except those three, there 
 is no other possible. Now a steady, durable good, can- 
 not be derived from an external cause : since all derived 
 from externals must fluctuate as they fluctuate.* 
 
 S. J5y the same rule, it cannot he derived from a mix- 
 ture of the two ; because the part which is external, will 
 proportionahly destroy its essence.*^ What then remains 
 but the cause internal ? the very cause ^vhich we have 
 supposed, when we place the sovereign good in mind — in 
 rectitude of conduct. Harris. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 a Ex-pan-sion, Jks-pin'-slifln, extent, 
 pure space 
 
 h Annoy, 4n-nd4', to incommode, to 
 vex 
 
 c Sub-ser-vi-ent, Bub-sSr'-vi-gnt, subor- 
 dinate, useful 
 
 d De-tach, di-t4tsh', to separate, dis 
 engage 
 
 < <Jbi-iner-i-cal, k^-mSr'-ri-kAI, imagi 
 nary, fnntastick 
 
 / Ab-sur-di-ty, Ab-fiiV-d^-t*, the qual- 
 ity of being absurd 
 
 g Ilerd, hfird, to run in droves, a drove 
 
 or company 
 
 k Disperse, d!3-p2rse', to scatter, to dis- 
 sipate 
 
 i Par-tic i-pate, pir-lls'-si-pite, to par- 
 take, to have part of something 
 common with another 
 
 ;■ Ge-ni al, ji'-n6-4l, natural, native, 
 contributing to mirth 
 
 k Stu-pen-doufi, 8t6-p2n'-d5s, wonder 
 ful, ama/ing 
 
 I Ad-o-ration, 4d-d6-ri'-shfin, diviae 
 worship 
 
 Virtm and piety marCs highest interest, 
 
 1. I FIND myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded 
 every way hy an immense unknown expansion." — Where 
 am 1 ? What sort of a place do I inhabit? Is it exact- 
 ly accommodated in every instance to my convenience ? 
 Is there no excess of coiu, none of heat to oflend me ? 
 Am I never anno5'ed'^ by animals either of my own, or a 
 diiier iit kind ? Is every thing subservient^ to me, as 
 though I had ordered all myself? No-^nothing like it — 
 —-the farthest from it possible. 
 
 2. The world appears n<U, then, originally made for 
 the private convenience of m^jdone ? — It does nut. Ikit 
 is it not possible so to acrommodate it, by my own par- 
 ticular industry? If to accommodate man and beast, 
 heaven and earth, if tnis be beyond me, it is not possible. 
 What consequence then follows ; or can there be any oth- 
 er than this — If I seek an interest of my own detached 
 from that of others, I seek ah interest which is chimer- 
 ical,' aiul which can never have an existence. 
 
Chap, 4. Aroumkntative J^iecks. ti 
 
 3. How then must 1 determine 7 Have 1 no interest 
 ,at nil ? If 1 have not, I am stationed here to no purpose. 
 But why no interest ? Can I be contented with none but 
 ione separate and detached ? Is a social interest, joined 
 with others, such an absurdity/ as not to be admitted 1 
 The bee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding^- animals, 
 are sufficient to convince me, that the tiling is somewhere 
 'at least possible. 
 
 4. How, then, am I assured that it is not equally true 
 of mim 1 Admit it ; and what follows ? If so, then hon- 
 oiH* and justice are my interest ; then the wiiole train of 
 moral virtues are my interest ; without some portion of 
 which, not even thieves can maintain society. 
 
 r>. 15ut, farther still — I stop not here — 1 pursue this so- 
 cial interest as far as 1 can trace my several relations. I 
 jKiss from my own stock, my own neighbourhood, my 
 own nation, to the whole race of mankind, as dispersed* 
 t(!ri)nghout the earth. Am I not related to them all, by 
 tlu' mutual aids of commerce, by the general intercourse 
 arts and letters, by that common nature of which we 
 particij)ate ?' 
 
 «i. Agam — I must have food and clothing. Without a 
 proper geniab warmth, I instantly perish. Am 1 not re- 
 ;;t('d, in this view, tothevrry earth itself; 'to the distant 
 -un, from whose beams I derive vijrour / To that stupen- 
 ';Mis* course and order of tiie infinite host of heaven, by 
 irh the times and seasons ever uniformly pass on ? 
 
 7. Were this order once confoundt'd, I could not pro- 
 )a!)ly survive a moment; so absolutely do I depend on 
 his common general welfare. AVhat, then, have 1 to do, 
 );!t to enlarge virtue into piety ? Not only honour and 
 istice, and what J owe to man, is my interest; but grat- 
 tude also, acquiescence, resignation, adoration,' and all I 
 1'.' e to this great polity, and its great Governour our 
 Mimmoa Parent. Harris. 
 
 ' SECTION III. 
 
 \ Friv-o-lou», frIv'-A Ifts, slight, tri- / Mer-it, m?r'-!t, dciert, to claim riglit, 
 ' flini^ io be entitled to 
 
 K 1 inotir, rJJ'-m&r, flying report ff As-cribo, As-krlbe', to attribute, to 
 ' ci-sive, d6-sl'-8?v, couclutiive, fi- imiMiie 
 
 rial h Trompt, pr6mt, to incite, remind| 
 
 w^y-tem, kls'-t^.m, a ncheire, method, quick, ready 
 Hody of any art or science dd In-ad-ver-ten-cy, In-4d-»4r-t4i>-i4 
 
 , De-ter-mino, d^tir'-niln, to fix, iimitj^ negligence, carelcMneM 
 
i| English Header. Ptift 1 
 
 Tilt injustice of an uncharitable spirit. 
 
 1. A SUSPICIOUS^ uncharitable spirit is not only incon 
 flstent with all social virtue and happiness^ but it is also, 
 in itself, unreasonable and unjust. In order to form 
 sound opinions concerning cliaracters and actions, two 
 things are especially requisite, information and impartial- 
 ity. But such as are most forward to decide unfavoura- 
 bly, are commonly destitute of both. Instead of possess- 
 ing, or even requiring, full information, the grounds on 
 which they proceed are frequently the most dight and 
 frivolous." 
 
 2. A tale, perhaps, which the idle have invented, the 
 inquisitive have listened. to, and the credulous have pro- 
 pagated ; or a real incident which rumc ^'•,'' in carrying it 
 aK»iig, has exaggerated and disguised, supplies them with 
 materials of confident assertion, and decisive'- judgment. 
 From an action they presently look Into the heart, and 
 infer the motive. This supposed motive they conclude 
 to he the ruling principle ; and pronounce at once con- 
 rerning tlie whole character. 
 
 S. Nothing can be more contrary both to equity ar>d 
 to sound reason, than this precipitate judgment. Any 
 man who attejids to what passes within himself, may ea- 
 sily discern what a complicated system*^ the human char 
 acter is ; and what a variety of circumstances must be 
 taken into the account, in order to estimate it truly. No 
 'single instance of conduct whatever, is sufficient to de- 
 termine* it. 
 
 4. As from one worthy action, it were credulity, not 
 charity, to conclude a person to be free from all vice ; 60 
 from one which is censurable, it is perfectly unjust to in- 
 fer that the author of it is without conscience and with- 
 out merit./ If we knew all the atteiidin;; ftrcumstances, 
 it might appear in an excus ibie ligiit ; nay, })= rhaps, un- 
 der a commendable form. The motives of the actor may 
 have been entirely diiiV'rent from those which we ascribe^ 
 to him ; and where we suppose him impelhid by bad de- 
 sign, he may have been prompted'* by conscience and 
 anstaken principle. 
 
 5. Admitting the action to have been in every view 
 criminal, he maj^ have been hurried into it through inad- 
 vertency* and surprise. He may have sincerely renented ; 
 and the virtuous principle m^' have now regained its full 
 vigour. Perhaps this was the corner of frailty ; the quar- 
 ter oo which he lay opea to the incursions of tPmpUtioo ; 
 
ehap.^ 
 
 AHfiUMENTATITE FlECES. 
 
 while the other arenues of his heart were firmty guard- 
 ed by conscience. 
 
 6. It is therefore evident, that no part of the govern- 
 ment of temper deserves attention more, than to keep 
 our minds pure from uncharitable prejudices, and open 
 to candour and humanity in judging of others. The 
 worst consequences, both to ourselves and to society, fol- 
 low from the opposite spirit. slair. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 a Dis-cuss, d!s-k8s', to examine, to dis- 
 perse any Imrnuur or sueililig 
 
 b Pe-«<.t, be-si<^l', lt» besiege, elnbar^aR^ 
 
 e Kc-piiic, r^-pliie', lo fret, to be dis- 
 coHtented 
 
 d S<i-bri-e-ty, sA-brl' A-t4, temixirance, 
 ieriousness 
 
 < Mar-tyr, inlr'-t6i, oiie who dies for 
 the truth 
 
 / Doom, (Id&m, to condemn, destine 
 'he ptHte to which out', is destined 
 
 f Be-lray, b6-t> it', to give into the haiidt 
 of enemies 
 
 h Pur-sue, pSr^ei', to chase, prosecote, 
 
 to follow as an example 
 ( Taint, tint, to stain, infect, bleoiiMi 
 j In-volve, !n-v64v', to iuwrap, coni* 
 
 prise, to entangle, to blend 
 k De-vi-atc, di'-v4 ite, to Wander fto0| 
 
 the right way 
 / In-tcs-tiue, In-t&i'-tin, mternal, domt^ 
 
 tick 
 la Array, ir-ri', dress, order of battle. 
 
 to put on dress, to put in order m 
 
 battle 
 n Beseech, b^-s^itsh', to entreat, t» 
 
 implore 
 
 The misfortunet of men mostly charTeahle on themstlvea. 
 
 1. We find man placed in a world, wheie he has by 
 no means the disposal of the events that happen. Ca- 
 lamities sometimes befall the worthiest and the best, which 
 it is not in their power to prevent, and where nothing is 
 left them, but to acknowleage, and to submit to, the high 
 liand of heaven. For such visitations of trial, many good 
 and wise reasons can be assigned, which the present sub- 
 ject leads me not to discuss.* But though those una- 
 voidable calamities make a part, yet they make not the 
 chief part, of the vexations and sorrows that distress hu- 
 man life. 
 
 2. A multitude of evils beset* us, for the source of 
 which we must look to another quarter. No sooner has 
 any thing in the health, or in the circumstances of men, 
 gone cross to their wish, than they begin to talk of the 
 unequal distribution of the good things of this life ; they 
 envy the condition of others ; they repine* at their own 
 lot, and fret against the Ruler of the world. 
 
 4. Full of these sentiments, one man pines under ^ 
 broken constitution. Bullet us ask him, whether he can^ 
 fairly and honestly, assign no cause for this but the un- 
 known decree of heaven ? Has he duly valued the bk#- 
 
..* 
 
 04 £i«6LiSH Keadeiu Part 
 
 sing of health, and always observed the rules of virtue 
 and sobriety 1'^ Has he been moderate in his life, and 
 temperate in all his pleasures ? If now he is only paying 
 the price of his fortiier, perheips his forgotten indulgen- 
 ces, has he any title to complain, as if lie were suifering 
 unjustly ? 
 
 4. Were we to survey the chamber^ of sickness and 
 distress, we should often find them peopled with the vic- 
 tims of mtemperance and sensuality, and with the chil- 
 dren of vicious indolence and sloth. Among the thou- 
 sands who languish there, we should find the proportion 
 of innocent sufferers to be small. We should see faded 
 youth, premature old age, and the prospect of an untimely 
 grave, to be the portion of multitudes, who in one way 
 or other, have brought those evils on themselves ; wiiile 
 yet these martyrs" of vice and folly have the assurance to 
 arraign the hard fate of man, ana to " fret against the 
 Lord.'* 
 
 5. But you, perhaps, complain of hardships of another 
 kind ; of the injustice of the world ; of the poverty which 
 you suffer, ana the discouragements under which yoa 
 labour ; of the crosses and disappointments of which your 
 life has been doomed/ to be full. Before you give too 
 much scope to your discontent, let me desire you to re- 
 flect impartially upon your past train of life. 
 
 6. Have not sloth or pride, or ill temper, or sinful pas- 
 sions, misled you often from the path of sound and wise 
 conduct ? Have you not been wanting to yourselves in 
 improving those opportunities which Providence offered 
 you, for bettering and advancing your state ? If you have 
 chosen to indulge your humour, or your taste, in the grat- 
 ifications of indolence or pleasure, can j^ou complain be- 
 cause others, in preference to you, have obtained those 
 advantages whicn naturally belong to useful labours, and 
 honourable pursuits ? 
 
 7. Have not the consequences of some false steps, into 
 which your paesions, or your pleasures, have betray ed« you, 
 
 Eursued^ you through much of your hfe ; tainted,' per- 
 aps, your characters, involved-^ you in embarrassments,' 
 or sunk you into neglect ? — It is an old saying, that eve- 
 ry man is the artificer of his own fortune in the world*' 
 It is certain, that the world seldom turns wholly against a 
 man, unless through his own fault. ** Religion is," ia 
 general, ** profitable unto all things." 
 
 8. Virtue, dihgencej and industry, joined with good 
 
i Chap, 4. Argumenvativb Tieces. 95 
 
 temper and prudence, have ever been found the surest 
 
 road to prosperity ; and where men fail of attaining it, 
 
 i their want of su^'cess is far oftener owing to their having 
 
 > deviated* from tliat road, than to their having encoun- 
 I i tered insuperable bars in it. Some by being too artful, 
 ' i forfeit the reputation of probity. Some by being too 
 , I open, are accounted to fail m prudence. Others, by being 
 I i fickle and changeable, are distrusted by all. 
 
 , ! 9. The case commonly is, that men seek to ascribe 
 } their disappointments to any cause, rather than to their 
 I own misconduct; and when they can devise no other 
 
 > cause, they lay them to the charge of Providence. Their 
 folly leads them into vices ; their vices into misfortunes ; 
 and in their misfortunes they ** murmur against Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 10. They are doubly unjust towards their Creator. In 
 their prosperity, they are apt to ascribe their success to 
 their own diligence, rather than to his blessing : and ia 
 their adversity, they impute their distresses to his provi- 
 dence, not to their own misbehaviour. Whereas, the 
 truth is the very reverse of this. " Every good and ev- 
 ery perfect gift cometh from above ;" and of evil and mis- 
 ery, man is the author to himself. 
 
 11. When from the condition of individuals, we look 
 abroad to the pubHc state of the world, we meet with 
 more proofs of the truth of this assertion. We see ^reat 
 societies of men torn in pieces by intestine' dissensions, 
 tumults, and civil commotions. We see mighty armies 
 
 ! going forth, in formidable array,*" against each other, to 
 cover the earth with blood, and to fill the air with the 
 cries of widows and orphans. Sad evils these are, to 
 which this miserable world is exposed. 
 
 12. But are these evils, i beseech" you, to be imputed 
 to God ? Was it he who sent forth slaughtering armies 
 into the field, or who filled the peaceful city with massa- 
 cres and blood ? Are these miseries any other than the 
 bitter fruit of men*s violent and disorderly passions ? Are 
 they not clearly to be traced to the ambition and vices of 
 princes, to the quarrels of the great, and to the turbu- 
 lence of the people ? — Let us lay them entirely out of the 
 
 ; account, in tninfeing of Providence ; and let us think only 
 of the " foolishness of man." 
 
 IS. Did man control his passions, and form his cod- 
 duct according to the dictates of wisdom, humanity, and 
 virtue, the eafth would no longer be desolated by cruelty ; 
 
m ISiroLitH KCADEK. Pari 1 
 
 and human socletiea would Hve in order, harmony, and 
 peace. In those scenes of mischief and violence which 
 till the world, let man behold, with shame, the picture of 
 his vices, his ignorance, and folly. Let him be humbled 
 by the mortifymg view of his 'own perverseness ; but let 
 not his ** heart fret against the Lord." blair. 
 
 # 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 I ?o-sit-ion, p^z!sh'-fi», situation, prin 
 
 ciple laid down ll Satis fuc-tio«, s4t-l»-fik'-«h&Q, fratl- 
 
 bind, to please 
 
 ficalion 
 
 m Poise, pft^ise, to baJauce, to weigh 
 
 n Renounce, ri-n^uiwe', to disown 
 
 Ac-iu-ate, 4k'-l«hi-4te, to put io ac- 
 tion 
 
 p Observe, ib-xlr*', to Hote, regard, 
 obey 
 
 q A-ver-sioB, A-r4r'-ah5fl, hatred, dis- 
 like 
 
 r In-com-pat-ibI«,tn-k&m-pAt'-4-bl, li^ 
 consistent, with something else 
 
 « Mo- live, roi'-dr, that whidt deter- 
 mineti the choioe 
 
 t Am ;-ca- jle, 4m'-^-ki-bl, frieodlj, 
 kind 
 
 V. Lull, Ifii, t9 compote to sleep 
 
 V l*re-<;lude, pro-ki6d€', to shut out 
 
 A Tof-ture, tAr'-tshire, pain, angtnfifa, 
 
 punisimient 
 c Soph-»s-tr}', 86f'-fls-tri, fallacious ar- 
 
 guraent 
 d In-gre-*lier.t, In-gri'-j&iit, componenl 
 
 part of a body 
 « Ten-et, tSn'-nit, a principle, opinion 
 / Cast, kist, a throw, motion of the 
 
 eye, form, to form 
 f Prop-o-sit-ion, pr6p-6-z!sh'-An, any 
 
 thing proposed 
 A Aiix-il-ia-ry, iwg-zfl' -yi-ri, helpings 
 
 aesisting, help, assistance 
 t AMi-aiice, 4l-li'-Anso, connexiob by 
 
 league 
 J In-di-geBce, tn'-dA-j6n«e, want, por- 
 
 erty 
 k 0-bligo, A-blldje', or A-bl^Adje', to 
 
 On disinterested friendship. 
 
 1. I AM informed that certain Creek writers (philoso- 
 phers, it seems, in the opinion of their countrymen) have 
 advanced some very extraordinary positions^ relating to 
 friendship ; as, indeed, what subject is there, which the 
 subtle ceniuses have not tortured'- with their sophistry l« 
 
 2. The authors to whom I refer, dissuade their disci- 
 ples from entering into any strong attachments, as una- 
 voidably creating supernumerary disquietudes to those 
 who engage in thern ; and, as every man has more than 
 sufficient to call forth his solicitude, in the course of his 
 own affairs, it is a weakness, they contend, anxiously to 
 involve himself in the concerns oY others. 
 
 3. They recommend it also, in all connexions of this 
 kind, to hold the bands of union extremely loose ; so as 
 always to have it in one's power to straiten or relax 
 thein, as circumstances and situations shall rt^nder mtist 
 expedient. They add, as a capital article of their doc- 
 trine, that, ** to live exempt from cares, is an essential m- 
 gredienf to constitute human happiness : but an mgrddi- 
 
Chap. 4. Arguhentativee Tieces. m 
 
 fnt, ho-vvever, which he. who voluntarily dietre©se« blm- 
 Kclf with cares, in which he ha« no necesuary and oms. 
 fioiial interest, must never hope to possess.** 
 
 4. i have been told likewise, that there is another wet 
 of pretended philosophers, of the same country, who^ 
 tenets,' concerning this subject, are of a sliii mor-e illib- 
 eral and unji;enerous cast./ 
 
 5. The proposition^ they attempt to establish, is, that 
 *' friendship is an ailair of self-interest entirely ; and that 
 the pro]HU- motive for engaging in it, is not in order to 
 
 fjratify the kind and benevolent affections, hut for thtt 
 )enefit of that iissistance <uui supiK)rt which are to be de- 
 rived from the connexiota." 
 
 €, Accordingly tliey assert, th-at those persons tr« 
 most disposed to have recourse to auxiliary* alliances^ of 
 tliis kind, who are least qualified by uatAire,,or fortune, to 
 depend upon their own strength aridpowers ; the weaker 
 sex, for instance, being gent-raJly more incliti4?d to engago 
 in friendships, tiian the male part of our species ; and 
 those who are depres«ed by inaigence,> or labouring un- 
 der mi-sfortunes, than tUe wealthy and the prosperous. 
 
 7. Excellent and obliging* sages, these, undoubtedly 5 
 To strike out the friendly a iiections from the moral world, 
 would b/> hke exlinguitihing the sun in the natural ; each 
 of them bein^ tlie source of the best and most grateful 
 satisfactions,^ that Heaven has conferred on the sows of 
 ^en, liut 1 should l>e glad to know, what the real val- 
 ue of thJs boasted exemption from care, which they pro- 
 mise their disciples, justly amounts to ? an exemptiuR 
 flattering to sejf-love, 1 confess ; but which, upon maoy 
 occurrences in hiynan life, sJiould be rejected witli tho 
 utmost disdain. 
 
 a. For notiiinj;, surely, can be more inconsistent with 
 a well-iioised"' and manJy spirit, than to decline engaging 
 in any laudai)le action, or to be discouraged from perse- 
 jeering in it, by an apprehension of the trouble and solici* 
 tude witli which it may probably be attended. 
 
 9. Virtue herself, inojed, ought to be totally renounr 
 ced,« if it be right to avoid every possible means that may 
 be productive of unea«ine?5 ; for who, that is actuatedh* 
 by her principles, can observe/' the condiict of an oppo- 
 «ite cliaracter, witliout being affected wit ii some dcgre« 
 of secret dissatisfaction ? 
 
 10. Are not the just, the br<ive, and the good, necesSA*^ 
 eily exposed to the disa^jreeable emolkuw of disIiJte f^ 
 
grs English Reader. jF%rl J, 
 
 I 
 
 aversion,* when they respectively meet with instances oC 
 fraud, of cowardice, or of villany ? It is an essential 
 property of every well constituted mind, to be atFeGted 
 with pain, or pleasure, according to the nature of those 
 moral appearances that present themselves to observa- 
 tion. 
 
 11. If sensibility, therefore, be not incompatible^ with 
 true wisdom, (and it surely is not, unless we suppose 
 that philosophy deadens every finer feeling of our nature,) , 
 what just reason can be asrsigned, why the sympathetic 
 sufferings which may result from friendship, should be V 
 sufiicient inducement for banishing that generous affec- 
 tion from the human breast ? 
 
 12. Extinguish all emotions of the heart, and what dif^m 
 ference will remain, I do not say between man and brute^ 
 but between man and a mere inanimate clod? Away then 
 with those austere philosophers, who represent virtue as 
 hardening the soul against all the softer impressions, of 
 humanity ! 
 
 13. The fact, certainly, is much otherwise. A truly 
 good man is upon many occasions, extremely susceptible 
 of tender sentiments; and his heart expands with joy, or 
 shrinks with sorrow, as good or ill fortune accompanies 
 kis friend. Upon the whole, then, it may fairly be con- 
 cluded, that as in the case of virtue, so in that of friend- 
 ship, those painful sensations which may sometimes be 
 produced by the one, as well as by the other, are equally 
 insufficient 'grounds for excluding either of them from 
 taking possession of our bosoms. 
 
 14. They who insist that "utility is the first and pre- 
 yailing motive,* which induces mankind to enter into par« 
 ticular friendships,*' appear to me to divest the association 
 of its most amiable and engaging principle. For to a 
 mind rightly disposed, it is not so much the benefits re- 
 ceived, as the aflectionate zeal from which they flow, that 
 gives them their best and most valuable recommendation. 
 
 15. It is so far indeed from being verified by fact, that 
 a sense of our wants is the original cause of forming these 
 amicable' alliances ; that, on the contrary, it is observa- 
 ble, that none have been more distinguished in their friend- 
 ships than those, whose power and opulf^ rrpe^ but, above 
 ail, whose superior virtue, (a much firmer support,) have 
 raised them above every necessity of having recourse to 
 the assistance of others. 
 
 10. The ti'ue distinction then, in this qu'^stion, is, that 
 
Ch^. 4. Argumentative Tieces. ffO- 
 
 " althouj^ia friendship is certainly productive of utility, 
 yet utility is not the primary motive of frit'ndshin*'* 
 Those se^lfish sensualists, therefore, who, lulled" in llie lap 
 of luxury, presume to maintair) the reverse, have surelv 
 no claim to attention ; as they are neither qualif.ed hv rt 
 flection, nor experience, to f)e coiupetent judges of th« 
 subject. 
 
 17. Is there ii man upon the face of the earth, who 
 would deliberateh' accept of all the wealth, and all the 
 aflluence this world can bestow, if offered to him u])on 
 the severe terms of his hein;; unconnected with a single 
 mortal whom he could love, or by whom he should l)e 
 beloved? Th.is would be to lead the wretched life of a 
 •detested tyrant, who, amidst perpetual suspicions and a- 
 larms, ])asses his miserable days a stranj^er to every ten- 
 der sentiment; and utterly precluded" froin the heart-felt 
 ftiitisfactions of friendship. 
 
 Mel moth's translation of Cictro^s Letliits, 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 « R-s*rRb-liBh, A-stAh'-lTsh, t<> soUle, fix 
 
 b lin-inu-te-ri-al-i-fy, ^ii-inA-ti-r6-4l -e 
 t^., (iistijiciiieiis from body 
 
 c E-vincc, ^-v^nse', to [irovi*, to i<lii>\« 
 
 d Coin-mis-sion, k6m-in?.sh'-ftn, a tnisi 
 a wiirra<it by which any truht i^ 
 fioki, HCl oJ" cuiiunilifjg !i iTiiiio 
 Vo-rao-i-ty, v^-iis'-c-li, ui'Jial iruth 
 truth 
 
 / PMjj-ress, pruj,''-j:i?r.. c<'iirac, ad- 
 vuiiCcnKinl 7 , 
 
 g- Ar-rivo, ftr-rlve', to rftarh a plaiic b} 
 travelling 
 
 h Dis-cov-er-y, fns-kftv'-flr-/', the find- 
 ing Of '.uve;ilii)g aoy ilni.g 
 
 t Nur-ser-y, nftr'-8»V-ri,ii plantation •f 
 
 yomijij trues 
 
 HI Suc-c-4^i» bion, si^k b??h'-fin, uii order- 
 ly Bfcr'f-H, line <'f' or«^cr 
 
 n Ilii-Hi-meiit. r«'''V-cli-m^nt, iho first 
 piirtof Ciiuoa> it'll 
 
 f) Ac-c'.;ot.i«>ii, 6k d<ibh'-6i), increase, 
 ij to 
 
 p P(»JMi-li-iv, bi'-t^-fi, to adorn, em 
 bMiiisii " 
 
 / Ke-sci?j-l>lanco, ri-z^m'-blinse, like 
 i.ot^s, rii-oiiilud*-, r<.'pr€scMii;ttioH 
 
 r Finite, f i -ni?e; Ihuitijd, b-.)uudfc<l 
 
 fi Oiifir-ub, ikK? r'-flb, a selostiai spirit 
 
 t Source, g6r^e, spring, origmul, first 
 
 » Sue cess-or, «5k-h8s' fir, <Mie that foil (•iai»c 
 
 lows nnoih^r |« Miith-i;-mat-i-cal, n.Atli iVmAt'-*-k4l 
 
 j A-bor-tive, A-Mr'-t!v, bringing foitb rclHfiri^ ui n)?tihcniaiirl:.s 
 
 noihiug \v Trai«.s-p<>rl, Irjiiw-jxirt, convt.yi:nc« 
 
 4 Ca-pac-i ty, kA-p^'-i-t^, [)0uer, a-j rajUuu:, u vo.'»*iei ot carriage 
 
 biJity, condition 
 
 On the immorUdihj of Ihe soul. 
 1. I WAS yesterday walkin;^ alone, in one of my friend's 
 woods ; and. lost myself in it very as^reeably, as Twas run 
 ning; over, in my mind, the several arg:uments that estab- 
 lish this great point ; which is the basis of morality, and 
 the source of all the pleasing hopes, and secret joys, that 
 can arise in the heart of a reasonable ci-eature. ' I conoid- 
 
J 00 ENGLISH Header. Part 1. 
 
 cred those several proofs drawn, first, ft'om the nature of 
 the soul itself, and particularly its immateriality \^ which, 
 thougii not absolutely necessary to the eternity of its 
 duration, has» 1 think, been evinced^ to almost a demon- 
 stration. 
 
 2. Secondly, from its passions and sentiments ; as par- 
 ticularly, from its love of existence ; its horror of annihi- 
 lation ; and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret 
 satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue ; and 
 that uneasiness which follows upon the commission** of 
 vice. — Thirdly, from the nature of the supreme Being, 
 whose justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity/ are all 
 concerned in this point. 
 
 S. But among those, and other excellent arguments for 
 the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the 
 perpetual progress/ of the soul to its perfection, without 
 a possibility of ever arriving;' at it ; which is a hint that 
 I do not remember to have seen opened and improved by 
 others, who have written on this subject, though it seems 
 to me to carry a very ^rcat weight with it. 
 
 4. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the 
 soul, which is capable of immense perfections, and of re- 
 ceiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall awav 
 into nothing, almost as soon as it is created ? iVre such 
 abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point 
 of perfection, that he can never pass : in a few years he 
 has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to 
 live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at 
 present 
 
 5. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplish- 
 ments ; were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable 
 <>f farther enlargements ; 1 could imagine she might fall 
 iiway insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihi- 
 I'ltion. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a 
 perpetual progress of improvement, and travelling on 
 from perfection to perfection, after having just looked a- 
 hroad into the works of her Creator, and made a few dis- 
 coveries* of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, 
 must perish at her first setting out, and in the very be- 
 ginning of her inquiries ? 
 
 6. Man, considered only in his present state, seems 
 sent into the world merely to propagate his kind. He 
 provides himself with a successon ; and immediately quits 
 uis post to make vo^sra for him. He does not seem born 
 to cnjr,y life, but to Aclix^c it ck)TV.i to others. Thi& i* 
 

 Ckap. 4. AftGlIMKiNTATIVE PlEC]^ lOi 
 
 not surprising to coubKler in animals, wliicli arc formed 
 for our use, and which can iinisli their business in a short 
 life. 
 
 7. The silk-worm, after having; spun her task, lays her 
 e^gs and dies. But a man cannot take in iiis full measure 
 oi knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, estab- 
 lish his soul in virtu; , and come up to the perfection of 
 his nature, before he is htUTied oft' the stage. \\ ould an 
 infinitely wise Being make such glorious '.reatures lor sa 
 mean a purpose ? Can he delight u\ the production of such 
 abortiv tv intelligences, such shoit-lived reasonable beings / 
 Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted I ca- 
 pacities^ thnt are never to be |:;ratified ? 
 
 8. How can we find that wisdom which shines through 
 all his works, in the formation of lAan, without looking 
 on this world as only a nursery' for the next ; and witli- 
 out believing tliat the several generations of rational crea- 
 tures, which rise up and disappear in such quick succt;s- 
 sions,»« are only to receive then* first rudimtmts" of exis- 
 tence here, and afterwards to be trau-'planted into a more 
 friendly climate, where they aiay spr«.-ad and llourisii lo 
 all eternity I 
 
 9. There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and 
 triumphant consideration in religion, than tjiis ()f the per- 
 petual progress, which the soul makes towards tbe pcr- 
 lection of its nature, without ever arriving at a perioil in 
 it. To look upon the soul as going im from strength 1«» 
 strength ; to consider that she is t») shine for ever with 
 new accessions" of glory, and brighten to all eternity; 
 that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and know- 
 ledge to knowledge ; carries in it sometlnng Avonderfully 
 agreeal)le to that ambition, which is natural to the mind 
 of man. 
 
 10. Ney, it must be a prospect pleasing to God him- 
 self, to see his creation for ever beautifying^ in ins eyes ; 
 and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of resem- 
 biance.'^ Methinks this single cunsideratiori, of the pro- 
 gress of a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufiicient to 
 extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt 
 in superior. 
 
 11. That cherub* which now appears as a god to a hu- 
 man soul, knows very well that the period will come a- 
 bout in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect 
 as he himself now is: nay, when she shall look duwn up- 
 •O tliat Cegree of perfection, as much an she now iaiU 
 
 La 
 
im 
 
 Err&LisH Reader, 
 
 Fart I. 
 
 sliort of St. It is true, the higher nature still advances^ 
 and by that means preserves his distance and superiortty 
 in the scale of being ; but he knows that, how high soever 
 the station is of whick he stands possessed at present, th^e 
 inferior nature will, at length, mount up to it ; and shine 
 forth in the same degree of glory. 
 
 12. With what asto^nishment and veneration, may we 
 look into our OAvn souls, where there are such hidden 
 stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources^ 
 of perfection ! We know not yet what w^e shall be ; nor 
 will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the 
 glory that will be always in reserve for him. 
 
 13. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one ot 
 those mathematical" lines, that may draw nearer to another 
 for all eternity, without a possibility of touching it : and can; 
 there be a thought so transporting" as to consider our- 
 •elves in these perpetual approaches to him, who is the 
 standard not only of perfection, but of happiness ? 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 SECTION 1. 
 
 •-Reg-u-lar-i-ty, rSg-Wir'-i-ti, method, 
 certain order 
 
 A Obe-di-ence, A-b^'-jA-Snse, submis- 
 giun to authority 
 
 e Dis-frimi-nate, (l!s-kr!m'-i-ni.te, to 
 mark, select, se|>arale 
 
 d Un-rte-light-iul, 6ii-d6-Hte'-fuI, not 
 pleasing 
 
 g In-8iance,in'-sfftnse, importunity, mo- 
 tive, exaini)ie, to oftV-.r ati example 
 
 / Glow, glo, to be heated, to burn 
 
 g Yield, y66ld, to produce, resign, sub- 
 mit 
 
 h Scene, si^n, the stage part of a play, 
 
 the general appearance of any ac- 
 tion, the whole mixture of objects 
 
 i Cot-toge,. kot'-tije a hut, a mean hab^ 
 itutioB 
 
 j Gran-a-ry, gr&n'-4-r4, a gtore-hooM 
 for corn 
 
 k Car-ni-val, kir'-ni-v&l, a feast 
 
 ■I Q,ui-e-t.ude, kwl'-^-tude, rest, repose, 
 (juiet 
 
 m Bn-nig-nant, b6-n?g'-n4nt, gracious, 
 kind 
 
 n A-dapt, 4-d&pt', to fit, proportion 
 
 In-iio-va-tion, !n-n6-vi'-sh6n, intro- 
 duction of rwveity 
 
 The Seasons. 
 
 I. XjLMONG the great blessings and womJers of the \ 
 creation, miiy he cla&sed the regalaritiesa of times and' 
 
CiMp, 5* Descriptive Pieces. 10© 
 
 seasons. Immediately after the flood, the sacred pr<Hn- 
 ise was made to man, that seed-thne and harvest, cold 
 and heat, summer and winter, day and night, should corv 
 tinue to the very end of all tiiinj^s. Accordingly, in oIms- 
 dience* to that promise, the rotation is constantly pre- 
 sentinj^ us with some useful and agreeable alteration ; 
 .ind all the pleasing novelty of life arises from these nat- 
 ural changes : nor are we less indebted to them for many 
 of its solid comforts. 
 
 2. It has been frequently the task of the^ moralist and 
 poet, to mark, in polished periods, the particular charms 
 and conveniences of every change ; and, indeed, such 
 discriminate*" observations upon natural variety, cannot 
 b(; undelightful ;^ since the blessing which every month 
 brings along with it, is a fresh instance* of the wisdom 
 and bounty of that Providence, which regulates the glo- 
 ries of the year. We glow/ as we contemplate ; wfii 
 feel a propensity to adore, whilst we enjoy. 
 
 3. In the time of seed-sowing, it is the season of COU' 
 Jidence ; the grain which the husbandman trusts to the 
 
 Dosom of the earth, shall, hapiy, yields its seven-fold re- 
 wards. Spring presents us with a scenc^ of lively cjp«c- 
 tation. That which was before sown, begins now to dis- 
 cover signs of successful vegetation. The labourer ob- 
 serves the change, and anticipates the harvest ; he watch 
 es the progress of nature, and smiles at her influence 
 while the man of contemplation walks forth with the 
 evening, amidst the fragrance of flowers, and promises of 
 plenty ; nor returns to his cottage* till darkness olos€^ 
 ;he scene upon his eye. 
 
 4. Then cometh the harvest, when the large wish lei 
 satisfied, and the granaries; of nature are loaded with the 
 means of life, even to a luxury of abundance. The pow- 
 ers of language are unequal to the description oi thi3 
 happy season. It is the carnival* of nature ; sun and shade, 
 coolness and quietude,^ cheerfulness and melody, love 
 and gratitude, unite to render every scene of summer da- 
 fighiful. 
 
 5. The division of light and darkness is one of the 
 kindest efforts of Omnipotent Wisdom. Day and night 
 yield us contrary blessings ; and, at the same time, assist 
 each other, by giving fresh lustre to the delights of both- 
 Amidst the glare of day, and bustle of life, how coula 
 we sleep ? Amidst the gloom of darkness, how could we 
 jfehour>'^ 
 
)6lL English Hkader* Pari J / 
 
 6« How wise, how be.nignant,'" then, is the proper di- 
 vision ! The hours of light are adapted" to activity : and 
 ^0!ie of diirltness to rest. Ere the day is passed, exer^ 
 cise and nature prepare us lor the pillow ; and by the 
 time that the morning returns, we are again able to meet 
 H with a smile. Thus, every season has a charm pecu- 
 Jiar to itself; and every moment affords some interesting 
 kmovation." meuvigth. 
 
 SECTiON n, 
 
 a Dis-rlMiipge, d^s-tuhSrjti'', to vent, re Ic Cat-a-ract, kA.t'-4-r4kt, a. fall of wa- 
 
 iearie, nn exploKiun, a vent, a re I ter 
 
 loMM '/ Otv8ta-cle, 6b'-sti-kl, hindrance, bar, 
 
 b Por-l»en-dic ii-lnr, pftn-pfin-dlk'-u-i&r 
 
 ciosBiiig at right antics 
 « Kap-iH, rAi»'-l'<l, #juick, fiivvlft, vioienf 
 4 Ltidgi^.y l£(i>it ti ridgt; rutij*^ nhove ih( 
 
 if Tie-men dous, tr^-ni&n'-dfts, dread- 
 ful, horiMjIc 
 Fu-r5', t7i'-r»'i, nnadn<»ss, rage 
 rt««i " \ ^^ TJ-niie, >'6-nUe', to join, to concur 
 
 The cataract of Niagara, in Canada^ North America. 
 
 !• This amazing fall of wnter is madn by the river 
 8t. Lawrence, in its passage from lake Erie into t'helake 
 Ontario. The St. uiwrence is one of the largest rivers 
 hi the world : and yet the whole of its waters isdischarg- 
 <jd« in this place, by a fall of a liundred and fifty feet per- 
 pendicular.'' It is not easy to bring the imagination to 
 vTorrespond to the greatness of the scene. 
 
 Z. A river extremely deep and rapid,*- and that servea 
 t^ drain the waters of almost al^ North America into the 
 Atlantic Ocean, is here poured precipitately down a ledge*^ 
 of rocks, that rises, like a wall, across the whole bed o" 
 Its stream. The river, a little above, is near three quarr 
 ters of a mile broad ; and the rocks, where it grows nar-^ 
 rower, are four hundred yards over? 
 
 5. Their direction is not straight across, but hollowing 
 inwards like a hone-shoe : so that the cataract/ which 
 bends to the shape of the obstacle,/ rounding inwards, 
 presents a kind of theatre the most tremendous^ in na- 
 tur«. Just in the middle of this circular wall of waters, 
 * little island, that has braved the fury^ of the current, 
 prese.nt8 one of its pojnts, and divides the stream at top 
 rnto two uarts ; but they unite' again, long before they 
 i«ach the nottom. 
 
 . 4. The noise of the fall js heard at the distanpe of sev- 
 eral leases ; and the fury of the waters, at the termina- 
 iioi] of theM' fall is inconceivable. The dashing produ- 
 
Cluip. ft. DeSCRIPTIVK PlKCKS^ 105 
 
 res a mist that rises to the very elouds ; antl wliich forms 
 a most beautiful r;iinht)\v, wIk'11 tiie sun sliines. Jt will 
 be readily supposed, that sucli a ealHract entirely do* 
 stroys tlie navigation of the stream : and yet some Indiana 
 in tiieir i-.anoes, it is said, have ventured down it with 
 safety. goi^dsmitm. 
 
 SECTION 111. 
 
 a Sub-ter-.ra -ue-ous, sfib-lir-ra -ni-us, m Sj)ar, Bj-iir, a smal! beam, bar 
 
 lyiii;; u:j<ler tlio ciinii [a ri;i-ri-li, ii«i'-tr^rtl, to chnnge toitAre 
 
 b Crni-io, gr6t'-t6, a ciivern mnde forlo Uo-cedo, r^-jsiiil', lu /otrcut, desist, 
 
 coolurNS I tall b»ck 
 
 e In-«'.rub Ui-iion, Tn-kru8-ti.'-sh&i), tljc 
 
 act <ir incniKtingf 
 d Ci:l-e- Urate, s^l'-fe-br.\tc, to praise. 
 
 ronuue.nil 
 e Mng-iii, niA'.»'-nl. an Ifalinn traveller 
 / Gi-gsMi-titk, ji gAii'-iKk, bulky, enor 
 
 ^ C«)ii-siil, kiii'-tiftl an officer sent ti. 
 
 foreign purls Id niatiage trade 
 h Yawn, vAwn, tt. pii(ie, to open wide 
 t Re-pretis, r^;-!"-*.-', l.» crUKli, subdiio 
 j lg-ii(i-raiit, "ijf -ni-rAiit, uuiusirtJCted, 
 
 rude 
 k Con crft-tio«, k6n-kri' shou, eoaliliotJ, 
 
 a unioi. i)i' piirtirlcs I tjuickeii 
 
 i In-cile, In-hite', to «iir up, aniniate | 
 
 The grotto of Antiparos, 
 
 [| 1. Or all the subterraneous" eaverns now known, the 
 
 [I grotto'' of Antiparos is the most remarkable, as well for 
 
 Us extent, as for the beauty of its s})arry incrustations.* 
 
 'i'his celebrated" cavern was first explored by one Magni,« 
 
 an Italian traveller, about one hundred years a«^o, at An- 
 
 (i tipafDs, an inconsiderable island of the Archipelaj;,o. 
 
 ! !i!. " Having been infoimed," says he, "by the natives 
 
 ' of Paros, that, in the little island of Antiparos, which lies 
 
 1;ib()ut two miles from the former, a gigantic/ statue was 
 to be seen at the mouth of a cavern in that place, it was 
 resolved, that we (the French ronsuk and myself) should 
 nay it a visit. In pursuance of this resolution, after we 
 __ had landi'd on the island, and walked about four miles 
 Ihrougii the midst of beautiful plains, and sloping wood- 
 lands, we at length came to a little hill, on the side of 
 which yawned'^ a most horrid cavern, that, by its j^loom. 
 at first stiuck us with terror, and almost repressea* curi- 
 esity. 
 
 3. " Recovering the first surprise, however, we eL'-^jrw* 
 
 p ror-8pec-iive, pftr-spik'-itv, a scene, 
 
 a view 
 7 Res-er-voir, r?z-?r-v\vir', a place 
 
 wberc any tbui;; ii$ kept in ntoro 
 r Quasii, k\>&Ali, to cruhh, to Diake a 
 
 i!i>i.->e 
 
 .« riambeau, flini'-bo, a ligbtod torcli 
 t Aj»-er-iure, Ap'-{'ir-:siu'ire, a passage 
 
 into, an <)|ieu place 
 u Anx-iouN'ly, ink'-hlias-l^, riolicitou*' 
 
 ly. in(|uietly 
 u Cau-tioub-ly, kiw'-bh&a-li, watchfuK 
 
 •y 
 
 w Kx-pe-dife, ^ks'-pi-dliw, lo basten, 
 
^^ English Reader, Part 1 
 
 boldly ; and had not proceeded above twenty paces, when 
 the supposed statue of the ffiant presented itself to aiip 
 view. We quickly perceived, that what the ignorantj na- 
 tives had been terrified at as a j^iant, was nothing; more th^air 
 a sparry concretion,'^ formed by the water dropping from 
 the roof of the cave, and by degrees hairdening into a 
 figure, which their fears had formed into a monster. 
 
 4. *'■ Incited^ by this extraordinary aj»pea?ance, we were 
 induced to proceed still further, in qnest of new adven- 
 tures in this subternvnean abode. iVs we proceeded, new 
 wonders offered themselves ; the spuFS,,"' formed iiito trees 
 and shrubs, ])resented a kind of petrifje.d« grove ; some 
 white, some gr(M.»n ; and all receding" in due p^^rspectivej' 
 They struck us with the more am;izement., as we knew 
 them to be mere ]iroductions of nature, who, hitherto in 
 solitude, had, in her playful moment;?, dressed the scene, 
 as if for her ov/n amusement, 
 
 5. '* We had as yet seen but a few^ of the wonders of 
 the place ; and we were introduced only into the portico 
 of this amazing temple. In one corner of this half iilif- 
 roinated recess, there appeared an opening of about three 
 feet wide, which seemed to lead to a place totally dark, 
 and wjjich one of the natives assured us contained noth- 
 ing more than a reservoirs? of water. Upon this infor- 
 mation, we made an experiment, by throwing down some 
 stones, which rumbling along the sides of the descent for 
 some time, the sound seemed at last quashed^ in a bed of 
 water. 
 
 6. *' In order, however, to be more certain, we sent in 
 a Levantine mariner, who, by the promise of a ^ood re- 
 ward, ventured, with a flambeau* in his hand, into this 
 narrow aperture.* After continuing within it for about a 
 quarter of an hour, he returned, bearmg in his hand, 
 some beautiful pieces of white spar, which art could nei- 
 ther equal nor imitate. Upon being infr)rmed by him 
 that the place was full of these beautiful incrustations, 1 
 ventured in once mor(^ with him, about fifty paces, anx- 
 iously and cautiously descending, by- a steep and dan- 
 gerous way. 
 
 7. "Finding, however, that we came to a precipice 
 which led into a spacious amphitheatre, (if 1 may so call 
 it,) still deeper than any other part, we returned, and be- 
 ing provided with a ladder, flambeau, and other things to 
 expedite'" our descent, our whole company, man by manv 
 ventured into the same opening ; and descending one aftief 
 
Chap. 3. Ji)ji«caiptivE Pieces. lot 
 
 another, we at last taw ourselves all together in the most' 
 magniflcent part of tiie cavern." 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 a Glit-ter-ing, glU'-l5r-lng, bhiniiigl sailor 
 
 brightly 
 h Trans-pa-rent, tr&n8-p4'-rSnt, clear, 
 
 translucent 
 i Col-uinn, k6r-Ifim, a pillar, file of 
 
 troopB 
 d Throne, ihrAne, the seat of a king 
 Al-tar, il'-tfir, the place where oifTcr 
 
 ings to heaven are laid 
 J Re-ver-bor-a-tion, r6-vSr-b£r-i'-shiin, 
 
 iho act wf driving back, or sounding 
 
 back 
 g Ven-ture, vSn'-tshirc, to hazard, a 
 
 chance 
 A Mar-in-cr, m&r'-rin&r, a ecaman, a 
 
 i Ain phi-lJie-a tre, fim-phi-flii'-i-tftr^ 
 a building in a circular or oval t(>m% 
 having itt area cncompaumHl witi 
 rows of seats one above an«)ri)er 
 
 j Pres-sure, prfish'-shiire, force, oppro^* 
 BkOn 
 
 /; Crys-tal,kr1s'-tAl, a hard pellucid iitosf 
 
 I Egress, e'-gr^s, the act of going oxit' 
 
 m ln-scri|>-tiou, !ii-»>kr!p'-Bhou, tuin^- 
 tliing Written or engraved, a tilJe 
 
 n Ob-liter ale, 6b-lU'-ter-riito, to cfTa^ 
 blot out 
 
 o Pen-c-tratc, \tln' -nk-ukie^ to pierce 
 tlie surface 
 
 The grotto of Antiparos^ continued, 
 
 1. "Our candles beine now all lighted upV and th« 
 whole place completely illuminated, never could the ey© 
 be presented with a more glitterinjj,« or a more magnificent 
 scene. The whole roof hunewitli solid icicles, transpar- 
 ent* as glass, yet solid as marble. The eye could scarcely 
 reach the lofty and noble ceiling ; the sides were regularly 
 formed with spars; and the whole presented the idea of 
 a magnificent tlieatre, illuminated with an immense pro- 
 fusion of lights. 
 
 2. " The iloor consisted of solid marble ; and in several 
 places, magnificent columns,*^ thrones,*' altars,* and other 
 objects, appeared, as if nature had designed to mock the 
 curiosities of art. Our voices, upon speaking or singing, 
 were redoubled to an astonishing loudness ; and upon thcJ 
 firing of a gun, the noise and tlie reverberation^/" wer^ 
 almost deafeninj^. 
 
 3. " In the midst of this grand amphitheatre rose a 
 concretion of about fifteen feet hi^h, that, in some meats- 
 lire, resembled an altar ; from which, taking the hint, we 
 Oaused mass to be celebrated there. The beautiful co- 
 Jumns that shot up round the altar, appeared like <;aridK>- 
 sticks ; and many other natural objects represented tho 
 customary ornaments of this rite. 
 
 4. *' Below even this spacious grotto, there f^emed 
 another cavern ; down "wliich 1 ventured^ with my form- 
 er mariner,* and descended about fifty paces by mean^ o 
 
IM K.VOHSU Ueader. Fart |. 
 
 • rope. I at lust arnvrd at a smnll spot of level groiirtCk, 
 ^ber« the hollom appeared different from that of the 
 amphitheatre,' bein{r eomposed of soft clay, yielding to 
 the prc8sure,> and in which 1 thrust a stick to the depth 
 of nix feet. In thi&, however, as abpve, numbers of the 
 most beautiful crvstnls* were formed ; one of which, par- 
 ticularly, resembled a table. 
 
 6. ♦* Upon our eg;ress' from this amazing cavern, we 
 .perceived a Greek inscription'* upon a rock at the mouth, 
 out so obliterated- by time, that >Ve could not read it 
 distinctly. It seemed to import, that one Antipater, in 
 the time of Alexander, had come hither ; bu** whether 
 he penetrated" into the dtniths of the cavern, he does npt 
 think fit to inform us." — This account of so beautiful and 
 striking a scene, may serve to give us some idea of the 
 subterraneous wonders of nature. goldsmith. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 4 Ei ten*!, lkt<tSnd\ to Btrotchout,en-]c Pcr-lsh,p^r'-Jali,todie,to be destroy^ 
 Jwge \d Prin-ci-pal, prln'-si-pil, chief, cajji- 
 
 ¥ En-cue, ln-tii% IQ follow, pursue | tal 
 
 Earthquake at Caianea, 
 
 1. One of the earthouakes most particularly describ- 
 ed in history, is that wnich happened in the year 1693 ; 
 the damages of which were chiefly feU in Sicily, but its 
 •motion was perceived in Germany, France, and England. 
 it cjftendeil** to a circumference o*f two thousand six hun- 
 dred leagues ; chiefly aflecting the sea coasts, and great 
 rivers ; more perceivable also upon the mountains than 
 in the valleys. 
 
 2. Its motions were so rapid, that persons who lay ^t 
 their length, were tossed from side to side, as upon a 
 rolling billow. The walls were dashed from their foun- 
 dations ; and no fewer than fifty-four cities, with an in- 
 credible number of villages, were either destroyed or 
 greatly damaged. The city of Catanea, in. particular, 
 was utterly overthrown. A traveller who was on his way 
 thither, perceived, at the distance of some miles, a black 
 cloud, liKe night, hanging over the place. 
 
 8. The sea, all oia sudden, began to roar; mount 
 ^tna to send forth great spires of flame ; and soon after 
 M shock ^nsuedf^ with a noise as if all the artillery in the 
 world ha'4 been at once discharged. Our traveller being 
 •bilged to alight instantly, felt himself raised a foot froijD 
 
Chrrp, 5, Dr.scRiPTiVK PfE( 3 10^ 
 
 he ground ; nnd turning hW p''*^ U • Iho city, h« with 
 iinazemefitsaw i),otliins hula tliH k do dnf niustin the air. 
 4. The birds llew al)(>ut iisrnr.i5lipd . thw puii was dark- 
 MK'd ; the beasts ran howlinj; fri»:n Ih*- hill?; and al- 
 hoiigh the sliuck did not .(:o:.»:,i:»we ijkbt>vp rhfpo. minutes, 
 ,'(;t near nineteen thouband of the inpaS;»:in*s of tSicily 
 )erished'^ in the ruins. Catanea. to -iv;-.;<'h r'\ty the de- 
 icriber was travelling:;, Heenihd the nrineir-ai* s^-^-ne of ru- 
 n ; its place only, \vas to be found ; ana n'.)t a footstep 
 ■jf its fofini^r magniricence was to be ae.en reij^aining;. 
 
 GOLDS&llTH. 
 
 SF.CTiON Vh 
 
 I Ex-ifi-tcjicfi, ?g-»:ls'-t2ii$r, xiatc of be ]«» A-liysa, 4J;>Ts', ^fp'h .vtitnoMt !>otff»ia 
 
 > Sisj-nnI, s!;,''-nAI, cni'mcnt. nieinornble'^ Cotiii lo iiiidcm. k«'M'jn'-'^-iiAii«e, form 
 ; Pre dps tiiio, pr^-dA^fi-iln, to docreel of fiifff. r»»nrif!« in^i of njrin 
 
 h'fi^r.cliaiul lA Su-|>e 7i-«)yjr, »«-j>^-r.c-Ar, higher, pre- 
 
 i \'oi(l, v6ld, vucuiil, a spHCO I ffrahJo 
 
 Creation. 
 
 1. In 4hc progress of the Dinne works and govern- 
 lent, tiiere arrived a period, in wiiich this earth was to 
 e called into existence." When the. signal^ moment, pre- 
 estined*" from all eternit)', was come, the Drity arose in 
 is might : and with a word created the world. What 
 ,n illustrious moment Ts'as that, when, from non-exis- 
 :euce, there sprang at ouice into being, this mighty globo, 
 ►n which so many millions of creatures now dwell ! 
 
 2. No preparatory measures were required. No lonz 
 jrcuit of means was employed. "He spake; and rt 
 vas done : he commanded ; and it stood fast. The 
 
 ♦;arth was at first without form, an<l void ;rf and darkness 
 as on the face of the deep." The Almighty surveyed 
 ;he dark abyss ;'^ ami fixed i)ounds to the several divis- 
 ors of nature. He said, "*■ Let tliere be light; and there 
 
 |was lijcht." 
 
 3. Then appeared the sen, and the* dry land. Th/B 
 mountains rose ; and the rivers flowed. The sun anid 
 inoon began their course/ in the skies. Herbs and plants 
 clothed the ground. The air, the earth, and the waters, 
 W're stored with their respective inhabitants. At last,, 
 
 jinan was made after the image of Ood. 
 
 4. He appeared, wallting with countenanceA' erect; and 
 ■eceivcd his Creator's benediction, as the Lord of this 
 
 m norld. The Almignty beheld his work wh«n It was 
 
 ■rec 
 
 r 
 
tw 
 
 fCNGtt^H Rea^I>ER» 
 
 Port 
 
 A 
 
 ilnislied ? ^nd jironounced it good. Superfor* beings saw 
 with wonder this neAV accession to existence. " Th^ 
 morninff stars sang together ; and all the sons of God* 
 shouted for joy." blair. 
 
 SECTION VII i 
 
 to try 
 
 i Coin-pla-cen-cy,k6in-pl&'-s?n-$i, pleai f 
 sure, civility 
 
 j Af-fa bil-i-ty, Af-fi-Ml'-]^-ti, easi- 
 ness of manners 
 
 h Op-press, 6p-pr§s', to crush, overpow 
 er 
 
 I In-ter-ces-sor, In-tSr-sSs'-sBr, media-' 
 tor 
 
 m A-bode, A-b6de', place of residence 
 did abide 
 
 a Spec-u-la-tivc, Bp?k'-kii-ltl-t!v, theo- 
 retical,'not practical 
 
 b In-vet-er-ate, ln-vSt'-lgr-&te, old, ob- 
 stinate 
 
 c Re-side, ri-zide', to live, to dwell 
 
 d Fountain, fdun'-tin, a spring, origi- 
 nal 
 
 e Be-nig-ni-ty, bfi-nlg'-n^-t^, gracious- 
 ness, kindness 
 
 / Na-tive, ni'-i^v, natural, original 
 
 /r Import, lm-p6rt', to imply 
 
 A At-tcm])t, &t-lgml', an attack, essay, 
 
 Charity* 
 
 1. Charity is the same with benevolenc« or love ; and' 
 is the term uniformly employed in the New Testament,' 
 to denote all the good aliections whicli we oi]u;ht to bear 
 towards one another. It consists not in speculative" ideas 
 of general benevolence, floating in the head, and leaving 
 the heart as speculations too often do, untouched and' 
 cold. Neither, is it confined to that indoh-nt . ood nature, 
 Which makes us rest satisfied with being free from invet- 
 erate* malice, or ill will to our fellow-creatures, without 
 prompting us to be of service to unj. 
 
 a.' True charity is an active principle. It is not prop- 
 erly a single virtue ; hut a disposition residing*^^ in the 
 heart, as a fountain'' Avhenci all the virtues of benignity,* 
 candour, forbearance, generosity, compassion, and liber- 
 ality, flow, as so many native/ streams. From general 
 good-will to all, it extends its influence particularly to 
 t-hose with whom we stand in nearest connexion, and ^vho 
 Are directly within the sphere of our good ofliccs. 
 
 S. From the country or community to which we be- 
 long, it descends to the smaller associations of neighbour- 
 hood, relations, and friends ; and spreads itself over the 
 whole circle of social and domestic life. I mean not that 
 it imports? a promiscuous undistinguished affection, which 
 gives every man an equal title to our love. Charity, if 
 we should endeavour to carry it so far, would he render- 
 ed ar? impracticable virtue ; and would resolve itselt int« 
 liiere words, ';Tith4)ut affecting the heart. 
 
Chap, ^ f)ESCRiPtiVK Piece* lit 
 
 4. True charity attempts* not to shut cur eyes to th4j . 
 distinction hetween good and bad men ; nor to warm ouf 
 hearts equally to those who befriend, and those who injure 
 us. — It reserves our esteem for g;ood men, and our eom- 
 placency for our friends. Towards onr enemies it in- 
 spires forgiveness, humarvHy, and a PoHcitnde for their 
 welfare. It breathes universal candwir, and libendity of 
 sentiment. Ji forms gentleness of tempefr and dictates 
 affability^ of manners. 
 
 5. ft prompts corresponding ?Tui]KithJ'es with them who 
 rejoice and them who wepp. ]t teaehea us to slight and 
 despise no man. Charitj-^ is the comforter of the amictedv 
 the protector of the o]^press«'d^, tiie reer)neiier of dif- 
 ferences, the intercessor' for oflenders. It is fai-MU'ulnessr 
 in the friend, publick spirit in the magisti'ate, equity and 
 
 {)atience in the judge, moderation in thti sovereign, and 
 oyalty m the subject. 
 
 6. fn parents, it is care and attention ; in children, it is 
 reverence and siibmission. In a word, it is the soul of 
 social life. It is the sun. that enlivens and cheers the a- 
 bodfts*" of men. It is *' hke the dew of Hermon," says 
 the J*salniist, " and the dew that descended on the moun- 
 liiins of /ion, where the Lord commandied the blessing, 
 ^ren hfe for ever more." blair. 
 
 SECTION VIII. 
 
 «. Profl por-i-ty, pr6s-pfir'-i-t(^, 8UCco:»8;|// Vii-i-:iic, v!.s}r-^.-ite, to deprave, 
 
 luck spoil 
 
 • IW-doub-le, rA-dftb'-bl, to make dou- c Fr»i it-ion, fru-T^h'-fin, onjoymejii, 
 
 ble pu^•sl,•ssion 
 
 » Jan-tas-ti-cal, fAri-tAs'.-l^-kAl, iinag-i / Su^-K.-nauce, sus'-li-ii&nso, «»uppiMt, 
 
 ifctry, whimsical victuals 
 
 ProspevHy* is redouhled'' to a good main, 
 
 1. None but the ttniperate, the regular, and the virtu^ 
 ous, know tiow to enjoy ]>rosperity. They bring to it» 
 comforts the manly relish of a soimd uncorru})ted mind. 
 They stop at the proper point, before enjoyment degen- 
 erates into disgust, and pleasure is converted into j)ain 
 They are strangers to those complamt"s which flow from 
 spleen, caprice, and all the fantastical'- distresses of a vi- 
 tiated'^ mind. While riotous indulgence enervates boti 
 the body and the mind, purity and virtue heighten ailtht 
 powers of human fruition* 
 
 2. Feeble are all the pleasures in which the heart ha.' 
 no shafts The s^liish gratificatione- of the bad, are hot' 
 
lie 
 
 English Keader. 
 
 Fart U 
 
 narrow In their circle, and Rhortin their dmauon. But 
 prosperity is redoubled to a good man, by his generous 
 use of it. It is rellected bacK upon him trom every one 
 Avhom he makes happy. In tbe intercourse of domestic 
 affection, in the attachment of friends, the gratitude of 
 dependents, the esteem and good-will of all who know 
 him, he sees blessings miiltiplied round iiim on every 
 side. 
 
 5. "When the ear heard me, then it blessed me ; and 
 when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me : because I 
 delivered the poor that cried, tlie fatherless, and him that 
 had none to help him. The blessing of him that was rea- 
 dy to perish came upon me, and 1 caused the widow's 
 heart to sing with jov. I was eyes to the blind, and fe€t 
 was I to the lame*; 1 was a father to the poor ; and tb« 
 cause which 1 knew not 1 seavched out.'* 
 
 4. Thus, while the righteous man flourishes like a tree 
 planted by the rivers of water, he brings forth also hid fi*uit 
 in Its season ; and that fruit he brings forth, not for him- 
 self alone. He nourishes not like a tree in some solitary 
 desert, which scatters its blossoms to the wind, and com- 
 municates neither fruit nor shade to any living thing : but 
 like a tree in the midst of an inhabited country, which to 
 some affords friendly shelter, to others fruit ; Avhich is not 
 only admired by ail for its beauty ; but blessed by the 
 traveller for the shade^ and by the hungry for the susU?n- 
 anc^ it hath given,. blaiu. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 a Ex-emp-tlon, ?ijr-Jm'-shfin, immuni- 
 ty, freedom from imposts 
 
 6In-val-u-a b1e,ln-vir-u-jlL-bl) precious, 
 inestimable 
 Phi-lo8-o-phy, fi-I6s'-A-r^, kpowledgn 
 natural or moral 
 
 d E-mit, i-mlt', to send forth, to issue 
 
 t Ex-tract, gks-trikt', to draw out of 
 
 / Pol-i-ticks, pil'-li-llkg, the science of 
 
 •jovornmont 
 o" Un-ca-si-ness, fin-i'-zA-nSs, trouble, 
 
 a state of disquiet 
 ^ Mod i-ta-tion,niAd-,i-t4'-Bhfin,tliought, 
 
 coiit«;mplatioii 
 i Fful-isii, rSl'leh, ta»te, Jikiiig, deligfet, 
 1 to like 
 
 On the beauties of the Psalms, 
 1. Greatness confers no exemption** from the cares 
 and sorrows of life: its share of them frenuently bears 
 a melancholy proportion to its exaltation. This the mo- 
 narch of Israel experienced. He sought in niety, that 
 peace which he could not find in empire ; and alleviated 
 the disquietudes of state, with the exercises of devotion. 
 His invaluable* Psalms convey those co'nA'rts to otheru. 
 which they afforded to himsolV 
 
Chap. &, DKacBiPTivje I'l^crA. IIS 
 
 2. ComnoBod ijnoii particular occasions, yet designed 
 Tor general use ; clelivered out as services for laraelitea 
 under the Law, yet no less adapted to the circumstance* 
 [)f Christians under t!ie Gospel ; they present religion to 
 \lf^ }n the most engag;inc dress ; communicating truths 
 which philosophy-^ coula never investigate, in a style 
 Hrhich poetry can never eqyal ; while history is made the 
 I'ehicle of propiiecy, and creation lends all its charms to 
 paint the glories of redemption. 
 
 S. Calculated alike to profit and to please, they inform 
 Mie understanding, elevate the affections, and entertain 
 ^he imagination. Indited under the influence of him, to 
 whom aj) hearts are known, and all events foreknown, 
 they suit mankind in all situations ; grateful as the man- 
 ria whicl) descended from above, ana conformed itself to 
 ^very palate. 
 
 4. The fairest productions of human wit, after a few 
 
 ff»eru5als, like gatliered flowers, wither in our hands, and 
 ose their fragrancy ; hut these unfading plants of Para- 
 dise become, as we are accustomed to them, still more 
 and more beautiful ; their bloom appears to be daily 
 heightened ; fresh odours are emitted,'^ and new sweets 
 (extracted' from them. He who has once tasted their ex- 
 cellences, Vvill desire to taste them again ; and he who 
 tastes them oftenest, will relish them best. 
 
 5. And now, could the author iiL'tter himself, that any 
 pne woujd take half the pleasure in reading his work, 
 >vhich he has taken in writing it, he would not fear the 
 loss of his labour. The employment detached him from 
 J:he bustle and hurry of life, the din of poliJ..ics,/ and the 
 rioise of folly. Vanity and vexation flew away for a sea- 
 iofi ; eare and disquietude came not near his dwelling. — 
 He arose, fresh as the morning, to his task; the silence 
 of the night invited him to pursue it; and he can truly 
 8ay, that food and rest were not preferred before it. 
 
 6. Every psalm improved infinitely upon his ajirquaint- 
 an.ce with it, and no one gave him uneasiness i' but the 
 last : for then he grievfd that )iis work was done. Hap- 
 pier hours than tiiose which have been spent in these 
 meditations'* on the songs of Sion, he never expeicta to 
 see in this world. Very pleasantly did they pass ; they 
 moved smoothly and swiftly along ; for when thus ^nga- 
 
 f;ed, he counted, no time. They are gpne, hut they have 
 eft a relish* and a fragrance upon the ^ind ; and the re» 
 Q>4)mbrance of Uiena is sweet. BOftVp* 
 
m 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 Part t 
 
 M Blon-arch, mifl'-nirk, a kin^, a sov-^ 
 
 ereign 
 b An-nals, 4n'-n^Iz, histories digested 
 
 in tho Older of time 
 t De-nom-i-na-lion, de-n6ra-5-ni'-sh?in, 
 
 title, appellation 
 d De liij-e-ate, di-l?n'-i-ite, to paint 
 
 describe 
 A Con-ciliate, kon-sll'-yite, to gain <»• 
 
 rer, reconcile 
 / Flex-i-bil-i-ty, flSks-^-Ml'-i-t*, plian- . 
 
 cy, compliancG 
 <r Len-i-ty, l^n'-^-t^, mildness, mercy, 
 
 lendernew 
 /i De-port-ment, d4-pAit*-m5nt, conduct, 
 
 behaviour 
 Trans-mit, trin9-m!t', to send from 
 
 one place to another 
 
 Character of Alfred, king of England. 
 
 1. The merit of this prince, both in private and pub- 
 fic life, may, with advantag;e, be set in opposition to that 
 of any monarch'* or citizen, which the annals'' of any 
 Rge, or any nation, can present to us. He seems, indeed, 
 to be the complete model of that perfect character, 
 -^hich, under the denomination*^ of a sage or wise mart, 
 the philosophers have been fond of delineating,'^ rather as 
 n fiction of their imagination, than in hopes of ever see- 
 ing it reduced to practice ; so happily were all his virtues 
 tempered together ; so justly were they blended ; and so 
 ]i)owerfully did each prevent the other from exceeding 
 its proper bounds. 
 
 2. He knew hoW to conciliate* the most enterprising 
 spirit with the coolest moderation ; the most obstinate 
 |)erseverance, with the easiest flexibility ;/ the most se- 
 vere justice, with the greatest lenity :s the greatest rig- 
 our in command, with the greatest afiability of deport- 
 ment ;* the highest capacity and inclination for science, 
 with the most shining talents for action. 
 
 S. Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a produc- 
 tion of htT sk?ll should be set in the fairest light, had be- 
 stowed on him all bodily accomplishments : vigour of 
 limbs, dignity of shape and air, and a pleasant, engaging, 
 and open countenance. By living in that barbarous 'dsr,, 
 he was deprived of historians worthy to transrnit' bis 
 fame to posterity ; and we wish to see him de'Jneated in 
 more lively colours, and with more particUiar strokes^- 
 that we might at least perceive some of thosr small specks 
 And blenrjshes, from which, as a many it is impossible ht 
 ©ould be er>ti]^ely exempted. humev 
 
^^ap, &, DEBCRIPTiVB PlEClSL tH 
 
 Cal-um-ny, kif -Sm-nii, Blantler, fals4i 
 
 charge 
 U n;ui-i-mons, yii-nA.ii'-i-mu8, being 
 
 (•f one mind; 
 Df tract-or, d6-trlLkl'-5r, one who ca- 
 
 iumniatei? 
 Iii-vec-tive, In-vSk'-tlv, abusive, sati 
 
 rir.al 
 Paii-e-gyr-ick, pAn-ni-j^r'-rik, an eu- 
 
 lof^y, an eiiconiiastick |)iece 
 An i-mos-i-ty, Aii-ii(!:-m6s'-s^-ti, ve- 
 
 ln'inence of liaireil 
 Tr iner-i-ly, t6-nier'-i-t6, rashness. 
 
 fully 
 Fr.i -al-i-ty, fnVcil'-A.-f^, thrift, good 
 
 Jmsbundry, saviogneua 
 
 SECTION XI. 
 
 i Av-a-rico, &v'-A-rls, coTetOBeneBB, 
 
 niggardliness 
 
 j Sal-ly, sil'-l^, quick egress, flight 
 
 k Tol-er-a-tion, t61-ar-4'-8hfin, perrais^ 
 
 , sion 
 
 7 Fac-tinn, fik'-shfln, n party in a staW , 
 Pru-dence, pr55'-dSnse, wisdoni ap* 
 plied to practice 
 
 N Gon-tro-vp*«-py, k6n'-tr6-v8r-si, dis- 
 pute, quarrel 
 
 Ap-plause,' iu-pliwr.e', approbatioflr 
 loudly expressed 
 
 p Ad-vance-mont, Ad-v4nse'-m?rrt, th» 
 Slate of being advanced 
 
 q Snr-iTxtnnt, 8ur-m6ikit.', to overcome,- 
 surimsa 
 
 Cltaracter of Queen Elizabeth^ 
 
 1. There are few porsonages in history, \Vfio havtf 
 tM'ii more exposed to the cainmny" of enemies, and thfe 
 dulation of friends, than queen Elizabeth ; and yet ther^ 
 icarcely is any, vihose reputation has been more certaiti-*^ 
 V determined by the unanimous* consent of posterity.- 
 hit; unusual length of her administration, and the strong! 
 tatures of her character, were able to overcome all pre- 
 'idiees; and, oblij^nj:; her detractors*" to abate mucli of 
 heir invectives, rf and her admirers somewhat of their 
 i.iiM ;i;yncs,f have, at last, in spite of political factions, 
 rid what is more, of religious animosities,/ produced a 
 
 juiiorm judj^ment with regard to her conduct. 
 
 2. Her vigour, her constancy, her magnanimity, her 
 enetration, vigilance, and address, are allowed to merit 
 he highest prjiises ; p.nd appear not to have been surpas- 
 ed bv any j)erson who ever filled a throne : a conduct 
 i^ss rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indul 
 ;ent to her people, would hav^i been requisite to form a 
 >erfect character. By the force of her mind, she con- 
 rolled all her more active, and stronger qualities ; and 
 »r«'Vf-nted them from running into^exce-ss. 
 
 . Jler heroism was exempted from all temerity ;5^ her 
 / ;:ality,^' from avarice ;» her friendship from partiality; 
 ler enterprise from turbulency and a vain ambition. Sn* 
 guarded not herself, with equal eare,^ or equal success^ 
 rom less infirmities; the rivalship of beauty, the desire 
 »f admiration, the jealousy of love, and the sallies-' of an- 
 
 4» Her singular talents for government, were founded 
 
'*^ English Keader. Part 1 1 
 
 equally on her temper and on her capacity. Endowec 
 with a great eonnnand over herself, she soon obtained ar 
 uncontrolled ascendancy over the people. Few sove- 
 rei-ns of England succeeded to the throne in more Jifli- 
 cult circumstances ; and none ever conducted the govern. 
 ment with so uniform success and fehcity. 
 
 5. Though unacquainted with the practice of tolera- 
 tion,* the true seeiet lor managing religious lactions,/ sht 
 
 ^ preserved her people, by her superior prudence,- from 
 those confusions m which theological controversy had in« 
 volyed all the neighbouring nations ; and though her en- 
 emies were the most powerful })rinces of Europe, th« 
 most active, the most enterprising, the least scrupulous, 
 she was able by her vigour, to make deep impressions on 
 their state ; her own greatne&s meanwhile remaining; un- 
 touched and unimpaired. 
 
 6. The wise ministers and- brave men who flourished 
 during her reign, share the praise of her success ; but in- 
 stead of essening the applause^ due to her, they make 
 great addition to it. They owed all of them, their ad- 
 vancementi' to her choice ; they were supported by her 
 constancy : and, with all their ability, they were never 
 uDle to acquire an undue ascendaiicy over her. 
 
 7. In her fiunily, in her court, in her kingdom, she re- 
 mained equally n.istress. The force of the tender pas- 
 sions w;^s great oyer her, but the force of her mind was 
 still superior : and the combat which her victory visibly 
 cost her, serves only to display the iirmness of her reso- 
 lution, and the loftiness of her ambitious sentiments. 
 
 8. Ihe fame of this princess, though it has surmount- 
 ed7 the prepidices both of faction and of bigotry, yet lies 
 still exposed to another prejudice, which is more durable, 
 because more natural ; and which according to tiie diifer- 
 ent views m which we survey her, is capable either of ex- 
 alting beyond measure, or diminishing the lustre of her 
 charactei Ihis prejudice is founded on the considera- 
 tion of her sex. 
 
 9. When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt 
 to be struck with the highest admiration of her quali- 
 ties and .extensive capacity ; but we are also apt to re- 
 quire some more softness of disposition, some areater 
 Jenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses by 
 which her sex is distinguished. But the true method ol 
 ^tiraatinc her merit, is to lay aside all the^je considera- 
 tionx and to consider her merely as a rational beinjflb 
 
•ju:p. b. Ukscriptive Piecks. HT 
 
 d in aiuhoi-ity, and intrusted with the government of 
 
 ,.iiid. 
 
 SECTION Xll. 
 
 i-ence, d5r-ftr-*nsc, rcijard, re 
 
 1^0, tlii-lift:.*.-', to reduce, sink, n- 
 
 - -^ kiliije, Ik.w, servile civility 
 --Ijrii'k 
 
 r..r, ler'-rfif, great, tear, cause ot 
 r 
 ,, dul, si)l*»»'-<Jid, sliowy, lijagiit- 
 
 fice* It 
 /• De-iuio, di-lAno', to withliold, keep 
 ' back 
 «■ Dru(li.'«, drMjc, Co labour in in«aii 
 
 oir;c.;s 
 A, Tui!, »'':l, to labour, vreory 
 i Cius u d.-iy, Uuh-ii M-t*. accident 
 
 riuuA 
 
 The slaver If of vice. , 
 
 1 Thf slavery produced by vice appears in the depon- 
 lencc under which it brings the sinner, to circumstances 
 .1 .xteinal fortune. One of tlie favourite characters of 
 ihrrtv, is tlu^. independence it bestows. He who is truly 
 , Irrenian is above all servile compliances, and abiect 
 ul.j.'ction. lie is able to rest upon himselt : and while 
 „• Vr-aids his superiors witli proper delerenc*-,- nf»t{ier 
 Irba.es* iiimself by cringin- to ttum, nor is l*i"H» ^^ t^ 
 .uichase their favour by dislionouimble means. Uut the 
 inner has forhaed every privdege (»f this nature. 
 
 ^. iiis passions and habits render him an absolute de- 
 IM.ulentoii tbe world, and the world's favour ; on the 
 InRc^-tain goods of fortune, and the hckle humours of 
 mm. i^^M' it is by these he subsists, and among these his 
 happiness is sought ; according as his passions <l^*tcr'^|ne 
 1 ini to piu'Hue pleasures, riches, ur prelerments. Ha^ng 
 no fund within himself whence to draw enioyment, his 
 only resource is in things without. His hQpes and fears 
 ,m11 hang ui)on the world. He partakes in all its vicissi- 
 tudes ;^ina is moved and shaken by every wind of for- 
 tune. This : *o be, in tiie strictest sense, a slave to tne 
 
 ,s. Religion and virtue, on the other hand, confer on 
 
 tlu! mind principles of noble independence. - Ihe up- 
 nj^ht man is satisfied from himself." He de^spises not 
 the advantages of fortune, but he centres not his happi- 
 ness in them. With a moderate share ot them he can be 
 contented ; apd contentment is felicity. Happy m his 
 our) integrity, conscious of the esteem of good men, re- 
 posing linn trust in the providence, and the promise* of 
 
 -nh he is exempted from servile dependence on otHer 
 
 -.mgs. 
 
IW English Keader. Part 1 
 
 4. He can wrap himself up in a gOi>d conscience, and 
 look forward, without terror,^ to the change of the world. 
 Let all things shift around him as they please, he be- 
 lieves that, by the IJivine ordination, they shall be made 
 to work together in the issue for his good : and therefore, 
 having much to hope from God, and little to fear from 
 the world, he can be easy in every state. One who pos- 
 sesses within Ijimself such an establishraeiMt of mind, h 
 truly free. 
 
 ^. l>ut shall I call that man free, who has nothing that 
 )s his own^no property assured ; whose very heart is not 
 his own, but rendered the appendage of external things, 
 and the sport of fortune? Is that man free, let his out- 
 ward condition be ever so splendid,^ whom his imperious 
 passions detain/ at their can, whom they send forth at 
 their pleasure, to drudges and toil^' and to beg his only 
 enjoyment from the casualties' of the world ? 
 
 's/h he free, who must bear with this man's caprice, 
 and that man's scorn ; must profess friendship where he 
 hates, and respect where he contemns ; who is not at 
 liberty to appear in his own colours, nor to Sf>eak his own 
 sentiments ; who dares not be honest lest he should be 
 poor ! 
 
 7. Believe it, no chains bind so hard, no fetters are so 
 heavy, as those which fasten the corrupted heart to this 
 treacherous world ; no dependence is more contemptible 
 than that under which the voluptuous, y the covetous, or 
 the ambitious man, lies to the means of pleasure, gain; or 
 power. Yet this is the boasted liberty, which vice pro- 
 mises, as the recompense of setting us free from tlic sa- 
 lutary restraints of virtue. ulaiii. 
 
 SECTION XIII. 
 
 a De-lin-e-ate, d^-11n'-6-iie, to design, 
 
 paint, tiescribe 
 b In-teg-ri-ty, ?M-ieg'-gri-tt;, honcety, 
 
 purity, intireness 
 c Un-fita-ble, dn-sli'-bl, not fixed, irrcs 
 
 olute 
 
 d Prin-ci-j»l0, pr!rt'-6&-pI, element, origi- 
 nal cause 
 
 e Re-i>roiicli-ful, r^-])ritsh'-ful, oppra- 
 brious, sliaioel'ii! 
 
 / Tra-ducc, tr4-dujie', to cahunniate 
 
 The man of integrity . 
 1. It will not take much time to delineate* the charac 
 ter of the man of integrity,'' as by its nature it is a plain 
 one, and easily under^stood. iie is one, who makes it 
 his constant rule to follow the road of duty, according; 
 as the word of God, and the voice zl hi.^ conscience, 
 
VAGp, % DESCRirxXVE PIECES 119 
 
 point it out to Wm. He is not guided merely by alTecr 
 tions, which may sometimes {^ive the colour of virtue Lq 
 a loose and unstable^- character. 
 
 S. The upright man is j^uideU by a fixed punciplc' of 
 mind which determines him to esteem nothing hut what 
 is honourable ; and to abhor wiiatever is base or imwor- 
 tliy, in moral conduct. Hence we find him ever the 
 j same ; at all times, the trusty friend, the affectionate re- 
 ! lation, the eonscirntious man of business, the p^ous wor 
 sliipper, Ihe public spirited citizen. 
 
 3. lie asstunes no borrowed appearance. He seeks no 
 mask to cover him; for he act* no studied p^rt ; but he 
 is indeed what he appears to be, full of truth, candour, 
 .ind humanit}^ In all his pursuits, he knows no path but 
 tiu' fair and clirect one ; and wpuld much rather fail of 
 -uccess, than attain it by reproachful* means. He never 
 r liows us a smiling countenance, while he meditates evil- 
 ;i;:;iinst us in his iieart. 
 
 4. He never praises us among our friends; and then 
 joins in tradijciiig/ us among our enemies. We shall ne- 
 Vrr find one part of his character at variance with anoth- 
 er. Jn his manners he is simple and unaifected ; in all 
 his proceiitiings, open and consistent. Ijlair. 
 
 .• SECTlOiN XIV. 
 
 a, I*af4-sive, pAs'-slv, imrosisting, siiffer- 
 
 b As-iJcnt, 4.<«-s?nt', conwiit, fljcrrecmcnt 
 c A (lopt, A <lAj)t', to make him a pon 
 
 who is not so hy birth, to pursue a- 
 
 iiy particular mnthcxi 
 d Dis-titi guisji, ins-iing'-gwlslj, to ri*ote, 
 
 (iivide., discern 
 c Syc-o-phant, elk'-A-fAnt, a flatterer 
 / Su-perm-duce, Bu-pftr-!ij-d68e', to 
 
 bring jn as an addition 
 ff Ar-ro-g?;ncp, ir'-r6-gin«se, pride, pre 
 
 pumption, conceit 
 h E-nier-gen-cy, 4-niSr'-jen-si, any gud- 
 
 den occosion 
 t Ease-uess, bise'-tids, meanness, vile- 
 
 ness 
 
 j U-ni-ver-sal, yit-nh-yJ^f-akl, general,' 
 total 
 
 k Sub-stijnce,sfib'-fitAnse, essential part 
 
 I Re-lent, re-l^nt', to soften, grow moist 
 
 VI De-moy-nour, di-mi'-jiftr, behaviour; 
 deportment 
 
 n Cour-te-fiy, kfir'-ti-si, el<^ance of 
 manners 
 
 o Ad-min-is-ter, 4d-m!n'-Dl8-t5r, to give, 
 supply 
 
 p Re-proof, r^-prfiflr, blame, reprehen- 
 sion 
 
 q In-quiR-i-tive-ly,ln-kw!z'-«4-tIv-li, cu- 
 riously, buFily in searph 
 
 r Ten-our, Ie«'-n3r, coHliouity, general 
 course 
 
 Ge7illen€cs. 
 
 1. I BKGiN with distinpjmshin-; true gentleness from 
 
 passive^ taraeness of spirit, and from unlimited comph 
 
 Jince with the manners of oth ITS. That passive tame 
 
 ness, which submjt*?, without opposition, to every en 
 

 IM Engmsh Header. Pitrt I. 
 
 croachmeiit of the Tiolent and assuming, forms no part 
 of Christian duty ; hi't, oa the contrary, ig destructive of 
 genera! happiness and order. Tliat unlimited compli- 
 ance, whic^i o« every occasion, falls in n^ith the opinions 
 and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that 
 it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. 
 
 £. It overthrows all steadiness of principle ; and pro- 
 duces that sinful conformity with the world, which taints 
 the whole character. In tlie present corrupted state of 
 human manners, always to assent'^ and comply, is the ve- 
 ry worst maxim we can adopt.^ It is impossible to sup- 
 port the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without 
 opposing the world on various occasions, even though we , 
 should stand alone. 
 
 3. That gentleness therefore which belongs to virtue, 
 is to be carefully distinguished^ from the mean spirit of 
 cowa«*ds, and the fawning assent of sycophants.' It re- 
 nounces no just right from fear. It gives up no impor- 
 tant truth from flattery. It is indeed not only consistent 
 with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly 
 spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real 
 value. Upon this solid ground o«ly, the polish of gentle- 
 ness can with advantage be superinduced./ 
 
 4. It stands opposed, not to the most determined re- 
 gard for virtue ana truth, but to harshness and severity, to 
 pride and arrogance,^ to violence and oppression. It is 
 properly, that part of the great virtue oi charitVf which 
 makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren. 
 Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants, Forbear- 
 anc« prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness 
 restrains our angry passions ; candour^ our severe judg- 
 ments. 
 
 5, Gentleness corrects whatever is oRensiirc in our man- 
 ners ; and, by a constant train of humane attentions, 
 studies to alleviate tiie burden of common misery. Its 
 office, therefore, is extensive. It is not, like some other 
 virtues, called forth only on particular emerg^o<;ies ;^ but 
 it is continually in action, when we are enj'aged in inter- 
 course with men. It ought to form our address, to reg- 
 ulate our speech, and to <liifuse itself ov?ir our wkoie be- 
 haviour, 
 
 6, We must not, however, confound this ^itie ** wis- 
 dom which is from above," with that artificial courtesy, 
 that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned m 
 tha bchool of the world. Such accomplishmeots, the 
 
Chap, 5. Descbiptivz Pieces. Ifl 
 
 most frivolous and emptv may possess. Too often they 
 are employed by the artrtil, as a snare ; too often afTected 
 by the hard ana unfeeling, as a cover to the baseness* of 
 their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid ob- 
 servinj; the homage, Vtiiich even in such instances, the 
 world is const raiiitul to pay to virtue. 
 
 7. Id ordi'.r to render so'iiety agreeable, it is found ne- 
 -jessary to assume somewhat, that may at least carry its 
 iippearance. Virtue is the universal^ ch:irm. Even its 
 tsjiadow is courted, when the substance^- is Avanting;. The 
 imitation of its form has been reduced into an art; and, 
 in tiie commerce of life, th** first stiidy of all who would 
 either j:;;jiu the esteem, or win the hearts of others, is to 
 learn the speech and to adopt the manners, of candour, 
 gentleness :uu\ humanity. 
 
 8. r>ut that gentleness which is the characteristic of a 
 cood man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the 
 heart; and let me add, nothing except wiiat flows from 
 the henrt, can render even external manners truly pleas- 
 ing. For no assumed behaviour cap. at all times niae the 
 real c!)aracter. In that unaffected civility which springs 
 frjym a gePitlc initid, there is a charm infinitely more pow-» 
 erful, tlian in all the studied manoers of the most finish- 
 ed eo'.irti<u'. 
 
 9. True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we 
 owe to uiM who made us, and to the common nature of 
 \vhich we all share. It arises from reflection on our own 
 failings and wants ; and from just views of the condition, 
 and the dutv of man. It is* native feeling, heightened 
 and improved hy pnnciple. It is the heart which easily 
 relents;' which IVeis for every thing thatis human ; and is 
 backwar'l and slow to inilicithe least wound. 
 
 10. It is allahle in its nddresr,, and mild in its demean- 
 our;"' (;v»r ready to ohlige, a?id willing to he obliged by 
 othera; hrei'tiiiug liabitual khidness towords fi'iends, 
 courtesy" to strangers, long- suffering to enemies. It ex- 
 ercises authority with modrration ; administers" reproofs 
 with tenderness ; confer.^ favours with ease and modesty. 
 
 ■ It is unassuming in opinioni and temperate in zeal. It 
 Contends not eagerly ahout triiles ; slow to contradict, and 
 still slower to bhuue ; but prompt to allay dissension, and 
 to resttu'e peace. 
 
 11. It neither intermeddles unnecessarily ivith the af- 
 fairs, nor pries inquisitively^ into the secrets of others* 
 it delights above aJl things to alleviate distress ; and, ifii 
 
IfS English Reader. Part 1. 
 
 cannot dry np the falling tear, to sooth at least the <^evin^ 
 heart. Where it has not the power of being usetul, it is 
 never burdensome. It seeks to please, rather than to 
 thine and day.zle ; and conceals witli care that superiority, 
 either of ^aleats or of rank, Avhich is oppressive to those 
 M'ho are beneath it. 
 
 IS. in a word, it is that spirit and thattenonr*- of man- 
 ners, which the gospel of Christ enjoins, when it com- 
 mands us, '* to !)earone another's biu'dens ; to rejoice with 
 those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep : to 
 phrase every "one his neighbour for his good ; to be kind 
 and tender-hearted ; to be }>itifal and courteous; to sup- 
 port the weak, and to be patient towards all men.** 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 iaatlictic Settees. 
 
 SECTION I 
 
 m A«-ea-»a-tion, Ak-kb-zV-sh&n, the 
 
 art of accuHJnff 
 k Ba-giic-i-ty, 8A-gi\s'-4-t4, quickness of 
 
 ec«nt, ncutoness 
 t At-tain-der, St-tine'-dftr, the act of 
 
 nttninin^ in law 
 d Im-mi-ncnt, !m'-mi-nfint, inapending. 
 
 at hand, threateninjr 
 e Re Inc-tant, r^-lfik'-iAnt, unwilling, 
 
 averse to 
 / Surtfiense, Bft*-p?n8e', uncertainty, 
 
 delay 
 IT Ma^ na-nimi-ty, mAg-n4-n!m'-6-t«, 
 
 greatness of mind 
 
 Trial and execution of the Earl 0/ Strafford, who fell a 
 sacrifice to the violence of the tinus^ in the reign oj 
 CuARLKS the First. 
 
 1. 1 HE Earl of Strafford defended himself ag;a!nsl 
 the accusations« of the house of Commons, with all the 
 presence of mind, jud{;meni, and sagacity,* that could be 
 expected from innocence and ability. His children were 
 placed beside him, as he was thus defending his life, and 
 the eausc of his royal master. After he had, in a lon^ 
 and eloquent speech, deliveref* without premeditation, 
 confuted all the accusations of iiis enemies, he thus drew 
 io a conclttsion. 
 S. . ** fcut, my Mrds, I have troubled yo« too long : Ion 
 
Chap. 6. Tatiikti-c Tieces. ♦. \Si,\ 
 
 ^er than I should have done, hut for the saire of these 
 dear pledges, which a saint in heaven has h^.ft me." Up- 
 on this he paused ; droppe^l a tear ; looked upon his 
 ■children ; and proceeded. " What I forfeit .'"or mysilf is 
 a trifle : that niv indiscrt^lions should reach my posterity 
 wounds me to tlie heart. 
 
 3. " Pardon my infirmity. — Something f shoidd have 
 added, hut I am not ahle ; and therefore 1 let it pass. — 
 And now, my lords, for myself. 1 liavc lonj; been taught, 
 that the alHictions of this life are overpf.id by tiiat eter- 
 Ral weight of glory, which awaits the innocent. And so, 
 my lords, even so, with the utmost tran(|iji!lity, 1 sub- 
 mit myself to your jud:]:ment, whether that judjrment be 
 hife or death ; not my ^vill, but thine, O God, be done !'* 
 
 4. His eloquence; and innoct-nce induced those judges 
 to pity, who were the most zealous to condemn nim. — 
 The king himself went to the house of b^rds, and spoke 
 for some time in his defence ; but the spirit of vengeance, 
 which had h<'en chamed for eleven years, was now rous- 
 ed ; and nothing but h^s blood could jrive the peojile sat- 
 isfaction. He was c<»ndemn«:d by both bouses of parlia- 
 ment; and nothing remained but'i'or the king to give his 
 consent to the billof attaindef.c 
 
 5. But in the present c/>mmotions, the consent of the 
 king would very easily be dispensed witii ; and imminent'^ 
 danger mi^ht attend iiis refusal, (/harles, however, who 
 loved Stratford ten(ierly, hesitated, and seemed reluctant;* 
 trying ev(M'y expedient to put oirs(» dreadful an ofrice, as 
 that of signing the 'warrant for his execution. AViiile he 
 continued in this agitation of mind, and state of sus- 
 pense/his doul>ts were at last silenced by an act of great 
 magaanuTiity^ in the condemned lord. 
 
 6. He rec<iived a letter from that unfortunate nobleman, 
 desiring that his life mi^ht ha made a sacrifice to obtain 
 reconciliation betWMuni tne king and his people : adding, 
 diat he was prepared to die ; and that to a ^viiling mind 
 there could be no injury. Tl'is instance of noble gen- 
 erosity was hut ill repaid by his mast-er, who comnlied 
 with fiis request. He consented to sign the fatal biil by 
 commission ; and Stniflbrd was beheaded on Tower-hili; 
 behaving ^vitli all that composed dignity of resolutioD, 
 which was expedeii froiii his cluLracter. holdsui'vu* 
 
IS4 English Header Fart 1 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 m IJ«n-e'fac-tor, b?n-A-f}Vk'-tfir, he that 
 confers a benefit 
 
 h Con-siiio-u-ou8, k6n'sp!k'-ii-fi«, obvi- 
 ous, cn.in<!n'i, easily sen 
 
 c Mission, lulsh'-fin, commission, of- 
 fice 
 
 d Epli e-6us, Sf-ft-sfis, a city of .Toni.'i, 
 built as Justin mentions, by the A- 
 
 mazons, or by Androchui 
 e Pa-thet-ick, p4-ihfit'-t!k, moving;, »f- 
 
 fecting the passions, passionate 
 / Cir-cuin-stance, e^'-kfim-BtAnge, in- 
 cident, event 
 cr De-jec-tion, d^-jSk'-shfin, melancho- 
 ly , • 
 
 An eminent instance of true fortitude* 
 
 1. All who have been distinguished as servants of 
 God, or benefactors'* of men ; all who, in perilous situa- 
 ations, have acted their part with such honour as to ren- 
 der their names illustrious through succeeding ages, have 
 Wen eminent for fortitude of mind. Of this we have j 
 one conspicuous* example in the apostle Paul, whom it will 
 be instructive for us to view in a remarkable occurrence 
 of his life. After having long acted as the apostle of the 
 Gentiles, his mission called him to go to Jerusalem, where 
 he knew that he was to encounter th:i utmost violence of 
 his enemies. 
 
 2. Just before he set sail, he called together the elders 
 of his favourite church at Ephesus ;<' and in a pathetic* 
 speech, which does {jreat honour to his character, gave 
 tfiem his last farewell. Deeply affected by their know- 
 ledge of the certain dangers to which he was exposing 
 himself, all the assembly were filled, with distress, and 
 melted into tears. 
 
 3. The circumstances./" were such, as might have con- 
 veyed dejection? in a resolute mind ; and would have to- 
 tally overwhelmed the feeble. " They all wej)t sore, and 
 fell on Faul's neck, and kissed him; sorrowing most of 
 all for the words which he spoke, that they should see 
 his face no more." — What were then the sentiments, 
 what was the language, of this great and good man ? — 
 Hear the words which spoke his firm and undaunted 
 mind. 
 
 4. " Behold, I go bound in the spirit, to Jerusalem, 
 not knowing the things that shall befall me there ; save 
 that the Holy Spirit witnesseth in every city, saying, 
 that bonds and afflictions abide me. hut none of those 
 things move me ; neither count I my life dear to mv-, 
 self so that I might finish my course with Joy, and the 
 ministry vrhich 1 n-dve received of the Lord Jesus, to tes- 
 lify the gospel of the grace of God." 
 
Okap. t. Pathetic Piecxs. It4 
 
 5. There was uttered the voice, there byathed th» 
 spiritf of a brave and a virtuous man. Such a man know* 
 not what it is to shrink from dan«^er, when conscience 
 points out his path. In that ])ath he is determined tti 
 walk, let the consequences be what they may. Thiswaa 
 the magnanimous beliaviour of that great apostle, whea 
 he had persecution and distress full in >iew. 
 
 6. Attend now to the sentiments of the same excellent 
 man, when the time of his last sutVerinjj approached ; arid 
 remark the mnjesty, and the ease, wilii which he. looked 
 on death. *' lam now ready to he oilered, and the time, 
 of my departure is at hand. 1 have fou^rht the good fighi. 
 1 have fmished my course. 1 have kcjU the faith. — 
 Hencefortii there is laid up for me a crown of righteous- 
 ness.'*"' 
 
 7. How many years of life does such a dying moment 
 overbalance ? Who would not choo.se, in tliss manner, \u 
 go oft' the stage, with such a song of trlumj)h in his mouth, 
 rather than jMolonj^ his existence through a wretched oltl 
 age, stained with sin and siianie ? blaik.. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 < Dis-mny, (Hz m.V, fall of courage, fill*; I'l-ous, ()1 's, careful of tli«» dutieii 
 
 ffrriiy owitti to <»..(! 
 
 b Siuic-tii-a-ry, silnjk'-t«l>ii-4-ni, a holj <i Be reave, Li-itvc', tomrjpof, depriv* 
 
 place., an asylum ,| of 
 
 The good man's ewiifort in ojffliciion, 
 1. The religion of Christ not only arms us with for- 
 titude against tiie approach of evil ; UU, supj)osing eviU 
 to fall upon us with tlieir heaviest ])res»ure, it lightens the 
 load by many consolations to whicii others are strangers. 
 While bad men trace, in the calaniititis witii which they 
 are visited, the hand of an oih«nded sovereign, (Christians 
 are taught to view them as tiie well-intended chastise- 
 ments of a merciful F'ajher. 
 
 They hear amidst them, that still voice which a good 
 conscience brinp to their ear : *' Fear not, fov I am with 
 thee; be not dismayed,'^ for 1 am thy Cod." They ap 
 ply to themselves the comfortable p;*omises with whicU 
 the Gospe! abounds. They discover in these tlie happy 
 issue decreed to th^-ir troubles ; and v.ait witli patienctt 
 till Providence shall have accomplished its great and good 
 designs. 
 
 S. In the m»an time. Devotion opens to them its bieiH 
 L £ 
 
/ E-vtic-u-aie, i-v4;i'-u-4re, to n:ak<i 
 
 empty, to quiet 
 g Ilc-]:'cn-i!>h, vk pI3ii'-n?Hh, to ttock^ 
 
 ro fill 'i 
 
 /i Fii-iTi-tive, f/i'-j^-llv, flyinp. rtinniiiw 
 Aiiii-^bx, aperaicih i-muiing iVoia 
 
 1^ ErfQLisn llBAD^a. /\7rf« i. 
 
 w^l and hrtly s 'nctuc-iry :& that sanctimry h\ which the 
 wound^id he'iit is healed, and the weary mind is at rest!; 
 whpre the cares of thf world ^ire for^;Btteii, where it& tuu- 
 mvdts are hushed, and Its miseries dlsapjiear ; where 
 greater ohjeets open to our view than any whieh the 
 workl presents ; where a more serene sky chines, and' a 
 svveeter and cahner lit^ht, heains on rii€ al.licted heart. 
 
 4. In those monimts of devotion, a pious'' m?in, pour- 
 ing out his wants and sorrows to an Alnii^hty S^^uppovter. 
 iee!s that he is not left solitary and forsaken, in a vaie of 
 wo. (rod is with him ; Christ and tlie Holy Spirit are 
 with him; and t'non^^h he shonhl l)e Inn'eaved/ of every 
 friend on earth, h.e can look up in heaven toa Friend that 
 will iievt.T de.-,oil jiim. liLAiii. 
 
 Si:CTK)N IV 
 
 A A-voi(l, i-vdW, to escapo, to. sJiuii 
 h lio.*->i Lute, 2.-j'-i6-iute, loriiiikcM, in 
 
 want of 
 c Pai-fx-bl^, pftr'-rft-W, a s'nnilitufle 
 d Ao-cei-LT-ate, iik-jifii'-lfir ^to, to lias 
 
 tfcij. quickt'n m;i:i.tn 
 « DiB-con-so-!aie,dl3-U6ii'-p6-liie, with- j d 
 
 out coiufoii, surrowlul i 
 
 The close of life, 
 
 1. When we conteiriplate the close of ii^'e ; the ter- 
 mination of man's designs and hopes ; the" silence that 
 now reigns iimon;^ those who, a little while ago, were so 
 busy, or so gay ; who can avoid'^ bein^ touched with sen- 
 sations at once awful and tender? What heart hut then 
 >var.iKs with the ^low of humanity? In whose eye does 
 not the tear gather, on revolving the fate of passing and 
 short lived man ? 
 
 £. l^ehoUl the poor man who lays down at last the 
 harden of his wearisome life. No more, siiall he groaa 
 imder the l-oad of poverty and toil. No more shall he 
 ■ hear the insolent calls of the master, from Viliom he re- 
 ceived his scanty waj^es. No more shall he he raised 
 from needful slum})er on his bed of straw, nor he hurried 
 away from his homely meal, to undergo the repeated la- 
 bours of the day. 
 
 5. While his mmiblo grave is preparing, and a few poor \ 
 and decayed neighhOurs are carrymg hnn thither, it it j 
 f;ood lor us to th'mk, that this man too was our brother; 1 
 fiuit for him the ti'^ed and tlie dcstitiito^ wife and the 1 
 

 I 
 
 Chap, 6. Pathetic Pieces. !1? 
 
 needy children, now weep ; that, neglected as he was by 
 the world, he possessed, perhaps, both a sound under- 
 standing, and a worthy heart ; and is now carried by an* 
 gels to rest in Abraham's bosom. 
 
 4. At no great distance from him, the grave is opened 
 to receive the rich and proud man. For, as it is said 
 witli emphasis in the parable,*^ " the rich man also died, 
 -md was buried." lie also died. His riches prevented 
 
 his sharinj^ the same fate with the poor man ; per- 
 haps, through luxury, they accelerated"^ his doom. Then, 
 indeed, *' tlie mourners go about the streets ;" and, while, 
 in all the pomp and magnificence of wo, his funeral ia 
 prer)aring, his heirs, impatient to examine his will, ar« 
 looking on one another svith jealous eyes, and already 
 beginning to dispute about the division of his substance. 
 
 5. One day, we see carried along, the coffin of tho 
 smiling infant; the flower just ninped as it began to blos- 
 som in the parent's view : and tne next day, we behold 
 the young man, or young woman, of blooming form and 
 Promising hopes, laid in an untimely grave. While the 
 
 uneral is attended by a numerous unconcerned company, 
 who are discoursing to one another about the news of tno 
 day, or the ordinary affairs of life, let our thoughts rath- 
 er follow to the house of mourning, and represent to 
 themselves what is passing there. 
 
 6. There we should see a disconsolate' f mily, sitting in 
 silent grief, thinking of the sad breach that is made in 
 their little society ; and with tears in their eyes, looking to 
 the chamber that is now left vacant, and to every memo- 
 rial that presents itself of their departed friend. By such 
 attention to the woes of others, the selfish tnirdness of 
 our hearts will be gradually softened, and melted dowa 
 into humanity. 
 
 7. Another day, we follow to the grave, one who, in 
 old age, and after a long career of life, has in full matur- 
 ity sunk at last into rest. An we are gi)ing along to thit 
 mansion of the dead, it is natural for us to think, and t<» 
 discourse, of all the changes which such a person has seer 
 durin;; the course of his rife. He has passed, it is likely 
 through varieties of fortune. He has experienced pros 
 perit3% ^"^ adversity. He has seen families and kindredi 
 rise and fall. He has st.en peace and war succeeding in 
 their turns ; the face of his country undergoing many aU - 
 terations ; and the vei-y city in which he dwelt, rising, ilk 
 in a manner new around him 
 
Ili English Reader. Part I 
 
 8. After all he has heheld, his eyes are now closed for- 
 ever. He was becoming a stranj^er in the midst of a new 
 succession of men. A race who knew him not, had arisen 
 to fill the earth. — Thus passes the world away. Through- 
 out all ranks and conditions, ' one generation passeth, and 
 another generation cometh ;' and this great inn is by turns 
 evacuateii/ and replenished,^ by troops of succeeding }>il- 
 grims. 
 
 9. O vain and inconstant world ! O fleeting and tran- 
 sient life ! When will the sons of men learn to think ot 
 thee as they ought? When will they learn humanity 
 from the afflictions of their brethren ; or moderation and 
 wisdom, from the sense of their own fugitive^' state ? 
 
 BLAIR. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 a En-hance, Jn-h&nse', to advaiv^e in 
 
 priro, a{:{,'ravate 
 b Pol-lute, p61-l/iie', to defile, taint 
 c Sen-si-bil-i-ty, s^n-s^-bil'-i-t^, quick 
 
 iiess of sensation 
 d Rev-olu-tjoii, iftv vA-iiV-shfin, change 
 ill the state of goveiiirnent, rolation, 
 j{-turniug uioIi;ju 
 
 JUxalted society^ and the reneival of virtuous connexions, two 
 sources of future felicity. 
 
 1. I'ksides the felicity which springs from perfect love, 
 there are two circumstances which particularly enhance'* 
 the blessedness of that *' multitude who stand before the 
 throne;" these are, access to tliemost exalted society, and 
 renewal of the most tender connexions. Tiie former is 
 pointed out in the Scrip^ire, by "joining the innumerables 
 company of angels, and the general assembly and church 
 of the first-born ; by sitting down with Abraham., and I- 
 saac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven;" a promise 
 which opens the sublimest prospects to the human mind. 
 
 2. It allows good men to entertain the hope, that, sep- 
 arated from all the drees of the liuman mass, from that 
 mixed and polluted'' crowd in the midst of which they 
 now dwell, they shall be permitted to mingle with proph- 
 ets, patriarchs, and apostles, with all those great and 
 illustrious spirits, who have slione in former agt;s as the 
 strrvantsof God, orthc* benefactors of men ; whose deeds 
 we are accustomed to celebrate ; whose steps we now 
 follow at a distance ; and Ydiose»names we pronounce with 
 veneration. 
 
 S. United to this high assembly, the blessed at the sama 
 tin:i«, renew tliose ancient connexions with virtucms frkuda, 
 
Vfutp* «b Pathetic Pibcks* IS% 
 
 which had been <H»6olvedby death. The prospect otthh 
 awakens in the hrart, the most pleasing and tender sen- 
 timent tiiiit periiaps can iill it in this mortal state. Fur 
 of all the sorrows which we are here doomed to endure, 
 none is so hitter as that occasioned by the fatal stroke 
 which separates us in appearance for ever, from those to 
 whom either nature or friendship had intimately joined 
 our heartfl. 
 
 4. Memory from time to time, renews the anguish , 
 opens the wound which seemed once to have been closed; 
 and by recalling joys that are past and gone, touches 
 every spring of painful sensibinty.*^ In these agonizing 
 mon.ents, how relieving the thought, that the separation 
 is only temporary, not eternal ; that there is a time to 
 come of re-union with those with whom our happiest 
 days were sjient : whose joys and sorrows once were 
 ours ; l^•hose piety and virtue cheered and encouraged us ; 
 and from whom after we shall have landed on the })eace- 
 ful shore tvhere they dwell, no revolutions'^ of nature shall 
 ever be able to part us more ! Such is the society of th« 
 blessed above. Of such are the multitude composed, 
 who ** stand before the throne." blair. 
 
 SECTION VI 
 
 m Clem-en-cy, kl^nj'-min-si, mercy, re- 
 mission of stvcriiy 
 
 i Pa-tri-arch, pA.'-tr^-irk, th« faiher an'' 
 rulnr of a t'amily 
 
 w Fot-i-phar, pil'-li-ffir, a captain gen 
 eral of the forcts of Egypt uiidei 
 Pharaoh 
 
 d Fi-del-i-ty, f^d^l-i-t*, faithful adhe- 
 rence 
 
 « Re-siwt, r*-z!«t', to oppose, withstand 
 
 / Ar-ti-rice, Ir'-i^-fls, trick, s'ratagtn 
 
 jr Im-pen-ding, Im-pfiu'-dlng, hanging 
 over 
 
 A Kar-ra-tion, n4r-ri.'-6hriU, relaiiou. 
 history 
 
 i In-ci-drnt, 1n'-6^-d^nr, casualty, even; 
 
 j For-eign, f6r'-r!ii, not uontoslick, al- 
 ien 
 
 k Con-ccal-mcnt, k6n-BiIe'-fnlnt, aet of 
 
 hiding, secrircy 
 / Ef-fu-sion, 4f-f6'-zhfin, a pouring out, 
 
 waste 
 m Yearn, yirn, to^el great internal 
 
 uneasiuesti, to be movod 
 n E-nio-tion, 4^-in6'-sh&n, disturbance of 
 
 mind 
 Ex-prcB-sive, ?kB-pr5s'-slv, having th« 
 
 p<i\ver of utterance, or representa 
 
 tjon 
 p S^ize, K^ze, to grasp, take forcibly 
 7 Char-ac-te-ris-ti-cal, k4r-Ak-ii-r!i-lA« 
 
 k4l, c-onstiiutiiig ilic character 
 )• 0-ver-\vheI-miiig, A-vfir-kwSl'-mlnff, 
 
 ciutihing UMd»;riieath Eomelhing vi- 
 olent and weighty 
 
 The cleviency and amiable character of the patriarch 
 Joseph. 
 
 1. No human character exhibited in the records of 
 Scripture, is more remarkable and instructive than that 
 of the patriarch^ Joseph. He is one whom we behold 
 
iSO £rv6LieH Ke^DEH. Pari t 
 
 ir\e6. m ntt the vicissitudes of fortune : fhom the condi- 
 tion of a slave, rising to he ruler of the huid of Etjvpt ; 
 and in every station acquiring, hv his virtue and wisdom, 
 favour ivith God and man. VVhen overseer uf' Poti- 
 phar's*" house, his fidehty^ \yas })roved by strong tempta* 
 tions, which lie hom)urably resisted.*" 
 
 2. When thrown into ])rison by the artifices/ of a false 
 woman, his integrity and prudence soon rendered him 
 conspicuous, eveo in that dark niansion. When called 
 into the presence of Fliaraoii, the wise and extensive 
 plan whicn lie fonned for saving the kingdojii froin the 
 miseries of im[)endinii;> famine, jusily raised him to a high 
 staticm, wherein his abilities were eminently displayed in 
 the public service. 
 
 S. i3ut in his whole history, there i» no circumstance 
 so striking and interesting, as his behaviour to his breth- 
 ren who had soUl him into slavery. The moment in 
 'which he uiade himself known to tbem, was the most 
 critical one of his life, and tlie most di-cisive of his cha- 
 l-acler. Jt is such as rarely occurs in the course of hu- 
 man events ; and is calculated to draw the highest atten- 
 lion of all who are endowed with any degree of sensi- 
 bility. 
 
 4. FroPxi the whole tenor of the narration^ it appears, 
 that though Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in 
 P^gypt, made himself strange to them, yet from the be- 
 j^innmg he intended to discover himself; and studied so 
 * .. conduct the discovery, as might render the surprise of 
 joy complete. For this end, by affected severity, he took 
 measures for bringing down into Egypt all his father's 
 diildren. 
 
 5. Th 'V were now arrived there ; and Benjamin among 
 the rest, a\ ho was his younger brother by the same moth- 
 er, and was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he 
 threatened to detain ; and seemed Avilling to allow the 
 rest to depart. This incident* renewed their distress.— 
 They all knew their father's extreme anxiety about the 
 safety of Benjamin,, and with what dilliculty he had 
 yielded to his undertaking this journey. 
 
 6. Should he be prevented from returning, they dread- 
 ed that grief would overpower the old man's spirits, and 
 Brove fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had par- 
 fecularly urged the necessity of Benjamin's acrompany- 
 iM( his brothers, and had solemnly pledged himself to 
 " ' father for his safe return-, craved upon this occ*iioi]^ 
 
CA^6* Patbetic Pieces. IMi 
 
 on audience of the governor ; and gave bim a full aecouot 
 of the circumstances of Jacob's family. 
 
 7. Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic thtfA 
 this discourse of Judah. Little knowing to >vhum h« 
 spoke, he paints in all the colours of simple and natural 
 eloquence, the distressed situation of the aged patriarcli,. 
 hastening to the close of life ; long alllicted for the loss 
 of a favourite son, whom he supposed to have been toru 
 to pieces by a beast of prey ; lanouring now under anx- 
 ious concern about his youngest son, the child of his old 
 age, who alone was left alive of his mother, and whom 
 nothing but the calamities of severe famine could have 
 moved a tender father to send from home, and expose to 
 the dangers of a foreign; land. 
 
 8. ** If we brin^ him not back with us, we shall bring 
 down the gray bans of thy servant, our father, with Bi>r- 
 row, to the grave. 1 pray thee therefore, let thy servaLt 
 abide, in*stead of the young man, a bondman to our lord. 
 For how shall 1 go up to my father, and Benjamin not 
 with me ? lest I see tlie evil that shall come on my f*. 
 ther." 
 
 9. Upon this relation Joseph could no longer restrain 
 himselt. The tender ideas of his father, and his fathei'* 
 house, of his ancFent horn", his country, and his kindred* 
 of the distress of his family, and his own exaltation, ai! 
 rushed too strongly upon his mind to bear any farther 
 concealment.* *'lie cried, cause every man to go o\^ 
 from me ; and he wept aloud." 
 
 10. The tears which he shed were not the tears of 
 grief. They were the burst of affection. They were the 
 eff*usions' of a heart overflowing with all the tender sen)>» 
 bilities of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the 
 same manner, when he first saw his brethren before him. 
 ** His bowels yearned'" upon them ; he sought for a place 
 where to weep. He went into his chamber ; and then 
 washed his face and returned to them." 
 
 11. At that period his generous plans were not coip- 
 
 fdeted. But now, when there was no farther occasion 
 or constraining himself, he gave free vent to the strong 
 emotions of his heart. The first minister to the king o! 
 Egypt was not ashamed to show, tliat he felt as a niaiik, 
 ana a brother. "He wept aloud; and the Egyptians 
 and the house of Pharaoh, henrd him." 
 
 11. The first words which Iv s swMiHin^ heart allowtf^ 
 bim to nroDOunce, are the most ^^iitable to such. an ftHW^ 
 
194 English Keadf.r. Fart l. 
 
 in^ situation that were ever uttered : — ** I am Joseph ; 
 doth my father yet Jive ?" — Wiiat could he, what ought 
 he, hi that impassionate moment, to have said more ? 
 This is the voice of nature herself, speaking her own hin- 
 gua^e ; and it penetrates the heart; no pomp of express- 
 ion : no parade of kindness : but strong affection hasten- 
 ing tX) utter what it strongly felt. 
 
 13. "His hrethren could not answer him: for they 
 were troubled at his presence." Their silence is as ex- 
 pressive^ of those emotions of repentance and shame, 
 which, on this amaziing discovery, ailed their breasts, and 
 Rtopned their utterance, as the i'ew words which Joseph 
 speaiis, are expressive of the generous agitations which 
 Btrurgled for vent within him. 
 
 14. No painter could seize/' a more striking momen-t 
 for displaying the characteristical? features of the human 
 heart, than what is heirpresented. Never was there a 
 situation of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one 
 hand ; nor, on the other, of more overvvhelming'* confu- 
 iion and conscious guilt. In the simple narration of the 
 sacred historian, it is set before us with greater energy and > 
 hicher effect, than if it had been wrought up with all the 
 tolouring of the most admired modern eloquence. 
 
 BLAIR. 
 
 sectYon vil 
 
 « Ex-it, 2ks'-lt, departure, quilting the 
 
 theatre of life 
 b Sng-geut, »fig j«gl', to hint, iusinnat* 
 c Phy-sic-ian, t'^*7-!sh.'-4n, one who pru 
 
 fcsscs the art of heaiiii!,' 
 d Mir-a-cle, ni!r'-4-kK something abovt 
 
 human underslsniiing 
 § De-i-ty, d^'-^-t*, biviniiy, God 
 / Ex-toft, ^ks-tArl', to umw by force. 
 
 gain by oppression 
 
 Un-quencU a-b!e, fin-kw^t)sh'-4-bl» 
 
 Uiiextiag'jishabie 
 h Tran sit, uAii'-df, tho passing of a 
 
 piaiiel just by or un < r any other 
 
 A.-iod star or jilanet 
 / Sal-ii-ta-ry, b4/-hj-fft,-ri, wholesorce, 
 
 saftj 
 j Ag-gra-va;e, i\ '■• rl-v.lte, to nnake 
 
 worse, to provjko 
 
 ALTAMONT. 
 
 The folloiobig account of an a-ffecting^i mournful exit," is rela- 
 ted by Br. Young, tvlio was jf resent, at the riieuwcholy scene. 
 1. The sad evening before the death of the noble youth, 
 whose last hours suggested'' the most solemn and awfuj 
 reflections, I waswitii him. No one was present, but his 
 physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he 
 Akd ruined. At my coming in, ha said, ** You and the 
 ^J9ic}^n<> 9,re come too late. I have neither life nor 
 
Chap., 6. Pathiitic Pifxiks. 13S 
 
 hope. You both aim at ir^iracUs.'' You would raise thtt 
 dead!" 
 
 2. Hcjp'pn, I said, was raercifuJ — '* Or," egfclaimed h«, 
 — " I could not h'lvc been thus guilty. What has it done 
 to bless, and to save me ! Ihavebeen too strony; for Om- 
 nipotence ! I have plucked down ruin" — I said, the bless- 
 ed Redeemer, — " Hold, ! hold ! you woui\d me ! — That is 
 the rock ou which I split: — 1 denied his name !" 
 
 S. Kefusin?; to hnar any thin-^ from me, or take any 
 thing from, the phv;iiciaD,'he lay silent, as far as sudden 
 darts of pain would j)ermit, till the clock struck ; then 
 with vehemence he exclaiinrd ; ** Oh ! time ! time I it is 
 fit thou shouldst thus strike thj murderer t^ tiie heart! 
 How art tlum fled for ever ! — A month ! — Oh, for a fein- 
 ffle Ave(;k ! 1 ask not for years ! though an ax^e were tou 
 little for the much I have to do." On nny sa5nn{e;, we 
 could not do too much : that heaven was a blessed 
 place — " So much the worse. — 'Tis lost! 'tis lost I — Hea- 
 ven is to me the severest j)art of hell !'* 
 
 4. Soon after, I proposed prayer, — " Fray you that can, 
 I never prayed. I cannot })ray— nor need 1. Is not Hea- 
 ven on my side already ? It closes with my conscience. 
 Its severest strokes hut second my own." 
 
 t». Observing; that his friend wa« much touched at this, 
 even to tears — (who could forbear? I could not) — with a 
 most affectionate look he said, " Keep those tears for 
 thyself. I have undone thee. — Dost thou weep for me ? 
 that is cruel. What can pain me more ?" Here nis friend, 
 too much affected, would have left him. 
 
 6. "No, stay — thou still mayst hope ; therefore hear 
 me How ma'dly have 1 talked! How madly hast thou 
 listened and believed! hut look on my present state, as a 
 full answer to thee, and myself. This body is all weak- 
 ness and pain ; but my soul, as if stun?^ up by torment to 
 greater streng;th and spirit, is full powerful to reason ; full 
 mighty to suffer. And that, which thus triumnlis within 
 the jaws of immortality, is, doubtless immortal — And, as 
 for a Deity,' nothins; less than an Ahnit'hty could inflict 
 What I feel." 
 
 7. I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary 
 confessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his 
 creed, extorted/ by the rack of nature, when he thus, very 
 
 ^ , exclaimed :— ** No, no I let mc speak on. 
 lave not jong to speak. — My wuch injured friend! my 
 JVi 
 
Mi Exroiitni RE.AiXE& Part % 
 
 9onAt M my body, lies in ruins ; In scattered ftrafgments of 
 broken tho light — 
 
 8. ** Remorse for the past, throws my thought on tho 
 liiture. Worse dread of the future, strikes it back om tho 
 past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel 
 naif the mountain that is on me, thou wouldst strugglo 
 vriih the martyr for his stake ; and bless Heaven for Uie 
 flames ! that is not an everlasting liame ; that is not an 
 unquenchable^ fire." 
 
 9. How were we struck ! yet, soon after, still more. 
 With what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, 
 he cried out! •'My principles have poisoned my friend; 
 my extravagance has begi^ared mry boy ! my unkindness 
 has murdered my wife ! — And is there another hell ? 
 Oh ! thou blasphemed yet indulgent LORD GOD ! Hell 
 itself is a refuge, i^it hide me from thy frown !'* 
 
 10. Soon after, his understanding failed. His terrified 
 Imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever 
 forgotten. And eie the sun (which, I nope, has seen 
 few like him) arose, the gay, young, noble, ingenious, ac- 
 complished, and most wretched Altamont expired ! 
 
 11. If this is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain T 
 How quick, how total, is the transit* of such persons !— 
 Jn what a dismal doom they set for ever ! How short, 
 alas ! the day of their rejoicing ! — For a moment they 
 glitter — they dazzle ! In a moment, where are they ? Ob- 
 fivion covers their memories. Ah ! would it did ! Infa- 
 my snatches them from oblivion. Ih the long living an- 
 nals of infamy their triumphs are recorded. 
 
 12. Thy sufferinfs, poor Altamont ! still bleed in the 
 bosom of the heart-stricken friend — for Altamont had a 
 friend. He might have had many. His transient morn- 
 ing might have been the dawn of an immortal .day. His 
 name might have been gloriously enrolled in the records 
 of eternity. His memory might have left a sweet fra- 
 grance behind it, grateful to the surviving friend, salutary* 
 to the succeeding generation. 
 
 IS. With what capacity was he endowed! with what 
 advantages for being greatly good ! But with the talents 
 ©f an angel, a man may be u fool. If he judges amiss 
 in die »u|>reme point, judging right in all else, but aggra- 
 Tates/ his folly ; as it shows nim wrong, though blessed 
 with the best capacity of being right- dr. youro. 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 SECTION 1. 
 
 a De-moc-ri-tui, di-wi&k'-ri-tfls, n cel-j ly, intruBior*, triiflb 
 
 ebrated philoduph'-r of Al>(]«:ru, li«|j R»5 vfr»o, r*-vin*e', eontrar^, > 
 put out his eypa to apply lnii.<ielf| trasf, to turn back 
 
 mure cloiioiy lo pliilosopfiici 
 
 quiries 
 b Her-a-cli-tu8, h^r-A-kU'-tfis, a celehra- 
 
 tf^d Greek philosopher of* Ephueus, 
 
 of a melancholy dispoyitioii 
 c Mel-an-chol-y,iii4r-in-k61-i, gloomy, 
 
 dismal 
 d ap-prov«, Ap-pr65v', to be pleased 
 
 with 
 t Mirth, m^rth, merriment, laughter 
 / Rid-i-cule, rfd'-i-kile, lo exi»o«e to 
 
 laughter, mockery 
 g Buffoon, bfif fASii', a man who mak«s 
 
 sport by low jests 
 k Frail, frAle, weak, liable to errowr 
 t Im-per-ti-uencc, lm-p6r'-ti-nin«e, fol- 
 
 A: Cul pa ble, kiM'-pA W, crimiuat, bU- 
 
 ni^Hl)l«i 
 Oe piDrc, d^-pliWe', to lament, Ivwail 
 III Des-tme, di»'-ili^ lo>duom, ft{^)oiBt, 
 
 devote 
 n Dic-tHte, dtk'-t4t»,- to dl^liver weih a«- 
 
 Ifcority 
 o Rc-jfjct. r*-j5fcl% to ca*t ort^ *«car4, 
 
 rdu.-'e 
 p Mtt-ni acrk, mi'-i>^ ^, ragiiif wUh 
 
 r»adnrc.<i, ar nmtf person 
 q La-Rierit, IA-i!*^i»«', la mrtM-*, fric^^ 
 ;• rre-pna-tcr«io*, p»^-p&('-i&r-&«, al^ 
 
 Mird, perverfud, wron^c 
 s Fnu© Ion, f^n'-i^l£«, /iteftbiihop of 
 
 Cambray 
 
 DEMOCRITUS« AND HEKACLITV»*-* 
 
 The vices and follies of men should excite comjHtMsioR rath- 
 er than ridicule. 
 
 Democritus. I find it impossible to reconcile myself 
 to a melancholy philosophy. 
 
 HeracUtus. 'And I am equally unable to appro ve** of 
 that vain philosophy, which teaches men to cfespise and 
 ridicule one another. To a wise and feeling mind, th« 
 world appears in a wretched and jjainful li?:ht. 
 
 Dejn. Tliou art too much aflected with the state of 
 things ; and this is a source of misery to thee. 
 
 Her. And 1 think thou art too little moved by h. Thy 
 mirth* and ridicule/ bespeak the buffo< n,<^ rather than the 
 philosopher. Does it not excite thy compassion, to see 
 mankind so frail,'' so blind, so far departed from the rulei 
 of virtue ? 
 
 Dem. I am excited to laugh ter, when I see so much 
 i impertinence.' and folly. 
 i i/er. And yet, after all, they, who ere the objects of 
 
 I ♦ Democritus and Horaclitud were t\ro ancient philosa|)her», the foriatr 4 
 i wbon laugbe^i uud theia^ior wep% «i lh% 909O9M ood feilMt «f wmiIub4. 
 
ttl9 English Keadea. Part, U 
 
 ♦hy ridicule, include, not only mankind in general, but 
 the persons with whom thou livest, thy friends, thy fam- 
 ily, nay even tliyself. 
 
 Dem, 1 care very little for all the silly persons I meet 
 \rith ; and tiiink 1 am justifiable in diverting myself with 
 their folly. 
 
 Her. If they are weak and foolish, it marks neither 
 wisdom nor humanity, to insult rather than pity them. 
 But is itrcertaiu .that thou art not as extravagant'as they 
 are ? 
 
 Dem. I presume that I am not ; since, in every point, 
 my sentiments are the very reverse; of theirs. 
 
 Her. There are follies of ditlerent kinds. J^y constant- 
 ly amusing thyself with the errors and misconduct of 
 others, thou mayst render thyself equally ridiculous and 
 culpable.* 
 
 Deni. Thou art at liberty to indulge such sentiments ; 
 and to weep over me too, if tho« hast any tears to spare. 
 For my part, I cannot refrain from pleasing myself, with 
 Ihe levities and ill conduct of the world about me. Are 
 not all men foolish, or irregular in their lives ? 
 
 Her. Alas ! there is but too much reason to t)elieve^ 
 they are so : and on this ground, I pity and deplore/ their 
 condition. We agree in this point, that men do not con- 
 duct themselves .recording to reasonable and just princi- 
 ples : but I, who do not suifer myself to act as they do, 
 must yet regard the dictates of my understanding and 
 feelings, which compel me to love them ; and that love 
 iills me with compassion for their mistakes and irregular- 
 ities. Canst thou condemn me for pitying my own spe- 
 cies, my brethren, persons born in the same condition of 
 life, and destined*" to the same hopes and privileges ? If 
 thou shouldst enter a hospital, where sick and wounded 
 persons reside, would their w^ounds and distresses excite 
 thy mirth ? And yet, the evils of the body bear no com- 
 parison with those of the mind. Thou wouldst certainly 
 l)lush at thy barbarity, if thou hadst been so unfeeling as 
 to laugh at or despise a poor miserable being who had lost 
 one 01 his legs : and yet thou art so destitute of human- 
 ity, as to ridicule those who appear to be deprived of the 
 noble powers of the understanding, by the little regard 
 which thev pay to its dictates." 
 
 Dem. jfic who has lost a leg is to be pitied, because' 
 the loss* is not to be imputed to himself; but he who re- 
 lectcp tne dictates of reason and conscience, voluntariJ- 
 
Cliiip. 7. Dialog tJES. 157 
 
 deprives himself ol their aid. The loss originates in hit 
 ovvji iuily. 
 
 Iltr. Ah ! so much the more is he to be pitied ! A fu- 
 rious maniac/ wlio siiould pluck out liis own eyes, would 
 <icserve more compassion than an ordniary blind man. 
 
 JJeju. Come, let us accommodate this business. There 
 .8 something to be said on each sidii of the question. — 
 There is evi-ry where reason for laughing, and reason for 
 Avet'pin^. The Avorid is ridiculous, and 1 lau^h at it : it 
 is de|)h>rable, and thou lamentest'/ over it. Every per- 
 son vi^iws it in his own way, and according to his own 
 ♦cmper. One point is uncjuestionable, that mankind are 
 preposterous :'• to thinK I'li^ht, and to act w ell, we must 
 think and act dili'erently from them. To submit to the 
 autnority, and follow tlie example of the f^reater part of 
 men, would render us foolish and miserable. 
 
 Her, All this is, indeed, true ; but then, thou hast no 
 real love or feeling for thy s]>ecies. The calamities of 
 mankind excite thy mirth: and this proves that thou hast 
 no regard for men, nor any true respect for the virtue* 
 which they have unhappily abandoned. 
 
 J'tntlofw ArchbUhop of Ccmihray. 
 
 SECTION 11. 
 
 A ?yth-i-aB, ]<!th'-AAj«, a Pythngurcan « De-fi-anco, d*-fl' Anse, a eli&Ilenfe, 
 
 |>h!lo!iO|;iti<r, iiiliiiiutc Willi Liaiiiui 
 b Dii-inun, ..i'-ui6ii, a ccltibrati'd Pyuui 
 
 furean pl)tiO)«U|jhbr, luUruuie will; 
 'yihiu* 
 t Iri-llicl,'.!! fl!ki', to punish 
 4. iie»i cue. r^s'-ku, to liee irotii dange. 
 or reKiraiiit 
 
 «x|>r«>ii«ioa ul c<jiiiciii]>t 
 / 111 ^ui■-Jic-lelll, lii-fturriah'-c-ut, iuail- 
 
 I'lllittO 
 
 g Con lie. Hcend, k»:ii)^ t^nU', to yieUl, 
 
 bcixi, 6.UU|) 
 
 !i r.«'-iiol-i cent, b6-iiir-(i-Miul, kind, dol- 
 ing {fOOll 
 
 DiONYSIUS. rY'iUUAS," AND DaMON.* 
 
 Genuine virtue commands respect^ even from the. had. 
 
 Diomjsius. Amazing! What do 1 see ? It is l^ythias 
 just arrived. It is hideed I'ythias. 1 did not think it 
 possible, lie is come to die, and to redeem his friend I 
 
 J\(;thias. Yes, it is Tythias. 1 left the place of my 
 confinement, with no other views, tlian to pay to heaven 
 the vows 1 had made ; to settle my family concerns ac- 
 cording to the rules of justice ; and to bid adieu to jny 
 children, that 1 might d'ie tranquil and satisfied. 
 
 JJio. But why dost thou return ? Hast thou no feaf of 
 death ? Is it not the character of a madman, to deidk jt 
 thus voluntarily ! 
 
19B CneLisii IIbadkiiu Pari. % 
 
 Py. I return ta suffer, though I have not deserved 
 
 deatn. Every principle of honour and goodness, forhids 
 £be to alJow my friena to die lor me. 
 
 Dio, Dost thou, then, h)ve himhetter than thyself? 
 
 Py. No; I loA'e him as myself. But lam persuaded 
 •that I ought to suffer death, rather tiian my friend; since 
 it was Pythias whom thou hast decreed to die. It were 
 not just thatDamoti should suffer, to deliver me from the 
 deat'fi which was designed, not for him, hut for me only. 
 
 Dio, But thoa supjprosest, that it is as unjust to inflict^ 
 death upon thee, as upon thy friend. 
 
 Py. Very true ; we are both perfectly innocent ; and 
 it is equally unjust to make either of us suffer. 
 
 Dio. Why dost thou tk<m assert, that it were injustice 
 to put him to death instead of thee ? 
 
 Py. It is unjusty in the same deg;ree, to inflict death 
 cither on Damon or myself; hut Pythias were highly 
 culpabk to let Damon suffer that death, which the ty- 
 rant Uad ji^pared for Pythias i}n\y. 
 
 Dm. Dost thou then return hither, on the day ap- 
 pointo4T ^ith no other view, than to save tine hfe of a 
 irientf, hv losing thy own ? 
 
 Py. 1 return, in regard to thee, to suffer an act of in- 
 justice which it is common for tyrants to inflict ; and, 
 with respect to Damon, to perform my duty, by rescuing** 
 him from the danger he incurred hy his generosity to me- 
 
 Dio. And now, Damon, letmc address ntyself to thee. 
 Didst thou not really fear, that Pythias woaild never re- 
 turn ; and that thou wouldst he put to death on his ac- 
 count ? 
 
 Da. 1 was hut too well assured, that Pythias wouFd 
 punctually return ; and tliat he would he mma solicitous 
 to keep his promise, than to preserve hrslrfe. Would to 
 heaven, that his relations and friends had forcibly detain- 
 ed him I lie would then have lived for the comfort and 
 benefit of good men ; and I should have had the satisfac- 
 tion of dying for him I 
 
 Dio, What ! Does life displease thee ? 
 
 Da, Yes : it displeases me when I see and feel ttte 
 power of a tyrant. 
 
 Dio. It is well \ Thou shalt see him no more. I will 
 Order thee to he put to death immediately. 
 ' Py. Pardon tne feelings of a man who sympathises 
 »rith his dying friend. But remember it was Pythias who 
 'tM8 deroted Dj thee to destructit V. 1 come to tuUmit 
 
Chtf^K t. DiALOODfift. lit 
 
 U) it, that I may redc«rm my friend. Do not* neftne m% 
 
 tiiis consolatioii in my last hour. 
 
 f>io. I cannot endure men who despise death, and set 
 my })o\ver at deflamce '. 
 
 JJa. Tiiou canst not, then, endure virtue. 
 
 JDio, No ; 1 cannot endure that proud, disdainful rir- 
 tue, whlcii contenvns life ; which dreads no punishment; 
 and which is insensible to the charms of riches and plea- 
 sure. 
 
 Da. Thou seest^ however, that it is a virtue, which is 
 not insensible to the dictates of honour, justice, and friend- 
 shin. 
 
 i)lo. Guards, take Pythias to execution. We shall se« 
 whc^ther Dani<»n '/vin continue to despise mv authority. 
 
 Da, Pythias, by returning to submit himself tothjr 
 pleasure, has meriud his life, and d**served thy favour; 
 but I have excited thy indii^nation, hy n'signing myself t6» 
 tliy power, in order to save, iiim ; be satisfied, then, witk' 
 this sacrifice, and put me to dtath. 
 
 Py: fl(jld, Dio«ysiu3 ! remember, it was Pythias alono* 
 who oiTcnded thee ; Damon could not 
 
 Dio. Alas I what do 1 see and hear I where am I ! How^ 
 miserable ; and iiow wortny to be so ! 1 have hitherto 
 known nothing of true virtue. 1 have snent my life iri 
 darknesa* aiid error, Allt my power and honours are in- 
 suiJicient/to produce tovev I cannot boast of having ac- 
 i[uired a single friend, in the course of a reigfi of thirty 
 years. And yet these two persons, in a private condition, 
 love one another tenderly, unreservedly confide in each 
 other, are mutually happy, and ready to die for each 
 other's preservation. 
 
 *Py. How couldst thou, who hast never loved any per- 
 son, expect to have friends ? Jf thou hadst loved antf re- 
 spected men, thou wouldst have secured their love and 
 respect. Thou hast feared mankind ; and tliey feartiiee ; 
 they detest thee. 
 
 Dio. Damon, Pythias, condescend^ to admit me as a 
 third friend, in a connexion so perfect. 1 give you your 
 lives ; and I will load you with riches. 
 
 Da. We have no desire to be enriched by thee ; and, 
 in regard to thy friendship, we cannot accept or enjoy it, 
 till thou become good ana just. Without these qualihca- 
 dons, thou canst be connected with wowe but trembhnr 
 ilaves, and base flatterers. To be ioved and esteemeo 
 by meo of £re» and geoeivus minds, thuu mu»t bp virli^ 
 
14^ 
 
 ErroLisa Reader. 
 
 Part U 
 
 pus, affectionate, disinterested, beneficent;* and know 
 how to live in a sort of equality with those who sliare 
 and deserve thy friendship. 
 
 Fendon^ Archbishop of Cambray. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 a Skep-ti-cism, skSp'-tfr-slzm, universal p 
 
 doubt 
 h Dog-ma-tize, d6g'-mitize, to asgert q 
 
 positively 
 « Un-di8-cov-«r-a-ble, Sn-dls-kfiv'-fir-i^: 
 
 bl, not to be seen 
 d Nos-trum, n6s'-trftin, a medicine not 
 
 made publick 
 e Log-tck, 15d'-jik, the art of reasoning t 
 
 well . I 
 
 / En-vel-ope, Sn-vSl'-&p, to inwrap,itt 
 
 hide j 
 
 jf Pre-Bume, piA-zume', to suppose, ren- 
 
 ture 
 k Pred-e-cos-«or, prRd-i-s2s'-sfir, an an- 
 cestor, one gulrij^ before 
 
 • Phe-nOm-e-non, f^-n6m'-i-n5n, a new 
 
 appearance 
 j Ge-om-e-try, je-am'-m4-tr4, the sci 
 
 ence of quantity 
 k Pa-nat-ick, 4'A-nAt -Ik, an enthusias- 
 
 tick person 
 I En-thu-si-ascn, 3n-«Jiii'-zhi-Azm, heal 
 
 of imagination 
 m De«'Carte5, d6-kart', a philosopher 
 n Ob-flcene, 6b-6iin', immodest, dis 
 
 gustin^ li 
 
 • Pen-i-tence, p<n'-n6-t8p.8e, repent- 
 
 ance 
 
 In-fir-mi-ty, In-flt'-mh-ik, weaknew 
 sickness 
 
 Con-se-criite. k6n'-Bfe-krite, to mako 
 sacred, dedicate 
 
 Sect, sekt, a body of men united in 
 soni*^ particular tenets 
 
 Sanc-ifon, singU'-fchfln, ratification, 
 a law, to ratify 
 
 Rig-id, rlu'-j!d, stiff, severe, inflexi- 
 ble 
 
 Pas-sion, pi«h'-fin, commotion of tbt 
 mind, anger, love 
 
 Cred-u-lous, fcrgd'-ju-lfls, too apt t* 
 
 believe 
 I Pertt, \)?:?.tj plague, pestilence, bane 
 
 Fraud, fiivvd, cheat, irick, artifice 
 
 De-lir-i-om, d^-llr-i-fmi. alienation of 
 mind, dotage 
 
 Mas sa-cre, ra&s'-s4 kSr, butchery, 
 murder 
 
 Con-vul-sion, k6n-vfir-shun, aninvol* 
 uniary contraction 
 
 Para-lyt-ic-al. pi\r-A-nt'-t!k-4l, palsi- 
 ed, inclined to palsey 
 
 E-van-gel-i cal.j&-v&n-jli'4-kAl, agree- 
 able to gospiil 
 
 ]Med-i-cinjj, mftd'Hli-sln, a remedy, 
 p by sick 
 
 Locke and Batxe. 
 
 ChriBtianity defended against the cavils of skeprtmsvua 
 
 Bavle. Yes, we were both philosophers ; but my phi- 
 losopliy was the deepest. You dogmatized ;* I doubted. 
 
 Locke. Do you make doubting a piooC of depth in 
 philosophy ? It may be a good begmning of it ; out if 
 ]s a baa end. 
 
 Bayle. No : — the more profound our searches are in- 
 to the nature of things, t'le more uncertainty we shall 
 ^nd ; and the most subtle minds see objections and diffi- 
 culties in every system, which are overlooked or undis- 
 coverable* by ordinary undeistandingn. 
 
 Locke. It would be better then to be no philosopher, 
 and to continue m the vulgar herd of majokind, that one 
 xtmj havtt tha convenience of thinking that oofi knows 
 
Ckap. 7. Dialogues. 141 
 
 something. 1 And that the €yes which nature has given 
 me, see many things very clearly, though some are out 
 of their reach, or discerned very dimly. What opinion 
 ought 1 to have of a physician, who should offer me an 
 eye-water, the use of which would at iirst so sharpen my 
 si;i;ht, as to carr\' it farther than ordinary vision ; but 
 would in the end' put them out? Your philosophy is to 
 the eyes of the mind, what I have supposed the doctor's 
 nostruni«^ to he to those of the hody. It actually 
 brought your own excellent undersUuiding, whif.ii was by 
 nature ([uick-sighted, and rendered more so by art and 
 subtilt}^ of lo;:;ic'' jx'culiar to yourself — it brought, i say, 
 your very acute ifnderstanding to s<'e nothing clearly ; 
 and enveloped/ all the great truths of reason and religion 
 m mists of doubt. 
 
 Bayle. 1 own it did ; but your comparison is not just. 
 I did not see well, before 1 used my pliilosophic eye-wa- 
 ter : J only suj)posed 1 saw well ; Lut 1 was in an error, 
 with all the rest of mankind. The blindness was real, 
 the perc('])ti(ms were im;i<j;inary. 1 cured myself first of 
 those false imaginations, and then I laudably endeavour- 
 ed to cure other men. 
 
 Locke. A great cure indeed ! and do not you think, 
 that in return for the service you did them, they ought 
 to erect you a statue ? 
 
 Bay/e. Yes ; it is good for human iiature to know its 
 own wenkneL^s. When we arrogantly presume*' on a 
 strength we have not, we are always m great danger of 
 hurting ourselvts, or at least of deserving ridicule and 
 contempt, by vain and idle efforts. 
 
 Locke, i agree with vou, that human nature should 
 know its own v\ eakness ; l>ut it should also feel its strength, 
 and try to improve it. This was my employment as a 
 philosopher. 1 endeavoured to discover tlie real pow- 
 ers of the mind, to see w iiat it could do, and what it 
 could not ; to restrain it from efforts beyond its ability ; 
 but to teach it how- to advance as far as the faculties giv- 
 en to it by nature, with the utm(»st exertion and most 
 propter culture of them, would allow it to go. In the 
 vast ocean of philosophv, 1 had the line and the plummet 
 always in my nands. Many of its depths 1 found myself 
 X' .able tXt fathom ; but, by caution in sounding, and the 
 careful observations I macle in the course of my voyage, 
 I found out some truths of so much use to mankind, that 
 I thev acknowledge me to have been their benefactor. 
 
t4i EnoLi^b Reader^ Part 1 
 
 Ba^te. Tfe«iT ignorance makes them think go. Some 
 other philosopher will come hereafter, and show those 
 truths to be falsehoods. He will pretend to discover oth- 
 er truths of equal importance. A later sage will arise, 
 poi^aps among men now barbarous and unlearned, whose 
 'B^^acious discoveries will discredit the opinions of his ad- 
 imred predecessors. a Jn philosophy, as iia nature, all 
 dfaanges rts form, and one tning exists by the destruction 
 of another. 
 
 •I^ocke. <(l>j>iDions taken up without a patient investiga- 
 tioa, dependmg on terms not accurately defined, and 
 pifmclples begged without proof, like theones to explain 
 the ^pftesnomena' of nature, built on suppositions instead 
 of experiments, must perpetually change -and destroy 
 one another. But some opinions there are, even in mat- 
 ters not obvioueto the common sense of mankind, which 
 the mind has received on such rational grounds of assent, 
 that they are ac immovable as the pillars of heaven ; or 
 (to speak philosophically) as the great laws of Nature, 
 by wnich, under God, tlie universe is sustained. Can 
 you seriously tblnk, that, because the hypothesis of your 
 countryman, Descartes, which was nothmg but an inge- 
 nious, well-imnflmed romance, has been lately exploded, 
 the system of Sfewton, which is built on experiments and 
 p;eometry,i the two most certain methods of discover- 
 ing truth, will ever fail ; or, that, because the whims o. 
 fanatics* and tbe dtv.inity of the schoolmen, cannot now be 
 supported, the^doctnines of that religion, wfeich I the de- 
 clared enemy olf ii^l enthusiasm' and false reasoning, firm- 
 ly believed and maintained, will ever be shaken ? 
 
 Bayle. If y»n had asked Descartes,'" w&51e he was in 
 the height of his vogue, whether his system would ever 
 be confuted by any other philosophers, as tliat of Aristo- 
 tle had been by bis, what answer do you suppose he 
 would have retnrned ? 
 
 Locke, Come, come, you yourself know the difference 
 'between the ^wndations on which the credit of those 
 systems, and tbatsof Newton is placed. Your skepticism 
 is more affected than real. You found iit a shorter way 
 to a great leptrtation, (the only wish o'f your heart,) to 
 object, than to deffend ; to pull down, tian to set up.— 
 And your tail-ents were admirable for that kind of wr-'t. 
 Then your hwddling together in a Critical Dictionary, a 
 pleasant taHe, or obscene* jest, and a grave argument 
 fc^jfiinst V.i^ Christian reljgiofj, a witty contutntiou of 96m# , 
 
Clap* T. DiALOGUESU 149 
 
 absurd author, and an artful sopliism tfj iimp^acJi some 
 respectable truth, was particularly comiTiodious to all 
 oiur young smarts and sinatterers in free-thinking.. ^But 
 "what inisclfcief have you not done to human socjety ? — 
 You hav-e ^endeavoured, and with some d^grt^e of success, 
 to shake those foundations, on which tha whole 'moral 
 world, and the p;reat fabric of social happiness -entirely 
 rest. How could you, as a philosojvher^ in t'he sober 
 hours of rclle-ction, answer for this to your conscnence, 
 everi supposjiii^^ you had doubts of the truth of a system, 
 which gives to virtue its sweetest hopes, to impenitent 
 Viice its greatest (fears, and to true penitence" its best con- 
 solations ; wJaicla restrains even the least approaches to 
 guilt, and yet mijjke those allowances for the Infirmities/* 
 o-f our nature, jviiich the Stoic pride denied to it, but 
 which its real imf>erfection, and the goodness of its in- 
 finitely benevol-ent Creator, so evidently i€*quiir.e ? 
 1 Bayle. The rriind is free ; and it loves to exert its free- 
 d-om. Any restsaint upon it is a violence done to its na- 
 ture, ajrKi a tyranny^ against \VbJch it Jiasa right to rebel. 
 
 Loche. IheiBiind, though free, has a ^ovwrnor wiihin 
 Itself, Wih,^cih may and ougia to limit the exercise of its 
 freedoriffi. TJiat governor is reason. 
 
 Bayslt. ¥e8:: — bi*t reason, like other -g^^vea^nors, has a 
 policy more d^eiident upon our uncertain cajprice, than 
 upon any fixedi laws. And if that reason, which rules 
 my mind or yours, has itappencd to set ikpaf^ivourite no- 
 tion, it not oidy submits in^plicitly to it, hut desires that 
 the same respect should be paid to it by all the rest of 
 mankind. Now 1 hold that any man may lawfully op* 
 pose this desire in another ; and tha-t if he is wise, he will 
 use his utmost endeavours to check it in himself. 
 I Locke. Is there not also a weakness of a contrary na- 
 ture to this you are now ridiculing ? Do we not often 
 take a pleasure in showing our own power, and gratify- 
 ling our own pride, by degrading the notions set up by 
 lother men, and generally respected ? 
 j Bayle. I believe we do ; and by this means it often hap- 
 pens, that, if one man builds and consecrate s^ a temple to 
 ^olly, another pulls it down. 
 
 I Locks. Do you think it beneficial to human society, to 
 jbave all temples pulled down ? 
 I Baylt. 1 cannot say that 1 do. 
 
 I Locke, Yet 1 find not in your writings any mark ol 
 iiistiwcj^o^i, to show us which you mean to save. 
 
144 ErvGLisH Reader. Part 1. 
 
 Bayle. A true philosopher, like an impartial historian, 
 must be of no aecf*. 
 
 Locke, Is there no medium between the blind zeal of 
 n sectary, and a total indifference to all religion ? 
 
 Baifle'. With regard to morality, I whs not indifferent. 
 
 Lo'clce, How could you tlien bi indifferent with regard 
 to the sanctions* religion gives to morality f How could 
 you publish what tends so directly and apparently tf 
 weaken in mankind the belief of those sanctions ? Wa 
 not this sacrificing the great interests of virtue to the lit 
 lie motives of vanity ? 
 
 Bayle. A man may act indiscreetly, but he cannot do 
 > rong, by declaring that, which, on a full discussion of 
 the question, he sincerely thinks to be true. 
 
 Locke, An enthusiast, who advances doctrines preju- 
 dicial to society, or opposes any that are useful to it 
 has the strength of opinion, and the lieat of a disturb 
 ed imagination, to plead in alleviation of his fault. Bui 
 your cool head and sound judgment, can have no such 
 excuse. I know very well there are passa^ces in all your 
 works, and those nnt few, where you talk like a rigid' 
 moralist. I have also heard that your character was ir- 
 reproachably good. Hut wiu;n, in the most laboured 
 parts of your writings, you sap the surest foundations of 
 ail moral duties ; what avails it that in others, or in the 
 conduct of your life, you appeared to respect them.? 
 How many, who have stronger passions** than you had, 
 and are desirous to get rid of the curb that restrains them, 
 will lay hold of your skepticism, to set themselves loose 
 from all obligations of virtue ! What a misfortune is it to 
 have made such a use of such talents ! it would have been 
 better for you and for mankind, if you had been one of 
 the dullest of Dutch theologians, or the most credu- 
 lous" monk in a Portuguese convent. The riches of the 
 mind, like those of fortune, may be employed so per- 
 versely, as to become a nuisance and pest,^ instead of an 
 ornament and support, to society. 
 
 Bayle, You are very severe upon me. — Hut do you 
 count it no merit, no service to mankind, to dehver them 
 from the frauds^ and fetters of priestcraft, from tiie de- 
 liiTtimsv of fanaticism, and from the terrors awd follies ot 
 superstition ? Consider how much mischief these have 
 done to the world I Even in the last age ; what massacres.* 
 what civil wars, what convulsions'* of f^overument, what 
 corjfuaion in society, did t.hi^y produce I Nay, ia tb^at w« 
 
Chop, 7. l)lAL0Gt7Z». 14* 
 
 [>oth lived in, (liougTi much more enlightened than tlie fbr- 
 fner, did 1 not see them occasion a violent persecution in 
 nj ow^n country ? and can you blame me for striking at 
 Lhe root of these evils ? 
 
 Locke, The root of these evils, you well know wns 
 false relij^ion : h^it you stmck at the true. Heaven and 
 l.eli aro not more different, than the system of fiuth 
 I defended ; and that which produced the horrors of 
 which you spiiak. Why woiilti you so fallaciously con- 
 found them to;^t*ther in some of your writings, that it rt- 
 Liuiresmuch more judgment, and a more diligent attention, 
 tnan ordinary readrrs have, to separate th^m again, and 
 Lo make the proper distinctions ? This, indeed, i» the 
 ^reat art of the celebrated free-thinkers. They recom- 
 mend themselves to warm and ingenuous minds, by 
 lively strokes of wit, and f)y arguments really strong, a- 
 ;;ainst superstition, enthusiasm and priestcraft. But, at 
 Llie same time, they insidiously throw the colours of 
 these upon the fair face of true religion ; and dress her 
 out in their garh, with a malignant intention to reader her 
 odious or des])ical)le, to those who have not penetration 
 enough to discern the impious fraud. Some of them 
 may have thus deceived themselves, as well as others. 
 Yet it is ceitain no book that ever was written by the 
 mofit acute of these gentlemen, is so repugnant to priest- 
 craft, to spiritual tyranny, to all nbsuixi superstitions, to 
 all that CLin tend to disturb or injure society, as that gos- 
 pel they so mwcli afl'ect to despise. 
 
 Bayle. Mankind are so made, that, when they hare 
 been over- healed, thev cannot be brought to a proper 
 temper again, till they nnve i)eea over-cooled. My skep- 
 ticism might be necessary, to abate the fever and phren- 
 zy of false religion. , 
 
 Lockt, A wise prescription, indeed, to bring on a par- 
 alytica)' state of the mind, (for such a skepticism as yours 
 is a palsy, which deprives tlic mind of all vigour, and 
 deadens its natural and vital j owers.) in order to take off 
 a fever which temperance, and the milk of the evangeli* 
 cal'" doctrines, would probably cure ? 
 
 Bayk. I acknowledge that those medicines^ have a 
 ereat power, hnt few doctors apply them untainted with, 
 tlie mixture of some harsiier drugs^ or i»ome unsafe aS3 
 ridiculous nostrums of their own. 
 
 Locke* What you now say is too ^jrue.'— God has (;iveo 
 Us a most excellent phvtla for thk. soul, in al! its di&«^s^* 
 
146 
 
 English Reader, 
 
 Pun 
 
 bat bad and interested physicians, orjgrtorant and c>n^ 
 ceiled quacks, administer it bo ill to the rest of mankinA 
 that much of the benefit of it is unhappily lost. 
 
 LORD LTTTELTON. 
 
 CllAPTER VIIl. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 C Ci©-«-ro. «lft'-4-rA, a Boman orator. 
 
 •on or a Roman Jlni^lu, born a 
 
 Arpinuin 
 i Ver-r«s, vir'-rAr., a Roman wiio jjov 
 
 erned tho provineo ol' SjCily us prac 
 
 tor 
 
 # Al-lay, i!-li', to abate 
 
 4{ ]in-pu-ia-lion, liij. p^-ti'-sh&n, cen- 
 •are, reproach, reflation 
 
 $ Ef»fec-lu-al-Iy, Sf ffek'-tshii Al-IA, pow- 
 erfully, efricaciously 
 
 / Pro«-c-'cu-tion, pros-s^-kfa'-s'r.Sn, pur- 
 suit, pursuit in law 
 
 g Convict, k6n-v!kt'., to prove guilty 
 
 k Prop-a-gu-tor, pr6i)'-4 gk-tfir, asprea 
 tier, promot*T 
 
 i Blan-di;r-ous,filin'-dSr-68, calumnious, 
 false 
 
 j Ae-quit, Ak-kw!t', to set free, to ab 
 •olve, to disclmrgo a duty 
 
 1 Pain-|)hyl-i-a, plnj-l"1i'-li-i, a pro 
 Tince of Ania Minor auci-ently cal- 
 led Alopsopia 
 
 I Scourge, lik&rje, to lash, whip, a lash, 
 a whip 
 
 «i Au-thor-i-ty, iw-th6r'^-ti, power, 
 influence 
 
 % Bi-ai, bi -&s, to incline to some side 
 
 9 ProB-e-cu-tor, {)r6s'-s^-k{i-lfir, one 
 who pursues another by law 
 
 f Xr-reg-u-l«r-i-ty,!r-rSg-gii-iar'-6-t^, de- 
 TiatH>n from rule 
 
 f Qua>^tor-8hip, kw?.ii -tur-ehlp, thr 
 office of a quspstor 
 
 r Cne-iu»-Ca^-bo,n6'-y5s-kir'-b&, a Ro 
 man Orator 
 
 • Treas-o-rer, tr8rh'-&-rfir, one who has 
 
 the oare of the money of a ^tate 
 •^▼V«-I«te, Yi'-i-Iite, to injure, to in- 
 fringe 
 
 n Era-b'^/.-zle, Sra-bftz'-rl, to appropriata 
 
 by breach of trust, to wa«te 
 » Sic-il-ian, si^-bli'-yAa, anativo ofSi<^ 
 
 ily 
 w Un ul ien-a-blo,fin-ile'-y5n-4-bl, not 
 
 transferable 
 X Precedent, prgs'-sA-dSnt, a rt:l» fo# 
 
 example 
 y Ar bi-ira-ry, &r'-bi-trA.-ri, despoCick, 
 
 absolute 
 z Com-puie, k6m-piite', to calculate, to 
 
 count 
 a Ally, Al-ir, one united to another, to 
 
 unite 
 A-tro-cious, 4-trA' shftj, wicked in a. 
 
 high degree, horrid 
 c Ex-empt, figz-gmt', free from, to pri- 
 vilege, lo free from 
 i Un-ex cep-tioi)-a-bl3,un-Sk-BJp'-6h&n" 
 
 i bl, not liable to objection 
 J Kar-bonr, h{ir'-b5r, to entertain, bHoV 
 
 ter, aabplior 
 / Pi-rate, pl'-rit, a sea robber 
 «• Ilav-ag cr, rdv'-rJJjo-fir, one who 
 
 lays waste, one who spoils 
 i Del-ri-inent, dSt'-trfe-^mSnt, loss, dai»- 
 
 age, mischief, hurt 
 I Ex-cla-ma-tion, £ks-k]&-m4'-8h&a, ve 
 
 henieHt outcry 
 j A 1 lego, &l-lfidje'., to affirm, plead •• 
 
 an excuse , 
 
 k Cru-ci-fi*-ion, kr83 s^-flk'-shSn, thf 
 
 punishment of nailing to a cfoss 
 I Pub-ll-UB-Ga-vi-u8-Co-8n.-nu8, pBb'- 
 
 lisas-gi'-v^-ftfl-ki-s^'-iias, 
 
 m Syr-a-cnse, slr'-i kize, a celebrated 
 
 city of Sicily 
 n Lu-ci-u8-Pre-ti-ug,li'-gh&-fta"pri'-ebA' 
 &s 
 Pa-Bor-nMia, p4 n^'-m&e, thb u%xbm 
 
iJkap. 5. 
 
 Public Spekch^^. 
 
 14T 
 
 wa« common to ne^en diflbrent 
 
 towns in Asia and Europe 
 j» Ai-'eiit, 4t-i(-st', to \vitHe8«, ir, call to 
 
 witness, tu avouch 
 f In-fc-n-our,!n-fi'-r^-fir,low<5r in place, 
 
 Bubordaiaie 
 
 r Mnnr-i«-trnfe, mAd'-jfji-trlle, a ninn In- 
 
 M'stod wilh tiithorrty 
 s Siib ver-siun, sib-v^r' «liftn, orer- 
 
 tlirow 
 
 t Afi-ar-ciiy, Aii'-ir-ki want o{* goverrv- 
 jnent 
 
 CiCEROo against Verres.* 
 
 1. JL HE time IS come, Fathers, wh^n that which has 
 long been wishiMi for, towards allayinp;*^ the env}' your or- 
 der has been suhjcct to, and removin;; tiie iiiiputations'* 
 against trials, is efi'ectualiy put in your})uwer. An opin- 
 ion has lon^ prevaih^d, not only h^re at iiome, but hke- 
 ^vise in foreign countries, botli dangerous to you, and 
 pernicious to the state, — that, in prosecutions^/" men of 
 wealth are always safe, however clearly convicted.^ 
 
 2. There is now to l)e brought upon his tridi before 
 you, to the conru>ion, 1 hope, of the j^ropa^aters^ of 
 t*iis slanderous' imputation, one v. hoFc life and actions 
 condejiin him in th(! opinion of all im}»arlial persons; but 
 v^ho, accordJuji; to his own reckoning; and declared de- 
 }w'iidcrice upon f)is rjches, is already aci[iiitte(i ;^ I mean 
 Caius V^trres. 1 deriiind justice oi you, leathers, unoii 
 the robber of the public treasury, the opprissor of Asia 
 rdinor and Pamphyha,* tlie invader of the rights and pri- 
 vile;;e5!, of iwomans, the scourj^e- and curse of t^icily. 
 
 8. If that sentence is passtd upon liim which his crimes 
 desorve, yotir autliority,« Fathers, Aviil be venerable and 
 sacred in the eyt*s of tlie public ; but if his i^reat riches 
 should biaS" 3'ou in iiis favom-, I shall still j;ain one point, 
 to make it apparent to all the world, that wjiat was want- 
 ing: in this case, was not a criminal nor a prosecutor," bat 
 justice and adt.<}uate })unishment. 
 
 4. Tf» puss ovt'r ihe shanM>fMl irrepjidaritiesp of his 
 youth, what does his rpiiestoi-bhip,? the /irst public employ- 
 iTipnt he held, what docs it exhibit, but one contmued 
 scene of vilkuiies ] ('neius Carbo,'- plundered of the pub- 
 lic money by hii'own treasurer,* a counsel stripped and 
 betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a pro- 
 vince robbed, the civil and religious rights of a people vi- 
 oh.tL'd.' 
 
 5. The employment he held in Asia Minor and Pam- 
 phyliu, V. hat did it produce but the ruin of those coun- 
 tries ? in wliich houses, cities, and temples, were robbed 
 by him. Whi\: was his cgnduct in his pcaRtorship hef« 
 
143 IJl.NOJLisn P^EmI^kh, ^art, \, 
 
 Ht home Let the plundered temples, and public \¥ork§ 
 nep;lcct€d. that lie miglit wiibezzle'* the money intended 
 for carrying; them on, bear witness. How did he dis- 
 cliarge the office of a judj^e? Let those wiio suffered by 
 his injustice answer. ^-iJut liis przelorship in Sicily crowns 
 i\\\ his works of wicked nets, and finishes a lasting monu- 
 ment to his infamy. 
 
 C, The mischiePs done by him in that unhappy coun- 
 try, during the three years of his inicjuitious administra- 
 tion, are such, that many years, under the wisest and 
 heat of prietors, will not be suHicient to restore things to 
 the conaition in which he found them ; for it is notorious, 
 that, during the time of his tyranny, the Sicilians" neither 
 tjnjoyed the protection of their own original laws ; of the 
 regulations made for their benefit by the Koman senate, 
 upon their coming under the protection of the common- 
 wealth ; nor of tlie natural and unalienable'* rights of 
 men. 
 
 7. His nod has decided all causes in Sicily for these 
 tliree years. And his decisions have broken all laws, all 
 precedent,* all right. The sums he has, by arbitrary* 
 taxes and unheard-of impositions, extorted from the in- 
 dustrious poor, are not to be computed.* The most faith- 
 ful allies* of the commonwealth have been treated as en- 
 emies. 
 
 8. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death 
 with tortures. The most atrocious** criminals, for mo- 
 ney, have !>een exempted^ from the deserved punish- 
 j)3ents ; and men of the most unexceptionable^^ characters, 
 condemned and banished unheard. The harbours,* 
 though sufficiently fortified, and the gates of strong towns, 
 have been open to pirates/ and ravagers.e 
 
 9. The soldiery and sailors, belonging to a province 
 under the protection of the commonwealth, have been 
 starved to death ; whole fleets, to the great detriment* 
 of the province, suffered to perish. The ancient monu- 
 ments of either Sicilian or Roman greatness, the gtatuci 
 of heroes and princes, have been carried off; and the 
 temples stripped of the images. 
 
 10. Having, by bis iniquitous sentences, filled thepr]»- 
 one with the most industrious and deserving of the peo- 
 plcy he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman cit- 
 izens to be strangled in the gaols : so that the exclama* 
 tion,* **I am a citizen of RoLoe '*' which has oftep, \u th* 
 most distant regions, and among theroofft barbarous peo- 
 
Cha^ IL Tvnht€ SricKcNM. »49 
 
 pie, been a protection, was of no service to them ; hul, 
 Qn th«i contrary, broug;ht a bpti:dicr and a luoitt htver« 
 punishment upon them. 
 
 11. J ask now, Verres, what thou hast to advance »- 
 gainst this charge? Wilt thou pretend to deny it? Wilt 
 thou pretend that any thin^j false, that even any thing 
 R*;graviited is alle<;Td^ ap;ainst thee ? liad any prince or 
 any slate, committed the same outrage against the privi- 
 lege of Roman citizens, should we not thmk we had suf- 
 ficient around lor demandinjn; satisfaction ? 
 
 12. What puni'jhnientouglit, then, to be inflicted upon 
 & tyrannical and wick('d praetor, wiio dared, at no great- 
 er distance than hiciiy, within sight ol the Italian coast 
 to put to the infamou's death of cruciiixion,* that unfortu 
 nate and innocent citizen, ruhlius (xavius Cosanus.' only 
 for his having asserted l)is priN ilepicr of citizensliip, r.ntl 
 declared his intention of anpt:ar'»'":; to the jiistice tif iiiii 
 country, against the crui l' opprtssor, wiio had unjustly 
 confined him in prison at Syracuse,-' wiience he had jus»t 
 made his escape. 
 
 IS. The unhappy man, arn\'^ted as lie was going to em- 
 bark for his native country, i^ hrouglit before the wicked 
 praetor. With eyes darting fury, and a cnui.tenance di^4- 
 torted with cruelty, he orders the helnless victim «)f liii 
 rage to be stripped, aixd r<Kls t/) f)e brought : accusing 
 him, but withoiil the Jeast shadow of evidence, ur even 
 of suspicion, of having come t^» t^jeily as a spy. 
 
 14. it was in vain iliat the uLha| j-y man ci'icd out, *• I 
 am a lioiTian citizen : ll^ne f^erv^Mi under J.ucius l*re- 
 tius,« who is tiow ill Pa norm us,-* and will attest^* my inno- 
 cence." The blood-thirsty pr£Etor, deaf to all he could 
 urge in his own xlefence, ordered the iufamous punish- 
 ment to be inflicted. 
 
 15. Thus, fatiiers, was an innocent Roman citizen pub- 
 licly mangled with scourging: whihit the only wortfs hn 
 uttered, amids^t his cruel sulVerings, W( re, " 1 am a Ro- 
 man citizen !" A\ ith thrse, he hoped to defend himself 
 from violence and infamy. lUit of ^o little service was 
 this privilejre to him, that, whilst he was thus assertini; 
 his cjtizenship, the order was given for his execution,— 
 for his execution upon the cross I 
 
 16. O liberty I— O sound once delightful to every Ro- 
 man ear ! — O sacred privilege of Roman ritizen^jhip — 
 once sacred i — now tram)>1ed upon ! — Rut wha^ then ! li 
 k oom« to this ? Shall an inferiors macistrttte," a covewi- 
 
 N i 
 
leo 
 
 PT^(OLI8M KSADCa. 
 
 Ptrrt I. 
 
 or, irlio hoMs hh whoU) prnver of the Roman people, in 
 a Roman prv»viucts vvil'l\iii si^ht of Italy, bind, scourge, 
 torture with t\vi>. and red hot plates of iron, and at la^t 
 put to the infamous deatli of the cross, a Roman citiz«;n ? 
 
 J.7. Skhll ncith(M* eh»* ciiK-.s of innoc'nce expiring in ajr- 
 ony, nor the. tears oi' pityinc; e<{)^ctators, nor the majesty 
 of the. Roni.tn commc^nneaitb, noi- ihfi f^^ars of the jus- 
 tice of his country, r-Htniin tlie h'^^ntious and wanton 
 cruelty of a monsri-;', whu), in corif.dence of his riches, 
 strikes at the. rt)ot of liherty, and sets mankind at defiance i 
 
 13. I conclud*^ witii expressin:; my linp.'s, that yoiir 
 wisdom an/l justice, fathers, will not, by si.jffe.ring the a- 
 trocious and unexamph;d insolence of Caius Vcrres to es- 
 cape due punishme.!t, h^ave room to ap}jreh<. nd the dan- 
 ge ' of a total subversion' of authority, and the introduc- 
 tion of gciicra! anarch.y and confuruon. 
 
 ClCERO'S OKATI ■ j. 
 
 a A?l-hr>r-I)al, /..I luV'-b,'»L sunof Midp- 
 
 SM, ami ;jruiulsiMi of Masiiilssa, jtu 
 
 I.) ilomh by Jiiyurilia 
 b J'.j-gurtha, jiijj.ir -tlii, \ho il!(\!?iti 
 
 n.nttj Koii t>!" JViuunsiUibal, broilier of 
 
 Micipsa 
 e Mi rip-riii, mk-iAft' s4, a king of Nu 
 
 nj'ulia, soil oi' M:i.-<iui.sy;i 
 d Com J!jiu-l ly, kin-jftnkt'-l^. Jointly 
 « lii-«ni|--fal, lie^m-8&l, ii king of Nu- 
 
 niiuia 
 / Nu-i:»iil-i-a, nfr mM'-^'i, an itiland 
 
 ciwintJy of Aftica, iiu\v iho kiii^' 
 
 flom of Airjiers 
 f Pro-pri-e lor, \)>6 jirl'-A-tSr, in'ssessor 
 
 ii) Ills own VL'M 
 k Mn»«-i-nirt-sa, WAs'A-h!^'-tA, a king of 
 
 u small part uf AlVira 
 I So-lx-it, lii-ils i.'., to eiitr<»'ir, c.vci'.« 
 7 Arj-r.'.'S tor, k>\' ^ht>.-ttir. a furef;ifl»«tr 
 k Bui-d'innorwe.b&r'-ii'u-aOiu, grievous, 
 
 troiiblcHonu* 
 I Ne-r,«;F si-iy, ii^-KSs'-si-tA, compulsion 
 
 want, povcriy 
 at Rc-sont-mflrit, rA-zSni'-mSnt, a deej> 
 
 scn.-'e oi" '.ij'iry 
 n Ex-|)rel, eka-i»gr, to drive out, bunisli 
 o Sy-plmx, fcl'-fAk.'?, a kin^j of il.e Ala- 
 
 gaoHylii tn Lybya 
 p Car-tiiH-giu-i-an, ks.r-tJiA-j!n -n^ 4n,n 
 
 native ii' Canhn-je 
 f Do-fe.Hl, d<^-)"At»<', dcfctructioft. to ovfgr- 
 
 Uuow, to ueitfojr ' 
 
 SECTION 11. 
 
 Can ;jr'Jt-!i latR, kin-grilah' 6-IAte, to 
 
 coiiiphjiifru upon any iiat)py event 
 
 k{ Dretu-li, drt^-nsh, to Kouk, steep, phy- 
 
 Hiok 
 t Ptil-Kco, p4r-!As. H royal ecWJico 
 u frn brue. ?ni-br<55', :o neop, souk 
 
 Reck, rt'^k, l<j t^itioke, stuam, exbalo, 
 to emit vapou"" 
 
 ic Mu-tu-al, nii'-tshfi- , reciprocal, e- 
 
 qual 
 X Duii-gf'oo, di5n'-j?.H, a dark loathsome 
 
 prisua 
 y hn-^ol-er-a -hJc, hi-t6r l^r-4-bl, inrsnf- 
 
 forabie, not io be endured, bad be- 
 
 yor.il sujToranf*u 
 
 1 Tn-tru d«;r, !ntr<)6'-dur, ore who for- 
 CR« liiuiaolf inio compa.'jy 
 
 fi Iri-pia-u-a-tjjn, !n-t,ln-nu i'-sliin, the 
 
 )iovvcr of pleasing 
 '* Eiii-is sar-y, Ani'-ls-sir-ri, a spy, a so- 
 
 trcl agent 
 a Von-.^i'!MH;e. v<^n'-j4nj»c, punishment, 
 
 pMHul retribiuion 
 / Dis sfMnble, dTs-s^ni'-bl, to deceive 
 
 by fal.ve app'carjincei* 
 p. laj-pioiis.ti.i -p^-H};, wicked, profane 
 / Ex-ilo, ^^ks'-Ue, baiji.sbnienr, a pcrsoa 
 
 ban is bed 
 4'- U-»-urp-er, yii-z5rp'-ftr, one who 8©«- 
 
 7.CS anothsr's rijrbt 
 h Ar-bi-ter, ir'-b^-tlr, a ju^^e to whom 
 
 parties gubiuii 
 
Ot0p. 0. Pttbekj Brss<ns£s. ts51 
 
 Speech c/ Aj^h^khal* to the Roman SenaU^ fmpiorhtg rik> 
 
 protection against Jugurtha*. 
 Fathers! 
 
 1. It is known to you, that kinr Micip3a,« my ftithor, 
 on liis death-bed, left m charjije to Jugurtha, his ndoptefll 
 Bon, conjunctly^ witii my iHifnrtUMnte brother Hiempsal* 
 and myseif, the children of his own body, the adminis* 
 tFiilion of the kingdom of Numidia^/" directing us to con* 
 sider tlie senate and people of Jlome as proprietors*' of iu 
 lie charged us to u^e our host endeavours to be servicea- 
 ble to the Roman commonwealth : assuring us, that jout 
 protection would prove a defence against all enemies; 
 and would be instead of armies, fortiiications, and treas- 
 ures. 
 
 2. While my brother and I. were thinking of nothinj; 
 but how to regulate ourselves according to the directions 
 of our deceased father — Jugurtha — the most infamous of 
 mankind ! — breaking throu}:;ii all tics of gratitude and 
 of common humanity, and trampling on the authority of 
 the Roman commonwealth, procured the murder of my 
 unfortunate brother; and has driven me from my throne 
 and native country, though he knows 1 inherit, from my 
 grandfather Masmissa/''and my father Micipsa, the 
 friendsliip and alliance of the Romans. 
 
 5. For a prince to be reduced, by villany, to my dis- 
 tressful circumstances, is calamity enough ; but my mis- 
 fortunes are heightened by the consideration — that I find 
 p-iyself obliged to solicit' your assistance, fathers, for the 
 services done you by my ancestors,-^ not for any I have 
 been able to render you in my own per<(on. Jugurtha 
 has nut it out of my power to deserve any thing at your 
 hanfis; and has forced me to be burdensome,* before 1 
 could be useful to you. 
 
 4. And yet, if 1 had no plea, but my undeserved naia- 
 ery — a once powerful prince, the descendant of a race of 
 illu??trious monarchs, now, w^ithout any fault of my own, 
 destitute of every support," and reduced to the necessity' 
 of begging foreign assistance, against an enemy who has 
 seized my throne and my kingdom. — if my unequalled 
 distresses were all I had to plead — it would become the 
 greatness (»f the Roman commonwealth, to protect the 
 injured, and to check the triumph of daring wickedne«i^ 
 over hf-lpless innocence. 
 
 i. l^ut, to provoke your resentment* to the otinos^ 
 Jugurtha has driren me '(ntm the very dominions, whicE^ 
 
Ml fi.'VOLItM ItSADKB. JF\frl 1.^ 
 
 |h« veBatd and people of Rome gave to mj ancestors • 
 jfcrid» (roin which, my ffrandfaiher, and iny lather, rnldei: 
 your unHjrage, expelled" Syphax" and the Carthaginians?. 
 Thus, fatliers, your kindness to our family is defeated?; 
 and Jugurlha, in injurinf^- me, throws contempt upon you. 
 0. O wretched prince ! Oh cruel reverse of fortune ! 
 Oh ffither Micipsa ! is this the consequence of tny ^en- 
 •srosity ; that he, whom tliy goodness raised to an equality 
 with thy own children, should be the murderer of thy 
 children ? Must, them, the royal house of Numidia always 
 \t^. a scene of liavoc and blood 1 While Carthage remain- 
 ««i, we suffered, as was to bo expected, all sorts of hard- 
 inips from their hostile attacks; our enemy near ; oujr 
 only powerful ally, the Roman commonweaftii, at a dis- 
 tance. 
 
 7. When that scourge of Africa was no more, we coa- 
 tratulated'" ourselves on the prospect of established peace. 
 But, instead of peace, behold the kingdom of Numidia 
 drenched* with royal blood ! and the only surviving son 
 of its late king, flying from an adopted murderer, and 
 seeking that safetyin foreign parts, which he cannot com- 
 mand in his own kingdom. 
 
 8. Whither— Oh ! whither shall I fly ? If 1 return to 
 the royal palace' of my ancestors, my father's throne is 
 seized by the murderer of my brother. What can I 
 there expect, but that Jugurtha should hasten to imbrue,* 
 in «my blood, those hands which are now reeking" wi^^h 
 my brother's ? If 1 were to fly for refuge, or for assistance 
 to any other court, from what prince can 1 hope for pro- 
 tection, if the Raman commonvveaUh ^ive me up l From 
 my own family or friends 1 have no expectations. 
 
 9. My royal father is no more, ile is beyond the 
 reach of violence, and out of hearing of the complaints 
 of his unhappy son. Were my brother alive, our mutuaiv 
 sympathy would be some alleviation. i3ut he is hurried 
 out of life, in his early youth, by the very hand which 
 should have been the last to bijure any of the royal fa- 
 inil}'' of Numidia. 
 
 10. The bloody Juj^urtha has butchered all whom he 
 suspected to be in my interest. Some have been destroy- 
 ed by the lingering^ torment of the cross. Others hame 
 been given a prey to wild beas>s ; and their anguish mado 
 the pport of men, more cruel than wild beasts. If there 
 
 '4>eany >et alive, they ar^ abut up in dungeons** there to 
 4a^g out a \ih more intplerabie/ tha.|i d^tkUi ttaeiL 
 
Chap, a. Fl'blic Spjekchxs. Ids 
 
 11. Look do«vn, Illustrious senators of Rome I from 
 that height of power to whUh you are raised, on the un- 
 ex**nipled distresses of a prince, who is, hy the cruelty of 
 a wicked iulrudjT,: hecome an outcast fro'ni all mankind. 
 Let iiot the crafty insinuations* o*f him who returns mur- 
 der for adoption, prejudice your judgment. Do not lis- 
 ten to the wretch who has hutcliered the son and rela- 
 tions of a kin^, who gave him power to sit on the same 
 throne with his own sons. 
 
 12. 1 have heen i{)formed, that he labours by his emis- 
 saries'' to prevent your dctermi^jing any thnig against him 
 ki his absence ; pretending that 1 magnify my distress, 
 and might for him, have staid in peace in mv own king- 
 dom. l5ut, if ever the time comes, when the due ven- 
 gcance*- from above sh'dl overtake him, he will then dis- 
 sembierf as I do. Then he, who now, iiardened in wick- 
 edness, triumphs over those whom his violence has laid 
 low, will, in hiii turn, feel distress, and suffer for his im- 
 pious' ingratitude to my father, and his blood-thirsty 
 cruelty to my brother. 
 
 13. Oh murdered, butchered bpother ! Oh, dearest to 
 my heart — now gone forever from my sight I — but why 
 should I lament his death ? He is, indeed, deprived of th« 
 blessed light of heaven, of life, and kingdom, at once, hy 
 the very person who ought to have been the first to haz- 
 ard his own life, in defence of any one of Micipsa's fam- 
 ily. But, as things are, my brother is not so much de- 
 prived of these comforts, as delivered from terror, from 
 night, from exile,/ and the endless train of miseries 
 wnich render life to me a burden. 
 
 14. He lies full low, gored with wounds, and festerinj^ 
 in his own blood, hut he lies in peace. He feels none 
 of the miseries which rend my soul with agony and dis- 
 traction, while I am set up a spectacle to all mankind, of 
 (the uncertainty of human affitirs. So far from having it 
 in my power Ip punish his murderer, 1 am not master of 
 :the means of securing my own life. So far from being in a 
 condition to defend my kingdom from the violence of 
 ithe usurper,? I am obliged to apply for foreign protec- 
 ttion for my own jperson. 
 
 15. Fathers! Senators of Rome ! the arbiters* of na- 
 tions ! to you I. fly for refuge from the murderous fury of 
 Jugurtha. By your affection for your children ; by your 
 flove for your. country ; by your own virlyes ; by the ma- 
 lesty of th« ^oman commonwealth : bj a|^i that is sacred. 
 
M 
 
 KnOLISH JljCAMXR. 
 
 Ptifi % 
 
 and all that ts dear to you — deHvor a w notched prince 
 froitt undeserved, unprovoked injury; and save (he king- 
 dom of Numidiii, which h your own pro}>erty» iVom be- 
 ing tike prey of violence, usurpation, and cruelty. 
 
 SALJLUSt. 
 
 A A-po9-tlo, A-pi«'-sl, applied to ilifUi 
 \vho;n mi( Saviuur bt-iii to prf;Hr}i 
 
 rod Agri|.pa 
 e I'er-iiiit, p«ir-ir.U', to nllow, to suflVr 
 d K-»pec-ial-ly, 6 sp2sli'-il-l^, prMici- 
 
 pnlly, cliielly 
 » Pa-ti*iiil-ly, pi.' sh^iit-l^, calmly, with 
 
 out rage under p.-tio or affliction 
 / TeA-ti fy, tga'-l^-f't to wiiueas, {rrove 
 jr Pliar-i-AOti, fir'-iiSi-sA. a !)yi»ocfi;e 
 k In-ore(l-i-b!c, !n kicd' 6 bl, not to be 
 
 credittifl 
 i Naz-a-relh, nith'-A-i&Lli, tiio naino ot" 
 
 a city 
 j Syn-a-gogue, »!n'-A-g6g, a Jewisli 
 
 church 
 k Blaij- phetnc, bUs-fr-tue', to speak wit! 
 
 irreverence of God 
 I Ex-cce-ding iy, Sk-Hci'-d!ng-l^, to a 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 gifat dcjjrpe 
 
 Per i^y-cuie, pAr'-si-kiife, to purHue 
 
 wiUi maiijfui'.y 
 Jour-uey, jur'-ni, to travel from place 
 
 lo pljici!, a pajiHiijfe 
 Ko-c«'ive. r^H^v*-', to take or oVitHJn 
 I For-give ness, f5r-{.1v'-nfi3, the^ act of 
 
 toiglVlI,^' 
 
 In l.or-il ance, In hSr'-r!t-inss, a pat- 
 rimony 
 Vis-ion, vV/.!i'-?i!i, sight, aphnnfnrrt 
 Oh-iain, ('.•l>-".4nu', to gain, procure 
 Per snude, p^r-svvide', ip briii^ loan 
 opiuiiin 
 ', Per-il-oiis, p?;r'-rll-!fts. danijerou» 
 I Coin-po-fc.uie, kiiji p6'-zL6re, anaiigo- 
 
 lufjiit, order 
 E-si)ou-o, e-sj)6uze', to betroth, wed, 
 dul'ciid 
 
 S%e Apostlk« Paul's nohh deftnce hejbre Festus and 
 
 AixRIPPA.^ 
 
 1. Agrippa said unto ]^m!, thou art permittedc to speak 
 for thyself. — Then Paul stretched ft^rth his hand, ana an- 
 swered lor himself. — 1 think myself happy, kinj^ Agrip- 
 pa, because 1 siinll answer for myself this day before 
 thee, concerninp^ ail the thinpjs Avhereof 1 am accused by 
 the Jews ; especially,-^ as 1 know thee to be expert in all 
 customs and questions which are amon^ the Jews. — 
 Wherefore 1 bestiech thee to hear me j)ationtly. 
 • 2. My manner of life from my youth, which was at 
 the first among my own nation at Jerusalem, know all 
 
 the Jews ; who knew me from the 'l)e^ 
 
 (if they 
 
 would testify,/^ that after the straitest sect of our religion, 
 I •lived a Pharisee.- And now I stand and am judged 
 for the hope of the promise made by God to our fathers ; 
 to which promise, our twelve tribes, continually serving 
 God day and night, hope to come: and, for thic* hope's 
 sake, king Agrippa, I am accused b}r the Jews. 
 
 3. W4iy should it be thought a thing incrediMe* with 
 you, that God should raise the dead ? i verily though 
 
Tdth myaetf, that I ouoht to do many ttitn^ oootrRry t^ 
 tlif. name of Jesus o;' Nazareth ;• and this 1 did in Jeril- 
 ^alem. Many of the siiints 1 shut up in priHon, having 
 received authority from the chief priestss* and Avhenlbey 
 were put to death, I jjave mv voice against them. 
 
 4. And I often punished them in every synagogue,/ and 
 compelled them to blaspheme ;* and being exceedingljM 
 mad against them, I persecuted^ them even unto strange 
 cities. But as I went to Dajiiascus, >vith authority and 
 commission from the chief pn^'sts, at mid-daj', O king ! 
 1 saw in the way a light from heaven, above the bright- 
 ness of the sun, shining round about me, and them who 
 iourneyed" with me. 
 
 5. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a 
 voice, speaking to me and sayin,*^, in the Hebrew tongue, 
 Saul, Saul, why persecutest tnou me ? It is hard for thee 
 to kick against tne pricks. And I said, who art thou. 
 Lord? And he replied, I am Jesus whom thou porscMiut- 
 est. 
 
 6. But rise, and stand upon thy feet : for 1 hare ap- 
 peared to thee for this purjiose, to make thee a minister, 
 and a witness both of these things, which thou hast seen, 
 and of those things in which I will appear to tiiee ; de* 
 livering thee from the people, and from the 0(t'ntile«, to 
 whom J now send thee, to open their eye?, and to tuna 
 them from darkness to light, and from the power of h>^ 
 tan to God ; that they may receive^ forgiveness^ of fiins« 
 and inheritance? amongst them who are 6.inctified by fnilh 
 that is in me. 
 
 7. Whereupon, O kin™ Agrippa ! 1 was not disobedi- 
 ent to the heavenly virion ;'* but showed -first t<i thwrn of 
 Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and through all the coasts 
 of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should re- 
 pent, and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. 
 For these causes, the Jews caught me in ttm temple j 
 and went about to kill me. 
 
 8. Having, however, obtained' help from God, I con» 
 tinue to this daj, witnessing botii to small and great, say- 
 ing no other things than those which the prophets and 
 Moses declared should come ; that Christ fcliould suffer ; 
 that he would be the first who should rise from the dead ; 
 and that he would show light to the people, and to iUa 
 Gentiles. 
 
 ?. And aa he thus spoke for himself, Fe«tu» fn\'ni wi^ 
 a If ud Toice, '* Taul, thou art beside tliyself ; xtkici janii-' 
 
1»6 
 
 C^atiBR Keades. 
 
 Prm r 
 
 i|»g hath iiMide thee tnad.*^ But he replied, 1 am ntn 
 mad, most noble Festus; but speak the words of truth 
 and soberness. For the kin^ knoweth these things, be- 
 fore whom I also speak freely. I am pursuadea* that 
 none of these things are hidden from him : for this thing 
 was not done in a corner.. 
 
 10. King Agrjppa, believest thou the prophets ? I 
 know that thou believes^t. Then Agrippa said to Paul, 
 *• Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.** And 
 Paul replied, ** I would to God, that not only thou, but 
 also all tha.t heax me this day, were hothalmaat, and alto- 
 i;ether such as I am, except these bonds."* 
 
 ACTS XXVI. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 m Ex-ton-pion, ^ks-tSn'-shan, the ict of 
 extending 
 
 n Crim-i-na!, kr!in'-i-nAl, faulty, guil- 
 ty, a guilty person 
 
 De-cis-inn, di-Blzh'-6n,detern\iflation 
 of a difference, lermiisalion of an 
 event 
 
 p Tinc-ture, tlngk'-tshire, colow, ex- 
 tract, to imbue the raind, to colour 
 
 q A-bon» i-na-ble, a-b4m'-i-n4-bl,Uato- 
 fui, deteutable 
 
 r Im nie-di-«te-Iy, lm-mi'-dA-4t-l*, in- 
 stantly, without the intervention o( 
 any other cauAO or event 
 
 j» De-iier-ve4:ly,d6-z4r'-vAd-14, accord- 
 ing; to desert 
 
 ( A;>-plau^e, 4p-plA'Ar', approbatloB 
 loudiy exprcKsecJ 
 
 u Fraught, friwt, laden, charged 
 f.pungyJD Ad-vo-cate, 4d'-vi-k4te, a lawyer, 
 one who defend; a ra^^jp. 
 
 io Cal-cu laic, kAl'-k^'lat4),tocompute» 
 recfcoQ 
 
 « Ma^-ni-^ade, mlLg'-n^-t&de, greatness, 
 
 kiKe 
 Im-mu-ni-ty, Im-mi'-ni-t^, privilege, 
 
 •xemplign 
 «Te-na*ciouii,ti>ni'-i^&S:gra8pingj()ard, 
 
 eohegive 
 iPre-pon-der-ate, prA-p6n'-d4f-ile, to 
 
 outweigh 
 4 Priv-i-lege, pr!v'-vi-Hdje, peculiar ad 
 
 vantage 
 / Jodic-ial. ji-dlnh'-Al, practised in the 
 
 distribution of ptJblic justice 
 g In-vid-i-UB, !n-vld -'A-fis, or 1n-v1d'-jA- 
 
 fi«, enviotib, malignant, likely to in- 
 cur hatred 
 k llan-u fac-tu-rer, min-nii-fAk'-tsh6 
 
 rSr, a workmen, an artificer 
 • Boj-e-cism, sAl'-fe-atzm, unfitucKs of one 
 
 word to another 
 J Mush-room, mfiBh-rAAm', 
 
 plant, an up>^tart 
 ?er-ma-neni, p6r'-mA-nJnt, durable, 
 
 laating 
 1 Huz-za, hiiz-zk', an accldnaatioo 
 
 Lord Mansfiki^d's speech to the House of Peers, 1770, ow 
 preventing the delays ofjttstice, by claming 
 
 the hill for yy,v,i/..,n,r-,.^ V..U «ri 
 
 the Privilege of ParliamenU 
 
 MY LORDS, 
 
 I. WHE?r I consider the .importance of this .bill to your 
 
 • How happy was thiti great Apostle, even in the mostperilouHit circurast8t>- 
 eoi ! Though under hondrf and opprcision. his naind was free, and raii»«d 
 above every fear of man. With what dignitv and coinix>sure c does ho defend 
 ^mwelf, and the nobfe cause he liad e8poupo<) \v) whi'st he diiiplays the raovi 
 ^ompaMionate and genoreus r$eiinn, for tbocv who vvre ,strai;|;cn to tiwr 
 ^kbina rttifioD ^ij wliich ^« was ouTmal^ 
 
foatie Sr«Kcu£s. 
 
 long possessed. Perhaps therejs no .' . ., " J/'^'J' '-'"e been 
 mind can be placed in, tliatis so d' ■ ,i/^' ""t'oi! tlie human 
 vhen it is made a judge in its ^,y;""'^"'"^ •''"" ^'> "> 'ng. as 
 
 2. There is something i; ^,^:^^/'^'"'!\- , 
 80 attached to »«If, so '^^^ .''"'«^^^ the breast of man 
 taincd, that in such ,,^ .k„a "' ^ ,r"'.'''^i? """ "'- 
 impartiality, or d. -eiae ,v ,h ?.' • ^'^u" '" '^'V"^ «'th 
 the^^summit of -.ai human vt^TTl ^'''^,r'''' '''>*" ''«''' 
 tion puts yo.i > ordshU,s in th i. '.'" """' '" '!""='- 
 
 res' and'"Vh^n" ''^^fbe^sn granted to legislators in aU a- 
 iom^ ^L' '^ ali countries, fhe practice isfound.d in wis- 
 
 ther{« may come a (ime .when the safety andivelfa^/or 
 
 VXieTdf:^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ,«l.i.ps has, I am confident, no such tend" ov • C i „,' 
 
196 Er^OtlSH RSADEa. flH, t, 
 
 rT Tfiws Tdt^*?""^ ^?'^ ^"^^^"^^ "^^ y^"^ fellow-subJectB ? For- 
 bid itTus^ce no ''^^^^^^^^^ noble lirdsasw'n 
 acquafnted a^ss. \ Tr^li^ltt^^lf-^^r^ diftculties and d(^ 
 
 pi^vilei^e, they ^v'.unl'^'^ ^^^^^ "^J* they could not, oppose 
 
 ' '* 1 have waited \n, ' w P,lt^"i''.?, ^*^ ^'^j^J T^^^-^t arguments 
 .mi^ht be urged agains^^t, -i ^" ' ^^^ ^ '^'^^'^ waited in 
 vain: the truth is, there is^^'^^^^^'S"!«^''^t that can weigh 
 against it. The justice and e% .^«:-diency of the bill are 
 such as render it self-evident. It . *'g a proposition of that 
 nature, which can neither be weakeu.^2.^ Jirgument, nor 
 entangled with sophistry. Siut.h. intr?*'^^' ^i^is been said 
 by soine noble lords, on the wisdom oV -^ our ancestors, 
 and how differently they, thought from us. , 
 
 8. They not only decreed, that privilege sh o^/M prevent 
 all civil suits from proceeding during the sitaht"^© of par- 
 liament, but likewise granted protection to the y^-ry ser- 
 Tants of members. I shall say nothing of the \"visdom of 
 our ancestors ; it might perhaps appear invidioier.is^ • that 
 is not. necessary in the present case. 1 shall orlo»Jy say, 
 that the noble lords who flatter themselves wit h tho 
 weight of that reflection, should ^cmember, that J<;^^ ^i*** 
 cumstances alter, things themselves should alter. Ji 
 
 9. Formerly, it was not so fashionable either for i .pas- 
 ters or servants to run in debt, as it is at present. I ^'or- 
 merly, we were not that great commercial nation we are 
 at present; nor formerly were merchants and manuf;I-'C- 
 turers'^ members of parliament as at present. The ca sc 
 is now very different : both merchants and manufacturei 'S 
 are, Vrith great propriety, elected members of the lowei' 
 house. Commerce having tiius got into the legislative 
 body of the kingdom, prfvilege must be done away. 
 
 10. We all know, that the very soul and essence of 
 trade are regular payments ; and sad experience teaches 
 us, that there are men, who will not make their regular 
 payments without the compulsive power of the laws. — 
 The law then ou;^ht to be equally open to all. Any ex-^ 
 emption to particular men, or particular ranks of menJ 
 is, in a free and commercial country, a solecism' of thff 
 grossest nature. 
 
 1. Rut 1 will not trouble ^''our lordships with argu-i 
 ments for that, which is sufficiently evident without any.?! 
 1 shall only say a few words to some noble lords, whof 
 forese« much incouvenionce, from the personi of iheli»| 
 
CIuip. a. Public Steeches. 159 
 
 ■ tervants hdivr liable to be anH!^ted. Qvq nob}« Ion) ob- 
 eerres^ Th' - the coachman ul h p».(fr lui^y bt» arreyted, 
 \^'hiie ^ . IS drivli);; his mnfit<;r to Ibe Ilow^^'*^ and that, 
 p^"" ^qiiently, he will not bt^ able to altnnd bis duty Lu 
 
 ^I'liament. 
 ^ 12. If this were actually to happpi], therr^ are fo ma- 
 By methods by which thf m<'nibtr n.i^^bt siiTl get to the 
 house, thatl can hardly thii-k the noble lord is serfrnw ia 
 his objection. Anotb«'V noble prrr fiaid. That, by this 
 bill, one mi^htlose his nlo^t v.Juible and honest servants. 
 This I hold to be a contradiction in terms : for hn Can 
 neither be a valuable servant, nor an hontsl man, \vho 
 g('ts into debt which he is neilhtr able nor vnlliiig to pAj', 
 I tiil conipclh d by the law. 
 
 I IS. ]f my si-rv.ipt, \:y nnforps^en Rccidf'nts, hns j^ot 
 
 I into debt, and 1 still v. ish to retain hirn, 1 certninly would 
 
 I pay the demand. J^>^t npoii no princlpie of llhrral legif- 
 
 1 la^on whatever, can my Sfrvant h.-.vo a title to set hi.s 
 
 n-i'ditors at defiance, while, for forl^ shilliij^n only, thr 
 
 ii(»M<:st tradesman maybe torn fii>ni his family, andh)chr<\ 
 
 n;* in a gaol. It is monstrous injiV4ice ! ! fi'attt^r myself, 
 
 however, the determination of tiiis day will enlirely put 
 
 end to all these ])artial j:-ro<*<Hdino;s for the future, by 
 
 •m^ into a law the bill now umitr \oi;r lordships' ccn 
 
 1 ration. 
 
 14. I come now to speak, upon what, indeed, I would 
 have gladly avoided, had 1 not Uhmi p;»rr"^cul3iiy painteit 
 at, for the part I have taken in. ibis hill, it nas bc»»n 
 Bald, by a noble lord on my lett haod, that 1 likewise am 
 
 hruiming the race of populaiily. jf^tbe luible lord means 
 by popularity, that applause h«'f:LoW4<4 by y^ifUT-a.us i;i 
 pood and virtuous actions, I have ion$c been sti-u^^Jin'^ in 
 
 jthat rac? ; to %vhat purpose, all- trying time can alone de- 
 
 Itermine. 
 
 15. But if the noble lord mean'^ that muf-broom/ pop- 
 fubrity. whidi is raised without merit, ar^d lo5-t without a 
 
 < 'rne. he is much mistaken in hh opinion. 1 defy ih'r 
 
 i !e k.rd to point out a single action of n.y life; in which 
 Im:- popul;-1^i^v of the times ever h;-f\ th*' smallest infiu- 
 
 < tjr:» on my (b^t'.rm.inations. I thank God I have a (nor 
 p^'^/nanenA a-^.d sTp:;xiy rule for my cocducl, — the dii 
 tates of my ov.-ti br;j;-'kt. 
 
 16. Those who have forep;one ihBt pleasin;?; aoviser 
 and given \w their mind to be tbo. shrvo of every popv 
 ax tmpul3e» 1 aiacere'y pitj i I pity tliem alJIi more. 
 
their vanity WmU tlumi to mistiko the shwiit^ of a mob, 
 for the trmnprf ofritnr. MxnfritniO' nilp^hi iiifunii thf.m, 
 that m.iny, who have betiii sahite.d with tiie huzzas- of a 
 crowd one day, have received their execrations the next; 
 and many, wlio by the y)t)}>iilfi.rity of th^ii' times, have 
 hp.en hcKi up as spotU.'ss patriots, have, iievertheU:ss, ap- 
 peared u])on the histori^m's pa{i;e, when truth has tri- 
 umphed over dehision, the assassins of iiherty. 
 
 17. Why then the noble hjrd can think I am ambitious 
 of present popularity, that echo of ft)hyi Jind shadf)w ot 
 renown, I am rift a h)S3 to determine. Besides, 1 do not 
 know that thebill now before your lordsliips, will be po- 
 pular : it depends much upon t!ie caprice of the day. 
 
 18. It may not be pojjuUir to compel people to pay 
 their debts ; and, in that case, the present must be a ve- 
 ry unpopular hill. It may not be popular either to take 
 away any of the privileji^es of parliament ; for 1 very 
 ,well remember, and many of your lordships may re- 
 member, that, not long ago, the popular cry was for the 
 €Xtensi(m'" of jirivilege, and so far did they carry it at 
 that time, that it was said, the privileg.i protected mem- 
 ;bers*even in criminal" actions ; nay, such w<}s the power 
 of popular prejudices over w^eak minds, that the very de- 
 cisions* of sonic of the courts^ were tinctured'' with lha,t 
 doctrine. 
 
 19. It was undoubtedly an abominable^ doctrine. 1 
 thought so then, and I think so still : but, nevertheless, 
 it was a popular doctrine, and came immediately fronj 
 those who are called the friends of liberty ; how deserv- 
 edly,* time will show. True liberty, in my opinion, can 
 only exist when justice is equally administerca to all ; to 
 the kinj; and to the beggar. 
 
 20. VVhere is the justice then, or where is thelaw thai 
 protects a mernber'of parliament, more than any other 
 most from the punishment due to his crimes ? The laws 
 of thifj country allow of no place, nor any employment, 
 to be a sanctuary for crimes ; and where I have the hon- 
 our to sit as judge, neither royal favour, nor popular ap- 
 plause,' shall protect the guilty. 
 
 21. I have now only to beg pardon for having employ- 
 ed so much of your lordships' time; and i am sorry a 
 bill, fraught** with so many good consequences, has not 
 met with an abler advocate :" but I doubt not your lord- 
 ships' determination will convince tlie world, Uiat a biji, 
 tyilmilated"' t» contribute so nnuch to the equal diBtribu- 
 
 I 
 
don of ju9i1c« as the present, requires with your lonl^ 
 gliips but very little support. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 I Cor-rn-npond, kAr-ri-tpJuir, to luH, 
 keep iJi» romiuerco by lolterB 
 
 m rii-aiit, iill'-&iit, beiiUuig, dextbl*, 
 linibcf 
 
 n Pre-oc-cu-jiy,pr^-6k'-k6-iji, tppreprti 
 
 In-va-ri-a-bJo,1n-v4''r*-A-l)l, unchange- 
 able 
 
 p Vtg-f-ia ble, vfd'-j»^-tft-L!, bclongiof 
 to sIlhdrtH ofpiuiits, a plunt 
 
 b Pr«-4Uii)p-tu-uUtf, pr^-zi\m'-Uh6-&«, 
 cuiifiduiit, irrevcr«iit 
 
 r Ditt an ler, Diz As'-tur, mlcrortwne, 
 
 t Cuii-»tan-cy, k6M'-Bt/.n-8i,ro8olufioii, 
 ( firnii.ehK 
 
 « fle-rl-ou«, li'-ri-fii, grave, iinpdrtunt, 
 
 •obcr 
 ' Ter-ceive, pAr-nAve', to discover, 
 
 ktjow 
 « Vic-ioim, vlsh'-fl*. devotoJ to vice 
 9 Ir-re-lric-va ble, 1r-r>-ir*i'-vA bl, ir 
 
 recovirabU', not to be rejraliifil 
 f lii-din-cicl-ioii, 1(1 riU-kriJi'-ftn, im 
 
 prudence, raphiH'.'fii, iiicoitbidc-ration 
 / En-join, in-jdln', \o direct, to ordnt 
 g Ad-ino-ntl-i«tn 4d-n)&-n!tfU'-6ii, copu- 
 
 •ol, jjeniJc reproot" 
 A Viv4i:-i-ty, vA-vArf'-i-ti, sprigbtli 
 
 nets, i^uiuty 
 i Pr»» vi-oiiK, pr^'-vi-fiu, iinteredent, be 
 
 fore 
 j Probi-ty.pr6b'-4-t*. honoiity, «.i.''cnlvit Or-phan, Af'-fAn,Q rl»ild who bat Io#t 
 \ Av o-ca-iiiMi, iv vA-ka'-«hOB, lh« aoi'l father or mother of both 
 
 of caiiing UHida [ 
 
 An address to young persons. 
 
 J. 1 INTKND, m this addreas, to show you the im- 
 portance of beginning early to j^ive s»'rions«i attention to 
 xyour conduct. As soon asVou are capable of reflection, 
 you must perceive* that there is a ripht and a wrong in 
 numan actions. You see, that thooe who are born with 
 the same advantages of fortune, are not all equally pros- 
 perous in the course of life. 
 
 2. While Kome of them, by wise and steady conduct., 
 attain distinction in the world, and pass their days with 
 comfort and honour ; others o/ the same rank, by meaji 
 and vicious'^ behaviour, forfeit the advantages of their 
 .birth : involve themselves in much misery ; and end in 
 being a dis^^r^ice to their friends, and a burden on society. 
 
 > S. Karly, tiien, may 3'ou learn, that it is n(>t on the ex- 
 
 ,tcriA?lc(>ndition in which you iind yourselves placed, but 
 on the paVrt which }o,u are to rict, !hat your welfare or 
 unliappinessT-'^your iionour or infamy, de|)ends. Now, 
 when beginningXto ac-t that part, what can be of greater 
 moment, than to'i^^'^-iil^?^ your plan of conduct with thii 
 most serious attention, ht'J^^re you have yet committed 
 any fatal or irrctri*».vaide'' eiT^^s ? 
 
 4. If instead of exerting r'<^^«ction for this valuabi* 
 jMirposo, you deliver yourselves ^iP» ^* »o critical a tim^, 
 h) kloth audpkAiur**; if you rwAj *<* ^ ^^^*« ^ *»/ 
 O ft 
 
iKl English Header. Pvri 1 
 
 counso T but humour, or attend to any pursuit except 
 tbHt of amusement; if you allow yourselves to float loose 
 and careless on the tide of life, ready to receive any di- 
 rection which the current of fashion may chance to give 
 you ; what can you expect to follow from such begin- 
 nings ? 
 
 5. While so many around you are undergoing the sad 
 consequences of a like indiscretion,' for what reason shall 
 not those consequences extend to you ? Shall you attain 
 success -without that preparation, and escape dangers 
 Viihout that precaution, which are required of others? 
 Shall happiness grow up to you, of its own accord, and 
 solicit your acceptance, when to the rest of mankind, it 
 is the fruit of long cultivation, and the acquisition of la- 
 bour and care ? 
 
 6. Deceive not yourselves 'w'^^h those arrogant hopes. 
 Whatever be your rank, Providence will not, for your 
 eake, reverse Its established order. The author of your 
 being hath enjoined/ you to " take heed to your ways; 
 to ponder the paths of your feet ; to remember your 
 Creator in the days of your youth." 
 
 7. lie hath decreed, that they only *^ who seek after 
 ■wisdom, shall find it ; that fools shall be afflicted, because 
 of their transgressions ; and that whoever refuseth in- 
 struction, shnll destroy his own soul." By listening to 
 these admonitions, i?- and tempering the viv;;city/' of youth 
 with a proper mixture of serious thought, you may en- 
 sure cheerfulness for the rest of life ; but by deHvering 
 yourselves up at present to giddiness and levity, you lay 
 the foundation of lasting heaviness of heart. 
 
 8. When you look forward to those plans of life, which 
 either your circumstances have suggested, or your friends 
 have proposed, you will not hesitate to acknowledge, that 
 in order to pursue them with advantage, some previous' 
 discipline is requisite. Be assured, that whatever is to 
 be your profession, no edu'-ation is more necessary, ttfo 
 your success, thah the acquiren:i(Mit of virtiuiiivfj-dispo- 
 sitions and habits. This is the universal prejo^aration for 
 every character, and every station in life«. 
 
 9. Bad as the world is, respect is ah ways^ paid to vir- 
 tue. In the usual course of h-'u^^i^fn affairs, it will be 
 found that a plain understan'^'iiing, joined with acknowl- 
 edged worth, contributes ,. more to prosperity, than the 
 brightest parts without /probity^ oi honour. Whether 
 ficiencov or business, "^or public life, b« your ainu vir^"* 
 
0Km. t. Public Sf£kciik«. 169 
 
 Btill enters, ft)r a principal share, into nil those greAl de- 
 partments of societ3^ It is connected with eminence, in 
 every libernl art; with reputation in every branch of fair 
 nnd useful business ; witli distinction in every public sta- 
 tion. 
 
 10. The vis;our which it j^ives the mind, and the weight 
 which it adds to character; the p'uerous sentiments 
 which it breathes ; the und;tunted t^pn-it which it inspires;, 
 the ardour of dHi^<'nce which il (juickens ; the freedom 
 which, it procur«^ fi-oin pernicious ;«nd dishonouriihle av- 
 ocations ;^ are the foundatio'is of all that is highly hon- 
 o\irah!e, or '^rea!ly successful amonp; men. 
 
 1 1. Whatever ornamental or en^a^^in.;: ^-ndowments you 
 now possess, virtue, is a necessary rt^iuibite, in order to 
 t'leir shinin*^ wit!i j-r^iper lustie. Fe(t}>!e are the attrac- 
 tions of the f:iirest form, if it he suspected that notiiiuf^ 
 within corresponds' to the pleasinj^ ap|)earance without. 
 Short are the ti'iumphs of wit, when it is supposed to be 
 the vehicle of malice. 
 
 12. By whiitever means you may j>t first attract the at* 
 trntion, you can hold the esteem, and secure the hearts 
 of others, only by amiable dispositions, and the accom- 
 plishments of tile mind, 'i'liese are the, -qualities whose 
 influence will last, when the lustre of all that once spar- 
 kled and dazzled has passed away. 
 
 13. Let not then the season of youth be barren of im- 
 provements, so essential to your future f^dicity and hon- 
 our. Now is the seed-ti;:ie of life ; and accoiding to 
 *' w hat you sow, you shah reap." Your character is now, 
 under Divine Assistance, of your own foiminj;; your 
 fate is, in some measure, put into your own liands. 
 
 14. Your nature is as yet pliant'" and soft. Habits 
 have not established their dominion. Prejudices hav« 
 not preoccupied" your understandinj^. The world ha» 
 not had time to contract and debase your aii'ections. Al, 
 your powers are more vi;r;<>rous, dise.inbarrassed, and free 
 than they will be at any future period. 
 
 15. Whatever impulse you now give to your desires 
 and passions, tlie direction' is lil^eiy lo continue. It will 
 form the cijann*-! in which your life is to run ; nay. it may' 
 determine its everlasting^ issue. Consider then* the em- 
 ployment of this important period, as the highest tru!*! 
 
 [which ftiiall ever be committed to >ou ; as in a ^rrat mea»- 
 
 |wro, ^ecisive of your happiness, in time, and m eternity. 
 
 1(J. Aa in thki succession of th<j seasons, each, by Jb« 
 
t9^ E.N&jbisa lliUD£R. JPUft I 
 
 mrariablf'^ laws of nature, affects the productions of whi 
 is next in coufse ; so, in human life, every period of 01^ 
 nge, according as it is well or ill spent, influences the hag 
 pihess of that which is to follow. Virtuous youth graq 
 ually brings forward accomplished and flourishing man 
 hood; and such manhood passes off itself without unefl 
 siness, into respectable and tranquil old age. 
 
 17. But when nature is turned outof itsregularrourse 
 disorder takes place in the moral, just as in the v?getablej 
 world, li the spring put forth no blossoir", in summei 
 there will be no beauty, and in autumn, no fruit; so, ii 
 youth be tiifled away without improvement, manhooc 
 will probably be contemptible, and old age miserable.— 
 If the beginnings of life have been " vanity," its latter 
 end can scarcely be any other than " vexation of spirit." 
 
 18. 1 shall finish this address, with calling your atten- 
 tion to that dependence on the blessing of Heaven, which, 
 amidst all y'>ur endeavours after improvement, you ought 
 rontmualiy to preserve. It is too common with the 
 young, even when they resolve to tread the path of vir- 
 tue and honour, to set out with presumptuous'; confidence 
 in themselves. 
 
 19. Trusting to their own abilities for carrying them 
 fuccessfullythrough life, they are careless of applying to 
 God, or ot deriving any assistance from what tiiey are 
 apt to reckon the gloomy discipline of religion. Alas ! 
 how httle do they know the danjfers which awaiis them ? 
 Neither human wisdom, nor hunuin virtue unsupported 
 by religion, is equal to the trying situations which often 
 occur in life. 
 
 £0. By the shock of temptation^ how frequently have 
 the most virtuous intentions been overthrown ? Under 
 the pressure of disaster,'" how often has the greatest con- 
 stancy* sunk ? " Every good, and every perfect gift, is 
 from above." Wisdom and virtue, as well as '* riches 
 and honour, come from God." Destitute of his favour, 
 you are in no better situation, with all your boasted abil- 
 ities, than orphans' left to wander in a trackless desert, 
 without any j^uide to conduct them, or any shelter to 
 c6ver them' from the gathering storm,. 
 
 21, Correct, then, this ill-founded arrogance. Expect 
 not, that your happiness can be independent of Him who 
 made you. By laith and repentance, apply to the Re- 
 deemer of. the world. By piety a;'d prayer, se, k tbr 
 |)fotectk>a of the God of beaveo. 1 coDciuda witA tUii 
 
Promiscuous Pieces. 
 
 ids 
 
 \Chap. 9. 
 
 Iwlcmn words. In which a great prince, delivereil his dy- 
 ing charge to his son : words, which every young person 
 j ought to consider as addressed to himself, and to engrave 
 deeply on his heart : 
 
 I 22. ** Solomon, my son, kncfw thou the God of thy 
 jfathers ; and serve him with a perfect heart, and a wil- 
 liing mind. — For the Lord searcheth all hearts, and un- 
 derstandeth all the imaginations of the thoughts. Jf 
 thou seek him* he will he fou.jdof thee ; but if thou for 
 ta'ke him, he will dast thee oft' forever.'* blaik. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ^tomlDCUotts l^itttn. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 ; Earth-quake, 4rth'-kw4ke, tremour of 
 I th« earth 
 
 Ih Ca-)a-bri-u, kA-li,'-bri-4, a country of 
 Italy 
 « Kir-cher, k^.r'-tsWr, a celebrated tra- 
 I vellcr and writer 
 \d ?rod-i-gy, pr6(l -d^-ji, a thing aston- 
 ishing J'or food or bad 
 « Fri-ar, fri'-fir, a monk 
 / 6ec-u-Iar, s<Sk'-k/i-i6r, not spirirual, 
 
 one nt)t bound bv nionaRtick rule* 
 g Pe-lo-rufi, pi-IA'-rftp, one of tlie three 
 
 great promontories of Sicily, near 
 
 Charybdi8 
 A Eu-phcD-mi-a, y6-ft'-mi-4, a city of 
 
 Calabria 
 t Trans-act, trin8-4kt', to manage, per 
 
 form 
 J Cha-ryb-dis, k4-rTb'-d!«, a dangerous 
 
 whirlpool on the coast of Sicily, op 
 
 posite another v,'\nx\\)0<i\ ca'iti' 
 
 Scylla 
 
 ft Verge, v^.rje, to tend, a rod, f ho edpf 
 i Vol-ume, vil'-ytme, a compact body, 
 
 a book 
 m 6uJ-phur-ou6, sfir-ffir-fis, containiDg 
 
 sulphur 
 u Siench, st^nsh, a violent stink, a bed 
 
 »n)Rll 
 cr Thoitp, th6ng, a strap of leather 
 p eub-lu-nar-y.Kfib'-16n4r-4, terroatrial 
 q Thresh-ohl, ihr^sh'-h^id, a step under 
 
 iht! door, entrance 
 r Con-cus-Kion, k6n-kfish'-an, shock of 
 
 an carthqu&ko 
 5 Lo-piz-i uin, lA-p!zh'-i-fini, a ea«tJ« 
 
 near Jluiilitcmia 
 t Belch, beloh, to eject wind from th« 
 
 stomach, the act of eructation 
 u Re-motc, r^-m^te', distant, foreign 
 Con-tig-u-<»us, k6n-ilg'-6-fia, meetiBf 
 
 so au to touch 
 ID Par-ox-ysm, j)4r'-r6k-s!rm, a fit, pe- 
 riodical exac«>rbHtion of a disease 
 z Ca-tas-tro-phe, k4-t4h'-tri-fi, final 
 
 event, generally unhappy 
 y Hid C-OU8, lild'-^-fis, or h!d'>j^8«, 
 
 horrible, dreadful 
 z Pen-sive-ly, p^o'-slv-l^, »orrowf«IJy| 
 
 thoughtfully 
 a Loath, lAthe, tnljate, abhor 
 b Persist, p^r-sKtit', to porsevera, go oa 
 
 Earthquake* at Calabriaj^ in the year IQdQ* 
 
 1. x\N account of this dreadful earthquake, is aven 
 by tlie ceJehrated father Kircher/ It happened whiwt be 
 was on his jdurney to ri^t Mount iEtna, and the rest of 
 
iJs English Readkh. Part l-i 
 
 the wonden? that lie towards the south of Italy. KircbJ> 
 er is considered by scholars, as one of the greatest prcH> 
 digies^' of learning. 
 
 £. ** Having hired a boat, in company with four more, 
 (two friars^ of tlie order of St. Francis, and two secu- 
 lars,/) we launched from the harbour of Messina, in Sici- 
 ly ; and arrived the same day, at the promontory of Pe- 
 lorus.fi' Our destination was for the city of Euphaemia,* 
 in Calabria ; where he had some butfiness to transact ;» 
 and where we designed to tarry for some time. 
 
 .S. " However, iVovide^nce seemed willing to cross our 
 design ; for we were obliged to corilinue three days at 
 Pelorus, on account of the weather ; and though we of- 
 ten put out to sea, yet we were as often driven back. — 
 At length, wearied with the delay, we resolved to pro- 
 secut-ii our voyage ; and, although the sea seemed more 
 than usually agitated, we ventured forward. 
 
 4. *' The gulf of Charybdis/ which we approached, 
 seemed whirled round in such a manner, as to form a 
 vast hcllow, verging* to a point in the centre. Proceed- 
 ing on- irard, and turning my eyes to ^tna, 1 saw it cast 
 forth large volumes^ of smoke, of mountainous sizes, 
 which entirely covered the island, and blotted out the ve- 
 ry shores from my view. 
 
 6. '' This, together with the noise, and the sulphurous"* 
 stencil" which was strongly perceived, filled ^iie with ap- 
 prehensions, that some more dreadful calamity was im- 
 pending. The sea itself seemed to wear a very unusual 
 appearance : they who have seen a lake in a violent 
 snower of rain, covered all over with bubbles, will con- 
 ceive some idea of its agitations. 
 
 6. "My surprise was still increased, by the calmness 
 and serenity of the weather ; not a breeze, not a cloud, 
 which might be supposed to put all nature thus into mo- 
 tion. I therefore warned my companions, that an earth» 
 quake was approaching ; and, after some time, making 
 for the shore with all possible diligence, we landed at 
 Tropaja, happy and tliankful for having escaped the 
 threatening dangers of the sea. 
 
 7. " But our triumphs at land were of short duration ; 
 for we had scarcely arrived at the Jesuit's College, in 
 that city, when Our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, 
 resembling that of an infinite number of chariots, driven 
 fiercely forward ; the whet3ls rattling, and the thongs 
 cracking; 
 
Chap. 1>. l^ROMiscuous Pirxts. 107 
 
 8, " Soon after this, a most (Ircadful earthquake en- 
 giied; go that the ivhoie tract upon which we stood seem- 
 ed to vibrate, as if we were in the scale of a balance tliat 
 continued wavering. This motion, however, soon grew 
 more violent; and hein;; no lonj^er able to keep my legs, 
 1 was thrown prostrate upon the ground. 
 
 9. " in the iriean tim«% the universal ruin round me re- 
 doubled my amazement. The crash of falling houses, 
 the tottering of to\\ers, and the groans of the dying, all 
 contributed to raise my terror and despair. On every 
 Bide of me, 1 saw nothing but a scene ot ruin ; and dan- 
 ger threat«'ning wherever 1 should fly. I recomimendcd 
 myself to Cod, as my last great refuge. 
 
 " 10. At that hour, O how vain was every sublunary^* 
 happiness ! Wealth, honour, empire, v.isdon, all r ere 
 useless sounds, ana as emj)ty as the bubbles of the d»pp ! 
 Jdst standing on the thres]u)ld7 of eternity, nothing bur 
 God was my pleasure; and tiie nearer 1 approached, 1 
 only loved him tiie m.ore. 
 
 11. '* After some time, however, finding that I remain- 
 ed unhuit, amidst the general concussjon,'* I resolved to 
 venture for safety ; and running as fast as I could, 1 
 reached the shore, but almost terrified out of mv reason. 
 1 did not search long here, till 1 found the boat in which 
 I had landed ; and my companions also, whose terrors 
 were even greater than mine. Our. meeting was not of 
 that kind, where every one is desirous of telling his own 
 happy escape ; it was all silence, and a gloomty dread of 
 impending terrors. 
 
 12. *' Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted 
 our voyage along the coast ; and the next day came to 
 Rochetta, where we landed, although the earth still con- 
 tinued in violent agitations. But.we had scarcely arrived 
 at our inn, when w^e were once more obliged to return to 
 the boat ; and, in about half an hour, we saw the greater 
 part of the town, and the inn at which we had set up, 
 dashed to the ground, and burying the inhabitants be- 
 neath the ruins. 
 
 13. *' In this manner, proceeding onward in our littfe 
 Tessel, finding no safety at land, and yet, from the small- 
 •Dess of our boat. haVing.but a verv dangerous continuance 
 at -sea, we at length landed at Lopizium,' a castle mid- 
 way between Tropaea and Euphsemia, the city to which, 
 as I said before, we were bound, 
 
 14. " Here, v;her*^ver i hmi*^d my eyes^ nothing hut 
 
S68 £^T^xsa Rsaoeb. Part, i 
 
 ■•ccncs of ruin And horror appeared ; towrw itnd castles 
 levelled to tlie ground; Strombalo, though at sixtj 
 miles distance, belching' forth flames in an unusual man- 
 ner, and with a noise which 1 could distinctly hear. But 
 my attention was qu' skly turned from more remote," to 
 contiguous^ danger. 
 
 15. " The rumbli' g sound of an approaching earth- 
 quake, which we by this time were grown acquaiijtedwitii, 
 alarmed us for ther-)nsequences ; it every moment seem- 
 ed to grow louder, and to approach nearer. ThejWace 
 on which we stood now began to shake most dread t ull^'' * 
 so that being unablt^ to stand, my companions and I caught 
 hold of whatever shrub grew next to Ui, and supported 
 ourselves in that manner.'^ 
 
 16. ** After sorae time, this violent paroxism* ceasing, 
 we again stood up, in order to prosecute our voyage to 
 Euphaemia, whir.h lay within sight. In the mean time, 
 while we were jr reparing for this purpose, I turned my 
 eyes towards th^i city, but could see only a frightful dark 
 cloud, that seemed to rest upon the place. This th« 
 more sjrprised us, as the weather was so very serene. 
 
 17. **Vve waited, therefore, till the cloud had passed 
 away : then turning to look for the city, it was totally 
 sunk. Wonderful to tell ! notiiing but a dismal and pu- 
 trid lake was *ieen where it st^od. We looked about to 
 lind some on^^ that could tell us of its sad catastrophe,* 
 but could see no person. All was become a melancholy 
 solitude; a scene of hideousy desolation. 
 
 18. **Thi:s proceeding pensively* alona;, in quest of 
 some humari being that could cive us a little informationi, 
 we at len|;th saw a boy sitting by the shore, and appear- 
 ing stupihcdwith terror. Of him, therefore, weinc^uired 
 concerning the fate of the city ; but he could not be pre- 
 vailed on to give us an answer- 
 
 19. ** We entreated him, witherery expression of ten- 
 derness and pity to tell us ; but bis senses were quite 
 wrapt up in the contemplation of the danger he haa esr 
 caped. We offered him some victuals, but he seemed to 
 loathe* the sight. We still persisted* in our offices of 
 kindness; but he only pointea to the place of the city, 
 like one out of his senses ; and then running up into the 
 woods, v/as never heard of diler. ^^s:h^^. the fate of 
 the citv of PiUpha&mia. 
 
 SO* ** As we coatinu^ our melancholy course alone 
 the ehei^r the whole ccabt, fOr the apace of two buj^dr'so 
 
fnil«s, prestnt«tl nolhrng but the remain* of rfQes | anil 
 Unen scattered, without a faabitatiun, over the fielda. — 
 Vroce^ding thus alone, we at length ended our <iistress(\j| 
 voy2,ge by arriving at Naples, after having escaped a thoTt- 
 «and dangers* botU at sea and land.^' «oldsmit«» 
 
 SECTION IL 
 
 ^ G<e-mm-i-i», ji-rofn'-ni-fis, u Roman, c Ma-lic-iou«,TnA-nrii'-^«, intendinf ifl 
 I who was the inveterate euetny ol'iti Clemc'ii-cy, klein m§n-sd, mercy 
 
 Marius it lu-ex-o-ia-ble, In-^ks^A-ri-bl, nM •• 
 
 4| Ab-ject, lb -j^lct, moan, contcniptible I be mu veil by entreaty 
 
 Lethr from Pliny t© Gemimds.* 
 1, Do we not sometimes ol)serve a sort of people, wh© 
 though they are themselves under tlje ahject^ ■d-ominion of 
 every vice, show a kind of malicious^ resetitment ■against 
 jtiie errors <of others ; and are most severe upon thoso 
 jwhom they most lesemhle? yet, surely a lenity of dis- 
 iposiUon, -even in persons wlio liave the h;ast occasion for 
 tcJemency themselves, is of all virtues the most becominjj- 
 j ^ The highest of all chaj^rtcrs, in my estimation, is 
 ihis, wlio is as ready to pardon tJie errors of mankind, at 
 jif lie wer^ every day guilty of some himself ; and^ at ihi? 
 isamo tiuKi, as cautious of committing a fault, as if he 
 never ifor^ave one. It is a rule tlien which we should, 
 )jpon aM occasions, both piivate and puhlic, most reli- 
 giously obse4-\'e ; " to be inexorable' to our own failings, 
 ifvhil-e we treat tiiose of the rest of the world with ten- 
 jjierness, not excepting even such as forgive none but 
 themselves.** 
 i 3. I shall, perhaps, be asked, who it is that has given 
 
 tccasion to these rellections. Know then that a certain 
 erson Jately — but of that when we meet— though, upon 
 iecond thoughts, not even then; lest, whilst 1 condemn 
 Ind expose his conduct, 1 siiall act counter to that maX'* 
 fn i particulady recommend, Whoever, therefore, and 
 Whatever he is, shall remain in silence; for tliough th^rc 
 lay be some use, perhaps, in setting a mark upon the 
 laa, for the sake of exanipl<), there wiil be more, how* 
 i^er, in 9p4ring him, Xor the. sake of humanity. Faxe- 
 
 ^•U« MiuiJCOTU'3 MUJTT. ' 
 
 ... V . 
 
ffH HKintm, Part i. 
 
 • Mitt M>l U fiiia, mil pll'tr hIm, ft n*t\th 
 
 i l-M,. .1 » t>->>. <!/.' riAv, 
 
 « Kft l(ntt«ii, A((« liiwttt', t« 4/fttit, tfl 
 
 ^ nmUihlc jftmn^ wmum, 
 
 1. T WWIff fhj«4 utMl^r fit** MlinoMl o(ipr»'M«(ifMt of »or» 
 
 row ( «I I ' •! ii .( iriy TrMfMl FmikIjmju*/* i<« 
 
 4tNMl 1 it fliorii (i^l'^r/tblM, Mttri 
 
 Hiorit iMMi'iti' >■•■(»♦;• |>' I Ml , ->! ofM', wlio lM'l,lrrH«««<'rv<(i 
 ^ liNvi* titiioyiMl /I l<Mi(% 1 liiid hhitoMt t))M<lf (Ml Jiniiiort'tl 
 
 mntron/joinrd witti ydtUhfui nwrntinifM And virgin m'> 
 
 h«ir f/illH'i! Ilovv Knully jiimI r'ftjMM'U'ully fvjM-iv**, It, 
 fri«i»»iU ! Mow /inVrli«Miul,«'|y^ iioitt mII llHis-.r' who, in tlinr 
 rr«|i4ii'f)v<i (iMirt-N, IhmI IImi chw jumI (mIim ntuMi of Ikm' !-^ 
 Hh<^ Miri|>|oy<'<l i/HM'li of Imt tnrui itt ir,;Mliti)t;, in vvIimIi »%|if} 
 iliMrov«ii'<Mi ^r*''!!, t(ir«i»^'()i of )n<l^<;m«M»t, ; ^'-Imi Im(1iiI;v'1 
 h(*rni'|f ill Hnv (hvcinion;), nrid |)Hm<*. vvilli iniM'|> rnijion. 
 VVItli whHl I'oi'li^HrwiMr!, with wli/it |MiU«nce, with wiiiit 
 rourifKfS did tdir> t^iidur^ h<^r iitnl IUih^m I 
 
 5* B'tti (*,oiii)tll4M) with all (li^ dirttclidnn of hf^r )diyKi* 
 flfinii) Mhd (^iM*oitni(£,<'<l h* r htt4ti«r, nrid h<ir fMlli<iy ; mid. 
 wh»*n nil Imt nlr(*ri;nli of hoi^y \v«n i^ihu lie,! ♦•(!,' niipportf'd 
 hrrii'lf l»v tin* hiii(/l<' vi^,oiir f>r luir iniiid, 'J'hi»,l, uidri'd, 
 eonlMiiK'd fviti |o lit'i' )Mt.l tnornctilMf liiihroiicii hs thi 
 pnin of n lorif^ illn^MtM, or* IIhi ti'iTontrif iijiiironrhinf^nMtthl 
 iind it ixtt nH*'' lion which ini»k<'M (h<i \om of hrr «o i/ioch 
 fhrt mon< to hr htiminti'ri. S lonw innnilrly »inv<n«' ' mul 
 morw KwvtArci hy (hu pufliculai' corijuiiclurw in whi« li d 
 linpjH'nt'd ! 
 
 4. HIh- wim t*,o(dnirfr«d tfi n rno»it worlliy yonlh •, IM. 
 widdinj/, «i^«y WMi4 lUt^d, \uu\ Wf) w«M'«' itll mvitiMl.— M«mv 
 HAd fi I'hnn^'r from tlui hljfjifttt joy, fo flu*, di'^pfi ' 
 roM' ! Mow tolmll I itJiinrwH llin woiumI lli/it pli-n* «l /ny 
 b«itrt. whtMt 1 iM'ni'd I* nndiinim hiniKcIf, (^n iciii^r i < <' 
 flfldhi^. «Mit 4di('iirxit(titni'4'^ to Mf(|r,i'itviit(^ itM itltlicfioii j • ^ 
 fl«trlo(^ tht' rrioncy iic hiid dMKi|/;n(*d tt> hiy out upon < lotiin 
 ^imI JAWidi r«tt lit'i iniiriir^(«t, tt be r/riployrd in rnyrrh 
 ;iii f5'»«4i« foi ii^r r»nM<rii| | 
 
 J 
 
Chap.%, 
 
 pAOIfl^COOtJI VirxKt, 
 
 171 
 
 5. He \n « man of ^r^'al learnlnr arxi ^ood B<nifr, Kvho^ 
 ha* appii"*! hi»n*<rlf, from Uh ♦♦nrli<";t y<njlh» to tli*^ no- 
 Hi»*Ht arid n!Oht f K'v;,t«,fi «lijf1'i»*.»< : hut aii fiii* in.ixiinH of 
 frn'titufle wliirli lie ha:f rffciivt-il from ijorjiin, or ;oitani'*^ 
 him««'ir, h«5 now ;tN»ol«it<-ly r«J«*<fifi / ;< * ' " " . r vir 
 tufj of hiu fiKfirt ;^iv«;f» {yiiieji to jilj a ). . sh. 
 
 6. VV«t hliall ^ix-^'AiHP, ¥i'#t fthall #*vrii ; ^ . . .;iOW, 
 wh«jn wii cori«Ul*'r uhaf hi' hau h^t. Urita<tlo«ta<J;jurh- 
 t«'r Y/Uii r«'«MiiiiM«'d liim in hitt roariiicrK, tt^ wtii ituhtu 
 person ; and vxhiiHy co^iii d out all li^*r fallirr. Jf ti',% 
 irif^nd Marci^ll^nuM >4ljall (fiiiik projwr to %*rit<' i/i f»i»n, up- 
 on the KiiUy-i't <*( Mro r« f' 
 him not to ii«<: tij«t loi/; i 
 jjurh a« *!«•«• rn to <•"■•" ...in lu* u* , ii^i 
 those of kind ;mm! r)jfy. 
 
 7. Time will r* • n to tU<^ di<:tat^« of 
 eaton ; fc»ra« a (n*.nki woiithI nhrnikn hark from the |];uid 
 
 of the Murj5«'>on, hut h^' d*'ji;ree» Huhmitn to, and ev4'n re- 
 r{uirefi the meana of it»i ctire ; ho a inind, under ihv fir-.t 
 HMpreH^sions of a nriiKfortune, ahunti and njerta all ar;^u- 
 rnentu of ronnolation; hut at len^tl), i' ' ! w>th ten- 
 
 dernen^, calmly and willin;;ly arquje*-* (,i. Kari^- 
 
 well. hi. .. f'f !^r. 
 
 hf:ction IV. 
 
 l> Pradcrt'iMl, pfAd d^u' »>'&>, «l»f(il>l< 
 < lii ''It, im 
 
 c;.. 
 
 I 
 
 
 ft^i tiMi <;>/;>(>{.• la Hiciiy, «nd l^oi« 
 
 of K*ff>luM *rti\ ThooM. 
 i fiut: ctuti, nlk tikiA\ U, futlow, pro*- 
 
 j lUi'tizun, hAff'T/vi, tb« tint Htni in- 
 
 li' M^tiofi, liMtrti^tioii, 
 
 AH 
 / 111 
 
 m6<, fcinf of « 0<;h4;o>e, i 
 
 jcct 
 
 I . (h« power wMcli 
 
 vili of \tttiUM 
 
 <"!n', to m^ko 
 
 1. 
 
 Aid 
 
 On Ducrf.tlon. 
 
 1 HAvr often tho^i^ht, if the mind« of mt-w were 
 
 ojM-n, we t^houid «ee hut littlr* diflen;nce hetween 
 
 that of a wijje man, and that of a. fool. There are infl- 
 
 llte reverieu, numherle^.s eyfrnvnpHnreis, and a huccesftioo 
 
 vnnitieh, which pa**. > Wh. 'I'he frreat differ*- 
 
 lA, dust the ^rat i: : at to pick a^d cut! bU 
 
172 English Reader. Part 1. 
 
 thoughts for conversation, by suppressing some, and com- 
 inunicating others ; whereas the other lets them all indif- 
 ferently fly out in woixls. This sort of discretion, hoAV- 
 ♦*ver, has no place in private conversation between inti- 
 mate friends. 
 
 2. On such occasions, the wisest men very often talk 
 like the weakest ; for indeed talking with a friend is no- 
 thing else than thin/cing aloud, Tully has therefore very 
 iustly exposed a precept,'' delivered by some ancient wri- 
 fers. That a man should live with his enemy in such a 
 manner, as mi^ht leave him room to become his friend ; 
 and witii ills fnend, in such a manner, that, i( he became 
 his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him. 
 
 a. The iu'st part of this rule, which regards our be- 
 haviour towards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as 
 >veU as very prudential ;* but the latter part of it, which 
 regards our behaviour towards a friend, savours'* more of 
 cunning than of discretion : and would cut a man oft 
 from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the free- 
 doms of conversation with a bosom friend. 
 
 4. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, 
 the world is just enough to accuse the perMiousness'' of 
 the friend, rather than the indiscretion' of the person who 
 confided in him. Discretion does not only show itself in 
 words, but in all t-he circumstances of action ; and is like 
 an under-agent of I'rovidence, to guide and direct us in 
 the ordinary concerns of life. 
 
 .^. There are many more shining qualities in the mind 
 of man, but there is none so useful as discretion. It is 
 this, indeed, which gives a value to all the rest ; which 
 sets them at work in tlieir proper times and places ; and 
 turns them to the advanta«;e of the person who is pos- 
 sessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry/ and 
 wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness ; the 
 best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in er- j 
 fours, and active to his own prejudice. 
 
 6. Discretion does not only make a man the master o» 
 his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man 
 finds out the talents of those he converses with ; and 
 knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, 
 if we look into particular communities^' and divisions ol , 
 racn, we may observe, tJiat it is the discreet man, not - 
 the witty, nor the learned, nor thti bravci who guides the 
 conversation, and j^ives measures to tociftty. 
 
 7. A man v^th grett tix]&uic, but void of discretlor*, is 
 
Cy^- Ow f&OMltCUOCT I'lCCKV^. IT* 
 
 iik« Polyphemus* hi the fable, strong and blind ; endued 
 with an irresistible force, which, lor want of sij^lit, it 
 of no use to him. Though a man has all other perfec- 
 tions, yet if he wants discretion, he "vvill be of no great 
 consequence in the world ; on the contrary, if lie has 
 this single talent in perfection, and but a common share 
 of others, he may do what he pleaaes iu tiiis particular 
 station of life. 
 
 8. At the same time that 1 think discretion the mo&t 
 useful talent a man can be master of, J look upon cun- 
 ning to be the accomplisinnent of little, mean, ungene- 
 rous minds. Discretion points out tile noblest ends to 
 us; and pursues the most proper and laudable methods 
 of attaining them ; cunning bus oniy private selfish aims; 
 and sticks at nothing whicii may make uiem succeed.' 
 
 9. Discretioii has large and extended views ; and like 
 a well-formed eyr, commands a whole horizMn;; cunning 
 is a kind of short-sightediw-ss, that discovers the minutesl 
 objects wliich are near at hand, but is iiot able to di^ce^Il 
 things at a distance. Discretion, the fxiore it is discov- 
 ered, gives a |;reater autlnjrity to the person who po^♦- 
 sesses it : cunnuig, when it is once detected, loses it« 
 force, and ii^akes a man incapable of bringing.uhout even 
 those events which he might have done, iiud. he pitssed 
 only for a plain man. 
 
 10. Discretioii is the perft^ctionof renson ; .andaguide* 
 to us in all the duties of life : .cunning is a k\i\(\ of in- 
 stinct,' that only looks out after .our ijnmediate interest 
 and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of stronjj 
 sense and good understandings : cunning is t)t\h,n to Lt* 
 met with in brutes themselves ; and in )»ersons who Hr« 
 but the fewest removes from tliA^m. In short,, .cunning 
 is only the mknic*» of discretion; and it may jMiss upon 
 weak men, in the same manner iis vivacity is often ini»- 
 taken for wit, and gravity, for wisdom. 
 
 11. The cast cf mind which is natural to a discreet 
 man, makes him look hirward into futurity, and consider 
 what will be his condition millions of jiges hence, as wel 
 as what it is at present," lie kriDWs tliat the misery oi 
 happiness which is reserved for iAm in another world, U 
 Bes nothing of its reality, by being placed at so ^reat a 
 distance from him. 'J he objects do not appear little to 
 him because they are remote. 
 
 12. He considers, that those pleasures and pains wbieli 
 lie hid in eternity, approach ueartir to him wverj i^*# 
 
IT4 EftflLiiii II11ADK&. Pttt t. 
 
 nient ; and will he prese:it with him tn thf'h* fell werj^ht 
 jiad measurts as uiuch as those pr ins arfd pleaaiire^ which 
 Ixf fo.els at trtis very instant. For this reason, he is care^ 
 Till to secuun t«) hinist'lf thnt which is the proper haj-^pj- 
 ness of his nHtiirf., and the ultimate desi^;n of his bein^. 
 
 IS. lie carles his thouj^hts to the end of every action; 
 nnd considers the most distant as vfktW as the most imme- 
 diate efiects of it. Ife supersedes" every Utile prospect of 
 g ain .«nd advantage which offers itself here, if he does not 
 i\n(\. it consistent with his views of an hereafter. In a* 
 word his hopes Jire full ^'f immortiiiity ; his schemes" are' 
 |arj;:e and j^loriuiis ; and ids conduct suitable to one v*^ho 
 knows his true ititeresi, and how to pursue it by proper 
 methods. addison. 
 
 SECTlOxN V. 
 
 a"'Ac-CO,un-ta-b!v, Ak-I(6i^n'-tft-bl, ro-|/ Ex-pul-jsion, S1cB-p5!'-»h5n, ths acto. 
 
 Kijoii.siliio, of whom un account riKiy 
 
 be rciiylfed 
 k V6l-un-ia-.ry, v6r-fin^(4-re, acting by 
 
 ch/>.icji^ 
 t O-rijfj-iml-Jv, 4 Hd'-j^-n^l-!*, priiaa- 
 
 rily, at fir/i, as'ihf firwi ^lutliur 
 d Re ix'p-tion. ri->;^i)'-»:l)?iii, the uct of 
 
 rc'-yiviii':, rciniBfrifm 
 ^V-piup, ^{i-j)lnn', lying witlj Uie tact* 
 
 t»p\va,r«l.s, iiulolcnt 
 / ^c-lax-a tioti. i*;-IAkeA'-shftn, Ji re- 
 
 initiftioii from biisiiirt.''s or study' 
 g Rove, rAvo, to rainbWi. to wimrler 
 k Kn-tlro. ^n-ilro", whdie, unTivided 
 • .Pro«-fi-fute, pr6<'-,tA-!iii».«, to disposu of 
 
 upon wicked iHrms, a hireling 
 
 expellinjf 
 
 k Ke-rniss, ri-mls', ip!ark,«»:Iothfu!, idle 
 I Un-restrain-ed, fin-ri-giriii'a', Juose, 
 
 not limited 
 m Tn-ces-t:ant, Im-sCk' sinK contitninl 
 Per rnH-neut, pSr'-nm ni^iit, durable, 
 
 lasting 
 u Do-visc, di-vlze', to contrive, to grant 
 
 by will 
 p Pcr-i-'fi-irate, pSr'-pi-trit«, to commit 
 
 a r.riir.e 
 q Mis-ap pli-ca-tion, mli«-Ap-pli-ki!i'- 
 
 6)ii'iii,'a wiofig applicaiitm 
 r In-f(;l-lt;r-ru-a!, 'lii-t^.i ifck'-tshii-Al, ro- 
 
 Inticff U) the mind 
 A- l-de-{il, i-d«'-4l, niunial, intolleciual 
 
 Qn the governmc7it of our thoughts, 
 1. A MiLTiTUDE of cases pccn;-, in which we are n© 
 less a«xountab,le' for what we think, than for what we do. 
 As, first, when tile in.irodu.ctJMn of any train of thought 
 depends upon ourselves, and ,is our v(>^unta;-y^ act, by 
 turnin»- oi!ir at^tention towji^dii such objv'Cts, awaltenhijr 
 such passions, (>,r enj^u;r;ing: in such e/riployments, as 'we 
 know mu.st giye a peculiar determination l,o uur thoughts. 
 Next, wl\e!i thoup;ht,s, by whatever accident they may 
 have been orij^initUy su5;ge{>ted, are indiU,2;ed kvith delib- 
 eration and con.phicency. 
 
 £. Th,ouu;h the mind has been passive in their recepr 
 tion,^ and, therefore, free from blame; yet, if it be active 
 IB tlieir c,^tinuanc«^ t|ie guilt }>ecc»{2^e« iU 9WD. T^^ 
 
may have Intruded at first, like unhidden gii^te ; hut tf 
 when entered, they are made utlcome, and kindly vnlti- 
 lained, ll)e case is the same as if they had been iuviuU 
 (rem the beginning. 
 
 S. If we are thus accountable to God for thono;htB ei- 
 ther voluntarily introduced, ur deliberately indulged, we 
 are no less so, in tlie laet place, for those which find ad* 
 ^littancc into our hearts from supine* m'gligencr, from 
 total relaxation/ of attention, from allowing our imaj^ina- ' 
 tion to rove,5' with entire'* licence, ** like the eyes ol the 
 fool, towards the end of the earth.'* 
 
 4. Our minds are, in this case, thrown open to folly 
 and vanit}i[j They are prostituted' to every evil thing 
 which pieces to takfe possessiiju. The consequences 
 must ail be charged to our account ; and in vain we pUad 
 excuse from human infirmity. Hence it appears, that 
 llie great object at which Ave are to aim in governing our 
 thoughts, is," to take the mcst efiectual measures for pr*« 
 Venting the introduction of such as are smful ; ana for 
 hastening their expulsion, > if ibey shall have introduced 
 themselves without consent of the will. 
 
 5. But when we descend into our breasts, and examinii 
 how far we have studied to keep this object in view, who 
 can tell, "■ how oft he hath ofienaed ?" In no article of reli- 
 gion or morals are men more culpably remiss,* than in thu 
 unrestrained' indulgence they give to fancy ; and that too, 
 for the most part, without remorse. Since the time that 
 reason began to exer|; her powers, thought, during our 
 waking hours, has been active in every breast, without a 
 moment's suspension or pause. 
 
 6. The current of ideas has been always flowing. Th« 
 wheels of the spiritual engine have circulated with p€J^ 
 petual motion. Let me ask, what has been the fruit o^ 
 thisincessant"* activity, with the greater part of mankind ? 
 Of the innumerable hours th;-t have been employed in 
 thought, how few are marked with any permanent* or 
 useful effect ? How many have either passed away in 
 idle dreams ; or have been abandoned to anxious discon- 
 tented musings, to unsocial and malignant passions, or to 
 irregular and criminal desires ? 
 
 7 Had 1 power to lay open that storehouse of iniquity 
 which the hearts of too many conceal ; could I draw out 
 And read to them a list of all the imaginations they baY«^ 
 deviseds and all the passions they hava indtilg<i4 ui »^ 
 *iHit ; what a pictura of men should 1 preaeot to them** 
 
1 
 
 felr«ft What crimea would they appear to hare ptvpft^ 
 trated^ in secrecy which to their most intimate compan-^ 
 ions they durst not reveal ! 
 
 8. Bven when men imag,ine their thoupjhts to be inno- 
 cently emj)loyed, they too commonly sufier them to rvm 
 out into extravagant imaj;inalions and chimerical plans of 
 tvhat they would wish to attain, or choose to be, if they 
 could frame the coqrb-e of things according to their def 
 sire. Though such employments of fancy come not unr 
 der the same description with those whif^h are plainly 
 criminal yet wholly unblamaliie they seldom are* 
 
 9. Besides the waste of time which they occasion, and 
 the misapplication? which they indicate of those intel- 
 lectual'- pox^iers that were given to us for mlich nobler 
 purposes, such romantic speculation leads us always into 
 the neighbourhood of forbidden regions. They place us 
 on dangerous ground. They are, for the most part, con- 
 nected with some one bad passion ; and they always 
 nounsha giddy and frivolous turn of thought. 
 
 10. They unfit the mind for applying with vigour to 
 rational pursuits, or for i^cquiescing in sober plans of pon- 
 duct. From that ideal' world in which it allows itse[f to 
 dwell, it returns to the commerce of men, unbent and re- 
 laxed, sickly and tainted, averse to discharging the du- 
 ^jes, and ^sometimes disqualified even for relishing thjt 
 pleasures of ordinary life. BjLAia. 
 
 SECTION yi. 
 
 • Ro-vo^l, r4-v61t', to fall off, desert . lion of reaiion 
 k Re-bol, ri-l)Si', ty revolt, to rise iii op- 
 
 pObiiion 
 
 c Im-pet-u-os i-tj', Jm-pJt9h-ii-6»'-i-te, 
 violence, fury 
 
 d Pur-suit, pilr-Kiiie', the act of pursu- 
 ing, chase 
 
 • I>is-com-p)08«, d!8rk6m-pize', to d'a 
 
 order, oftVud 
 / Dis-qual i-ty, d!3-kw6r-^-f I, IQ make 
 
 »nlit, to disable byBOine imKirui oi 
 
 legal iajpedimeot 
 f Iii-tat-ij-a-;ion, in-fatsh-6-i,'-sh&n, the 
 
 act of striking wiih folly, depriva- 
 
 A Se-duce, s^-d6se', to tempt, tniilead 
 i Calm-Iy, kJiin'-li, without noiM or 
 
 passion 
 j Fer-liie, f^r'-tll, fruitful, abondant 
 k As-sas-sifj, 4s 84s'-sln, a murderer 
 I Copi-ous, kA'-pi-Sd, plentiful, abov 
 
 dnnt 
 in, Trag-i-cal, tr4d'-ji-k4l, mournful, 
 
 cala;nitous 
 n Bane-ful, bine'-fil, poisonous, d«f 
 
 Etruf^tivo 
 Li-C8utious, Il-sSn'-sbfis, unrestrainei 
 
 by law or morality 
 
 On the evils which flaw from unrestrained passions. 
 
 1. WhexV man revolted'* from his maker, his passions 
 
 rebelled* against himself; and, from being originally tb© 
 
 ministers of reason, have become the tyrants of the souL 
 
 viirQce, iuD treating of thi» auh\Act two thloa^B may be u^ 
 
Cffcpp, Ow FmoMi8ccor8 PiECit. \7i 
 
 iumed a* principles ; first, that through the preefint weak 
 ness of the understanding', our passions are often directed 
 towards in^proper objects: and next, that even when 
 their direction is just, and their objects are innocent, they 
 perpetually tend to run into excess ; they always hurry 
 us towards their gratification, with a blind and dangerous 
 impetuosity.*^ 
 
 2. On these two points then turns the whole govern- 
 merit of o\u- passions : first, to ascertain the proj)er ob« 
 «ects of tht'ir pursuit ;<' and next, to restrain them in that 
 pursuit, when they would carry us beyond the bounds of 
 reason. If there is any passion which intrudes itself un- 
 seasonably into oui* mind, which darkens and troubles our 
 judgment, or habitually discomposes' our temper ; which 
 unfits us for properly discharging the duties,* or disquali- 
 fies/ us for cheerfully enjoying the comforts of life, we 
 may certainly conclude it to have gained a dangerous as- 
 cendant. 
 
 S. The great object which we ought to propose to our- 
 selves is, to acquire a firm and steadfast mina, which th« 
 infatuations of passion siiall not seduce, nor its violcnca 
 shake ; which, resting on fixed principles, shall, in the 
 midst of contending emotions, remain free, and master ol 
 itself; able trt listen calmly* to the voice of conscience, 
 and prepared to obey its dictates without hesitation. 
 
 4. To obtain, if possible, such command of passion, it 
 .one of the highest attainments of the rational nature.— 
 Arguments to show its importance crowd upon us from 
 evi-ry quarter. If there be any fertile^ source of mischief 
 ,to human life, it is, beyond cloubt, the misrule of paa- 
 -sion. It is this which poisons the enjoyment of indivi- 
 .duals, overturns the order of society, and strews the path 
 ,of life with so many miseries, as to render it indeeci the 
 
 Tale of tears. 
 
 5. All those great scenes of pubhc calamity, which 
 t^e behold with astonishment ?na horror, have originated 
 ifrom the source of violent passions. These have over- 
 ,3Pread the earth with blooashed. These have pointed 
 tne assassin's* dagger, and filled the poisoned Cow w— 
 These, ir^.every age, have furnished too copious' materi- 
 als for the orator's pathetic declamation, and for the po- 
 et*s tragical* song. 
 
 6. When from public life we descend to private con- 
 duct, though passion operates not there in so wide and 
 
 I d«.6tructive a sphere, we shall find its influence to be do 
 
tr« 
 
 |'^^•eLISll Ry-AWft^. 
 
 Part I 
 
 Itm t>encftH.?? I qeed not mention the \}\in:k and fierc* 
 passions, such as envy, jerilousv, and revenge, \>ho3e efr i 
 fects an*, obviously noxious, and whose agiUitions are im- 
 mediate misery. ' ^ ' 
 
 7. iiut take any of the Hcentioiig^ and sensual kind. 
 Suppose it to have unlimit<'d scope ; trace it throui^ii- 
 out Its course ; and ^f e shall find that s^radually, as it rises, 
 it taints the soundness, and troubli-s the peace of liis 
 mind, overwfiom it reij^ns ; that, in its prot;ress, it enj^a- 
 ges him in pursuits which are niarked either witli dan- 
 ger or witli shame ; that, in the end, it wastes his fortune, 
 destroys his health, or di'bases his character; and agj^ra- 
 vat«-8 all the miseries in which it has involved him, with 
 the concludinj^ pr.ngs of hitter remorse. Through all 
 (he stages of this fatal course, how many haye heretofore 
 run? What' multitudes do we daijy behold pursuing it, 
 with bhnd and headlong steps? blair. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 « Un-a-Toid-fible, fini-vA1<l'-A-l>l, in 
 
 evitable 
 b Sus-pic-ious, 8?is-p!Bh'-6H, incline:! to 
 
 HUspect 
 t Aid, idc, help, support, to help, to 
 
 support 
 d Ce-ineiit, H^m^ri?', to unite by means 
 
 •f ttuinethiiig interposed 
 
 e Concern, Vfrnahn', to relate to, in- 
 terest, blisijl MS 
 
 / Vi-olcnt, vl'-A If^iit, forcible, voh«- 
 
 m»i)t 
 "• Di*;g-uise, dTzsj ytze', to conceal, di»- 
 
 graec, defoini ' 
 h In Junc-tioii, !n jfink'-shSn, command, 
 
 order 
 
 On the proper state of our temper^ loith respect to one another, 
 
 1. It is evident, in the general, that if we consult 
 either public welfare or private happiness, Christian cha^ 
 rity ought to regulate our disposition in mutual inter- 
 course. But as this great principle admits of several di- 
 versified appearances, let us consider some of the chiei 
 forms under which it ought to show itself in the usild 
 lenorof life. 
 
 2. What, first, presents itself to be recommended, 's a 
 peaceable temper ; a disposition averse to give offence, and 
 desirous of cultivating harmony, and amicable intercourse 
 in society. This supposes yielding and condescending man* 
 ners, unwillingness to contend with others about trifles, 
 and, in contests that are unavoidable,'* proper moderation 
 of spirit. Such a temper is the first princi])le of self-en- 
 ioyraent. It is tlie basis of all order and happiness a 
 mong mankind. 
 
 8. The positive and conteirtioui the •^ide and •attircV* 
 
Cnap* ^ pROMiScuoui PiKcics. 1?9 
 
 •oxne, are Che bane of society. They s«eiTi tietrflixid tu 
 blast the small share of conilbit wiiirh nature haa bur« 
 allotted to man. iiut they cHimot disturb the penc« of 
 lathers, more than they break tlieir o\\n.^ The hiirritaiin 
 rages first in their own bosom, before it is let forth upon 
 the ^vorld. in the tempests ^vhi^h they raise, they are 
 always tost,- and fi-^quently it is their lot to perish. 
 
 4. A peaceful temper must be supported oy a candid 
 one,^or a disposition to view the conduct of others with 
 fairness and impartiality. Tliis stands op})osed, to a 
 jealous and suspicious'' temper, which a^T^bes every ac* 
 tion to the worst motive, and throws a l)lack shade OT*r 
 every character. If we would be happy in ourselves, or 
 in our connexions uith otiiers, let us guard againut this 
 iiialiji;nant spirit. 
 
 5. Let us study that charity '* which thinketh no ctil ;** 
 that tenjper which, without degenerating into credulity, 
 w\\\ dispose us to be just ; and which can allow us to ob- 
 iBcrve an error, ^vithout imputing it as a crime. Thus we 
 
 shall be kept free from that continual irritation, which 
 Imaginary mjuries raise in a suspicious breast; and shail 
 walk among men as our brethren, not as our enemies. 
 
 6. But to be peaceable, and to be candid,* is not all 
 that is required of a good man. He rnust cultivate a 
 kind, generous, and sympathizing temper, which fculs 
 for distress, wherever it is beheld ; which enters into 
 the concerns of his friends with ardour ; and to all with 
 whom he has intercourse, is gentle, obhginjj, and humane. 
 
 7. How amiable appears such a disposition, when con- 
 trasted with a malicious or envious teiTiper, w hich wrapd 
 itself up in its own narrow interest, looks with an evil eye 
 on the success of others, and, with an unnatural satisfuc- 
 
 I tion, feeds on their disappointments or miseries! How 
 ! little does he know of the true happiness of life, who is 
 la stranger to the intercourse of good ofRces and kind 
 jnffections, which, by a pleasing charm, attaches men to 
 one another, and circulates joy from heart to heart ! 
 
 8. We are not to imagine, that a benevolent temper 
 lifinds no exercise, unless when opportunities offer 'o( pe*»- 
 irforming actions of high generosity, or of extensivv uiliity. 
 |These may seldom occur. The condition of the ^prtsy^ 
 |ler part of mankind, in a good measure, prcchidei' th«iiv. 
 But, in the ordinary round of human affairs, many o©* 
 casions daily present themselves, of initi^atis^ ti2« %t^ 
 eitiooi which others suffer ; of soothing a 
 
1 
 
 alStng their interest; of promoting t^eir <ihecrfblncss, <«r 
 ease. Such occasions may relate tp ,tiie smaller inddent»' 
 ©flife. 
 
 9. Outlet us remomber, that of snaall incidents the syW 
 ttm of human life is chiefly .composed. The attentionMl 
 "which respect these, when sup:gested hy real benignity of' 
 temper, are often more material to the happiness of those 
 around us, than actions which carry the appearance of 
 greater dignity and splendour. No wise or good man 
 ought to account any ruley of behaviour as below his re- 
 gard, which tend to cement^ the great brotherhood of 
 in;»nkind in comfortable union. 
 
 10. Particularly amidst that familiar intercourse which 
 belongs to domestic life, all the virtues of temper fin^ 
 an ample range. It is very unfortunate, that within that 
 circle, men too often think themselves at liberty, te give 
 unrestrained vent to the caprice of passion- and humour. 
 Whereas there, on the contrary, more than any where 
 else, it concerns* them to attend to the government of 
 their heart; to check what is violent/ in their ttnpipers> 
 and to soften what is harsh in their manners. 
 
 11. For there the temper is formed. There the real 
 character' displays itself. The forms of the world dis- 
 guiser men when abroad. But within his own family, 
 every man is known to be what he truly is. In all ouir 
 intercourse then with others, particularly in that which is 
 closest and most intimate, let us cultivate a peaceable, a 
 cjindid, a j^entle, and friendly temper. This is the tem- 
 per to which, by repeated injunctions,* our holy religioD 
 feeks to lorm us. This was th<? temper of Christ. Tnis 
 M the temper of Heaven. blai*. 
 
 SECTION vin. 
 
 a In-ex-lmuB-ti'ble, tD-fiks-hiwg'-tibl. 
 
 not to b« spent 
 k Ma^ev-o-lenc6, ra4-Ilv'-vA-l£nse, il! 
 
 will, Hpite 
 c Pa-tri-ot-isin, pi'-tr4-fit-!znrj, love o! 
 
 one's country 
 d In-*pirc, In-splre', to breathe into, ti i 
 
 animate by nupftwatnral infusion 
 6 Dfo-vout, d^-vdSt', pious, religious 
 / Mag-nif-i-cerit, rnig-n!f'-ft-g4nt, grand 
 
 in appearance 
 Brev-i ty, hr^v'-i-ti, eoDciseness, 
 
 shortness 
 
 Excellence of the Holy Scriptures. 
 I. Is it bigotry to believe the sublime truths of tha 
 Gospel, with full assurance of fiith ? I glory in such big- 
 otry. 1 would not part with it for a thousand worlds.— 
 rfi congratulate the man who is possessed of it«lor.m*j 
 
 1 
 
Phap. 9. rBOKI0CU0L8 FlECZB. \t\^ 
 
 midst ftH the vicissitudes and calamities of the pmcnt 
 BtatP, that man enjoys an inexhaustiCl^^*" fund of consola- 
 iTon, of which it is not in the power of fortune lo de* 
 prive him. 
 
 ^. There is not a book on eartn, so favoiivaWe to all 
 the kind, and all the sublime affections ; or so uniriendly 
 to hatred and persecution, to tyranny, to injiislice, and 
 every sort of malevolence,* as the Go^i^el. It breathes 
 nothing throughout, hut mercy, henevolencc, and peace. 
 
 3. Poetry is sublime, when )t awakens in the mind anjf 
 great and good affection, as piety, or patriotism.* This 
 is one of the noblest effects of tiie art. The Psalms are 
 remarkablt^, beyond all other uriting*, for their power of 
 inspiring devout' emotions. But ie is not in this respect 
 only, the most magnificent descriptions, that the soul < . 
 man can comprehend. The iiundred and fourth Psriim, 
 in particular, displays the power and g(>odness ol Provi- 
 dence, in creating and preserving the worki, and the va- 
 rious tribes of animals in it, witu such majestic brevity,* 
 and beauty, as it is vain to looic for in any human com- 
 position. 
 
 4. Such pf U\e, doctrines of the Gospel as are lerf;! to 
 human capacity, appear to |)e agreeable to the purest 
 truth, and the soundest morality. All the genius and 
 learning of the heathen worlu ; all the penetration of 
 Pythaj^oras, Socrates, and Aristotle, had never been able 
 to produce such a system of moral duty, and ^o rational 
 an accQuntof Providence and of man, as are to be found 
 in the New Testament. Compared, indeed, with this, all 
 other moral and theological wisdom 
 
 Loses, discounienanc'd, and like folly show*. 
 i BE ATT IB. 
 
 ' SEcfroN IX. 
 
 • ViC-to-ri-ous, vlk-ti'-ri-fis, conquer- 
 ing 
 h Gau-dy, g4w'-di, showy, splendid, 
 
 fine 
 • jFor-ti-tude,f5r'-ti-t6de, courage, bra- 
 ) very 
 
 (i Sustain, B&s-t&De', to bear, support 
 
 help • 
 e An-ciont, 4ne'-t»h2nt, old, not mod 
 
 eri) 
 / Lus ire, Ifis'-ior, brightness, leoowu 
 
 t • Sftflections occasioned hij a review of the blessings^ pronoun^. 
 
 ced by Christ on his discipItSy in his sermon on the mounU 
 
 \^ What abundant reason have we to thank God, 
 
 that this large and instructive discourse of our blessed 
 
 Redeemer, is so particularly recorded by the sacred his- 
 
 "^twijrian. l*et every one that ** hath ea;yi tp hear/' ^^imt 
 
ti$ £2<eL|«H Keadva. Han 1. 
 
 t» it : fbr sftT^lj no man erer epoke as our Lord did oq 
 tiara occasion. Let ua fix our minds in a posture of hum* 
 ^bh attention, that wfe may " receive the law from his 
 mouth." 
 
 2. He opened it with blessings, repeated and most im- 
 portant blessings. But on whom are they pronounced ? 
 And whom are we taught to think the happiest of man- 
 Kind ? The meek and the humble ; the penitent and the 
 merciful ; the peaceful and the pure ; those that hunger 
 and thirst after righteousness ; those that labour, but 
 faint not, under persecution ! Lord ! how different are thy 
 maxims from those of the children of this world ! 
 
 3. They call the proud happy ; and admire, the gay, 
 the rich, the powerful, and the victorious.^ But let a vam 
 world take its gaud}'^* trifles, and dress up the foolish 
 creatures that pursue them. May our souls share in that 
 happiness, which the Son of Goa came to recommend 
 %nd to procure ! May we obtain mercy of the Lord ; may 
 we be owned as his children ; enjoy his presence ; and 
 inherit his kingdom ! With these enjoyments, and these 
 hopes, we will cheerfully welcome the lowest, or the 
 most painful circumstances. 
 
 4. Let us be animated to cultivate those amiable virtues, 
 which are here recommended to us ; this humility and 
 meekness ; this penitent .^ense of sin ; this ardent desire 
 after righteousness ; this compassion and purity ; this 
 peacefulness and fortitude*^ of soul ; and, in a word, this 
 universal goodnefis ^vhich becomes us as we sustain** the 
 character of *' the salt of the earth,** and ** the light o( 
 the world.'* 
 
 5. Is there not reason to lament, that we answer the 
 character no better ? Is there not reason to exclaim with 
 a good man in former times, '* Blessed Lord.' either these 
 are not Ihy words, or we are not Christians !'* Oh, season 
 our hearts more effectually with thy grace ! Pour forth 
 that divine oil on our lamps ! Then shall the flame bright- 
 en ; then shall the ancient* honours of thy religion be re- 
 vived ; and multitudes be awakened and animated, by the 
 lustrii/" of it, '* to glorify our Father in heaven.*' 
 
 DODDRIDGE. 
 
 SLCTION X. 
 
 « ll-1u-flor-y, IMi'-gfir-ri, decoiviny, j honour 
 
 fraudulent Lc Ben-e-dic-tloB, b8n-4-fflk' 
 
 ^ Oa lii^ kA'-B^ « mabouMlftD, title of] §ba§, »cfcDowla4agiwat 
 
d A-gll i-tj, t-pr-k-ik, nlmblenw*, »c-| city 
 
 tivity jm Ru-rul, rtb'-ril, ttxtsttt^g lo, or r«l»- 
 
 f Vice-roy, rUe'-rAi, ho v,ho jjovern« Vns to thecountrr 
 
 in pince of U»e kiug with legal au-ii Ob-scu-ri-ty, 6b-8kV-r^t*, dwkoe^t, 
 
 thority 
 / Do-cil-i-ty, di-ell'-i-ti, aptness to be 
 
 taught 
 f Ex ircm-i-fy, ^s-tr2m'-i-t*, the ut 
 
 most pnint 
 h Im pan, Im-pirt', to give, commuiii 
 
 caie 
 i Survey, s5r-vi', to overlook, to hav t 
 
 under the vi«w, a view, apro8|un-. 
 j Va ri-ous, vi'-ri-fis, ditferent, *cvo 
 
 ral 
 k Ac-cu inu-la-tion, ftk-kii-mu-lt'-fhiin 
 
 Incred^u, »ddiiiou 
 
 p.ivncy 
 
 o S<-hf'rne,**k*n)e, a pl*n, dcmif/i 
 
 p ln-d*l-i-bly,ln-fljr-.i-bli, in a manner 
 not t«> be effaced 
 
 q Po6t»pone, pjisl-piue', to put off, de- 
 lay 
 
 r Im-umre, im-mftre', to confine, shut 
 
 3 Inna-ti-a-hle, !n-v4 -shA-4-bl, irttb 
 Pii-edir'e«s 
 
 /. Goii-uu bi-al, kAu-n6'rbc-il, matrimo- 
 nial 
 
 tt Con-icm-pla-iiv*', kin-t^m -])I4-tlr, 
 
 gi^-urb, j*Cib-uib, the out part of a Biufiuu*, ihongblfui 
 
 Schemes of life often illv.wry.'* 
 
 1. Omar, the sun of Ilassjin, had ]>jisbed seventy-five 
 years in hunuiir and prosperity. 1 he favour of ihre* 
 successive califs'' had nlled his house witli gold and sil' 
 ver ; and whenever he appeared, the benedittions' c{ 
 the people proclaimed his passage. 
 
 2. Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. Tha 
 brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel; the fragrant 
 flpweris passing away in its own odours. The vigour ol 
 Omar began to fail ; the curls of beauty fell from his 
 head : strength departed from liis hands ; and agility from 
 his feet. He gave back to the calif the keys of trust, and 
 the 3eals of secrecy ; and sought no other pleasure for 
 the remains of life, than the converse of the wise, and 
 the gratitude of the good. 
 
 S. The powers of his mind wfr'» yet unimpaired. Hia 
 chamber was fdled by visitai:ts, ciicer to catch the dic- 
 tates of experience, and oflicious t(» pay the tribute o( 
 admiration. Caled, the son of the viceroy' of Egypt, 
 entered every day early, and retired late. He was bcau- 
 tH*ul and eloquent ; Omar admired ids wit, ?tnd loved his 
 docility./ 
 
 4. " Tell me,'* said Caled, *♦ thnit to whose voice na- 
 tions have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the 
 extremities? of Asia, tell me how 1 may resemble Omar 
 the prudent. The arts by which thou hast gained powr 
 and preserved ft, are to thee no longer necessary or us» 
 ful; impart* to me the secret of thy conduct, and teaci 
 me the plaa wpon which thy wisdom has built thy iom^ 
 
184 English Rsadi^. Port i. 
 
 6. •• YouDC iijan,'* said Omar, ** it is of Iltt)© M^e to 
 /orm plans of life. When I took my first survey* of the 
 world, in my twentieth year, having considered the ,va- 
 riousy conditions of mankind, in the hour of solitude I 
 said thus to myself, leaning against a cedar, which spread 
 ,its branches over my head : 
 
 6. '' Seventy years are allowed to man ; I havt y^t 
 fifty remaining. Ten years I will allot to the attainment 
 of Knowledge, and ten 1 will pjiss in foreign countries; J 
 shall be learned, and therefore shall be honoured ; every 
 city will shout at my arrival, and every stydent will soli- 
 cit ray friendship. Twenty years thus passed, will stoce 
 my mind with images, which 1 shall be busy, through the 
 rest of my life, in combining and comparing. 
 
 7. *' 1 shall revel in inexhaustible accumulations* of iu- 
 tellectual riches ; I shall find new pleasures for every mo- 
 ment ; and shall never more he weary of myself. 1 w;i^ 
 ,not, however, deviate too far from the beaten track oi 
 fife ; but will try what can be found in female delicacy. I 
 will marry a wife beautiful as the Houries, and wise as 
 Eobeide ; with her i will live twenty years within the 
 suburbs' of Bagdat, '' \ every pleasure that wealth can 
 purchase, and fancy c.ui invent. 
 
 8. " 1 will then retire to a rural« dwelling ; pass my days 
 7a obscurity* and contemplation ; and lie silently down on 
 the bed of death. Through my life it shall be my set- 
 tled resolution, that I will never d<^pend upon the smile of 
 .princes ; that I will never stand exposed to the artifices of 
 courts ; I will never pant for public honours, nor disturb 
 my Quietwith the affairs of state. Such was my scheme* 
 01 life, which 1 impressed indelibly^' upon my memory. 
 
 9. ** The first part of my ensuing time was to be spent 
 in search of knowledge, and I know not how I was di- 
 verted from my design. 1 had no visible impediment? 
 •without, nor any ungovernable passions within. I re- 
 garded knowledge as the highest honour, and the most ' 
 engaging pleasure ; yet dav stole upon day, and month 
 glided after month, till I found that seven years of the 
 Srst ten had vanished, and left nothing behind them. 
 
 10. ** 1 now postponed? my purpose of travelling; for 
 why should I go abroad, while so much remained to be 
 
 Jearned at home ? 1 immured'* myself for four years, and 
 studied the laws of the empire. The fame of my skiU 
 reached the judges ; 1 was found able to speak upoo 
 ,4p<uhtftil questions ; and was commanded to stand at the- 
 
footstool of tlue calif. 1 was heard with atterjtmn ; I 
 consulted with confidence ; and the Ittve of praise fasten* 
 ed on my heart. 
 
 11. "1 still wished to see distant countrkii ; Kstened 
 with raptui*e to the relations of travellers ; and resolved 
 some time to ask my dismission^ that 1 might feast my 
 soul with novelty ; hut my presence was alwj^ys neces- 
 sary ; an4 the stream of busiiiess hurried me alpng^.— 
 Sometimes 1 was afraid lest 1 should be charged with in- 
 gratitude : but 1 still proposed to travel^ aai therfare 
 would not confine myself by marriage. 
 
 12. *' In my fiftietn year» 1 be^an to suspeet that the 
 time of traveling was past; and thought it hest to lay- 
 hold on the felicity yet m my po\yer, and indulge myself 
 in domestic pleasures. 15ut at tifty no man easily nnda 
 a woman beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zubeide. 
 I in(^uired and rejected, consulted and deliberated^ till 
 the sixty-second year made me ashamed of wishing t»> 
 marry. 1 had pow aothing left but retirement ; and for 
 retirement 1 never found a time» till disease farced m» 
 from public employment. 
 
 13. '' Such was my scheme, and ?uch has been i|s con- 
 sequences. With an insatiable* thirst for knowledge,! tri- 
 fled away the years of improvement; with a restlesa dc- 
 Bir« of seeing diifereht countries, 1 have always resided 
 in the same city; with the highest expectation of connu- 
 bial' feHcity. 1 have lived unmarried ; and with vnai^er- 
 able resolutions of contemplative" retirement, I am goin^ 
 to die within the walls of i5ag;dat.'* dr. J0Hri30Jc. 
 
 H Re-lieve, ri-l*4v', fo rupport, agt-lu.* 
 
 \ b Di-laie, d^-liie', to extend, spread out, 
 to relate at large 
 
 I « At-trac-t:ve, 4t-tr&kt'-tlv, inviting, al- 
 luring 
 
 i d Coun-ter-bal-ance,ki6n-tfir-bir-Unse, 
 
 I to act ugaiuot with an opposiit, 
 
 1; weiglit 
 
 |j# Grat-i-fi-ca-tion, grAt-6-f4-kii'-8hftu, 
 
 I ilieact ol pieusing 
 
 SECTION XI. 
 
 / Cor-di-aJ-i-ty, k6r-j4-AJ'-4-l*, lii 
 
 ty, (riendbhip 
 g Mero-ly, mi're'-li, iitnply, only 
 
 h El-e vale, ftl'-i-viite, to raii»e, dignify 
 { En-no-bl«, ia-DO'-bl, toraiss toaob{>- 
 
 ivy 
 j E-utrarige, 4-8trinje', to witlidraw, tm 
 
 kee|) Ht a distance 
 k Coni-iie-ii:-ioii, k6m-p4-tl»h'-ia, li- 
 
 valry, contest 
 
 The pleasures of virtuotis sensibjKty, 
 I. The good effects of true sensibihty on genera] tif*. 
 I'tue and happiness, admit of no dispute.' Let u?j consideir 
 its eflfect on the ha})piness of him who possesses it, an4 
 UM TarkMis plefii»(^refl tu which it gire« Uina acottaa. U lkf» 
 
m master of riches or influence, it affords -htm the meanei 
 of increasing his own enjoyment, by relieving" the wants, 
 or increasing tlie comforts of others. 
 
 2. If he commands not these advantages, yet all the 
 comforts, which he sees in the possession of the deserv- 
 ing, become in some sort his, by his rejoicing in the good 
 which they enjoy. Even the face of nature yields a sat- 
 isfaction to him, which the insenb'ible can never know.— • 
 The profusion of goodness, which he beholds poured 
 forth on the universe, dilates'^ his heart with the thought, 
 that innumerable multitudes around him are blest and ( 
 happy. 
 
 h. When he sees the labours of men appearing to pros* 
 per, and views a cotnitry flourishing in wealth and indus- 
 try ; when he beholds the spring coming forth in its beau- 
 ty, and reviving the decayed fiice of nature; or in autumrt 
 beholds the fields loaded with plenty, and the year crown- 
 ed with all its fruits ; he lifts his ailVrctiofis with gratitude 
 to the great Father of all, and rejoices in the general fe- 
 licity and Joy. 
 
 4* It may indeed be objected, that the same sensibility ' 
 lays open the heart to be pierced with many wounds, , 
 from the distresses which abound in the world ; exposes i 
 us to frequent suffering from the participation which it 
 communicates of the sorrows, as well as of the joys ot 
 friendship. But let it be considered, that the tender mel- 
 ancholy of sympathy, is accompanied with a sensation, 
 which they who feel it would not exchange for the grat- 
 iAcations of the selfish. 
 
 5* When the heart is strongly moved by any of the ■- 
 kind affections, even when it pours itself forth in virtuous 
 Borrow, a secret attractivec charm mingles with the pain- 
 ful emotion ; there is a joy in the midst of grief. Let it 
 be farther considered, that the griefs which sensibility in- 
 troduces, are counterbalanced^ by pleasures which flow 
 from the same source. Sensibility heightens in» general 
 the human powers, and is connected with acuteness in 
 all our feelings. 
 
 6. If it makes us more alive to some painful sensations. 
 In return, it renders the pleasing ones more vivid and an- 
 imated. The selfish man languishes in his narrow circle 
 of pleasures. They are confined to what affects his own 
 iatefest. He is obliged to repeat the same gratifications^ 
 till they become insipid. 
 
 7. But tho man of vlrtuc^at aeDsibility mor«s in • wi 
 
Chap* 9^ JPKOMiscrot79 Pik^jm. t&^ 
 
 der sphere (/ AiKcltjT' His powers are much more fti^. 
 qut'ntly called forth into occupations of pleasing actirity* 
 Numberless occasions open to him of indulging his favour* 
 ite taste, by conveying satisfaction to others. Often it it 
 m his power, in one Way or other, to sooth the alHicted 
 heart, to carry some consolation into the house of wo. 
 
 8. In the seen; s of oidinary life, in the domesCic and 
 social ntercourse of men, the cordiality/ of his atfectior>s 
 cheers and gladdens hhn. Every appearance, evety de- 
 scription of innocent happiness, is enjoyed by him. Ev- 
 ery native expression of kindness and affection among 
 others, is felt ny him, even though he be not the object 
 of it. In a circle of friends enjoying one ahvwther, he is 
 as happy as the hajipiest. 
 
 9. in a word, he lives in a diirerent sort of wor]ld, from 
 what the selfish man inhabits. He ; >ssesses a new sense 
 that enables him to behold obj<?cts Wi^ich the selfish can- 
 not see. At the same time, his enjoyments are not of that 
 kind which remain merely* on the surface of the mindl 
 They penetrate the heart. They enlarge and elevate,* 
 they refine and emiobie' it. To all the pleaning emotions 
 of affection, they add the dignified consciousness of vir- 
 tue. 
 
 10. Children of men ! men formed by nature to liv« 
 and to feel as brethren! how fonff will ye continue to es- 
 tranges yourselves from one another by competitions* and 
 jealousies, when in cordial Vinson ye might be io much 
 
 more blest? How long will ye seek your happiness in 
 jelfish gratifications alone, negrefling those purer and 
 jett'-r sources of joy, which flow from the afi'ections and 
 :he heart 1 blair. 
 
 SECTION XII. 
 
 Ra-nown, ri-niAn', fame, celebrity 
 
 Cou-qucftt, kiiig'-kwSst, victory, sue 
 ceiiu in arms 
 
 Fa nioui, fi'-mR«, renowned, celebra- 
 te*! • 
 
 Be-tlew, bi-dii', to moisten, gently 
 ins, rAp'-In, ;lun(ler, violence 
 did, sAi'dld, foul, msan, covet- 
 ous 
 
 Su-pw-fic-ial, «6-p4r-f!iih'-il, lying on 
 
 III ou 
 
 the f urf?»c# 
 A Odi-ou«,6'-di-ll9, or6'-j*-fts, hftl«.^' 
 
 deu stable, e.\(|08ed to h^le 
 i Co-los-sftl. kA i6s'sAl, giani-like 
 j Er-u dit-'ion, if-6-di*li'-fin, lesmiof^- 
 
 knowledge 
 k Ili-val, ri'-vAl, competitor, emulator 
 I O vcr awe, 6-v6r-4vv', to keep iu awif 
 oi Ef-fu-pion, if-lV-zhfiQ,apouriiif Mitg 
 
 On the true honour of man^ 
 I. Ts^ proper honour of man ariits not ftwn 
 
INI^ EkQJLIISII ItSADKR. yPoPl 
 
 t^se splendid actions and abilities, which excite high 2 
 miration. Courage and prowess, military renown" ^ 
 jial victories and conquests,* may render the name 
 man famous,*? without rendering his character truly 
 oarable. To many brave men, to many heroes reno 
 ed in story, we look up with wonder. Their expli 
 .are recorded. Their praises are sung. They stani 
 on an eminence above the rest of mankind. 
 
 £. Their emineuQe, nevertheless, may not be of 
 sort, before which we bow with inward esteem andl^ 
 spect. Something more is wanted for that purpose, thh 
 tne conquering arm, and the intrepid mind. The laurr 
 of the warrior must a,t all times be dyed in blood, ai 
 bede>ved«^ with the tears of the widow and the orphans. 
 
 .S. J[iut if they have been stained by rapine* and inbl 
 manity ; if sordid/ avarice has mwarked his character; ; 
 Jow and gross sensuality has degraded his life ; the grrt 
 hero sinks into a little man. Wnat, at a distance, or oi' 
 superficial? view, we admired, -becomes mean, perhaj 
 odiDus,^* when we examine it moxe closely. It is like tl 
 (Colossal' statue, whose immense size struck the specr 
 tor afar off with astonishment ; but when nearly view<>* 
 it appears disproportioned, unshapely, an^ rude. 
 
 4. Observations of the same kind may be applied 
 all the reputation derived from civil accomplishment 
 from the refined politics of the statesman ; o,r the litera 
 efforts o? genius and erudition.; These bestow, a; 
 within certain Ijovinds, ought to bestow, eminence a; ' 
 distinction on men. They discover talents which in thei 
 •elves are shinini^ ; and which become highly valuab 
 when employed m advancing the good of mankind.. 
 
 5. Hence, they frequently give rise to fame. iBut 
 distinction is to be made between fame and true honoi 
 The statesman, the orator or the poet, may be famou 
 while yet the man himself is far from being honoure 
 We envy his abilities. We wish to rival* them. But \ 
 vould not choose to be classed with him who possess 
 -them. Instances of this sort are too often founcl in eve; 
 jecord of ancient or modern history. 
 
 6. From ail this it follows, that in order to disce:- 
 where man's true honour lies, >ve must look, not to ar 
 adventitious circumstance of fortune ; not to any sing 
 jBparkhn^ quality ; but to the whole of what forms a mai 
 ^phat entitles him, as such, to raok high among that claaa^ 
 
Chap^ 9. 
 
 i^j^^msCVOVS PlBCv5- 
 
 189 
 
 beings to which he belongs ; in a word, we must look to 
 the mind and the soul. 
 
 7. A mind superior to fear, to selfish interest and cor- 
 ruption ; a mina governed by the principles of uniform 
 rectitude and integrity ; the same in prosperity and ad- 
 versity ; which no bribe can seduce, nor terror overawe ;i 
 neither by pleasure melted into efi'eminacy, nor by dis- 
 tress sunk mto dejection : such is the mind which forms 
 the distinction and' eminence of man. 
 
 8, One, who in no situation of life, is either ashamed 
 or afraid of discharging his duty, and acting ins proper 
 part with firmness and constancy ; true to the God whom 
 he worships, and true to the faith in which he professes 
 to believe ; full of afiection to his brethren of mankind ; 
 faithful to his friends, generous to his enemies, warm with 
 compassion to the unfortunate ; self-denying to little 
 private interests and pleasures, but zealous for public in- 
 terest and happiness; magnanimous, without being proud ; 
 bumble, witnout being mean ; just, v^ilhout being harsh ; 
 simple in his manners, but manly in his feelings ; on whose 
 words we can entirely rely; whose countenance never 
 deceives us ; whose professions of kindness are the effu- 
 sions of his heart : one, in fine, whom, independent of 
 any views of advantage, we would clioose for a superior, 
 could trust in as a friend, and could love as a brotiier — 
 this is the man, whom in our heart, above all others, we 
 do, we must honour. blaisu 
 
 SECTION X13I. 
 
 ny, arrangem A, bOdutuitesb, calnv 
 ness, trniiquiJiity 
 k Chcr-isii, tttJi^r'-rltih, tv» support, shel- 
 ter 
 Plac-id, p1As'-6!d, gentle, quiet, miUl 
 4 Va-cu-i-ty, vA-ku'-i-t6, ciniJiuMJbS. 
 
 space 
 « Sd-i-iudc, «61'-lA-t6de, lotiely life 
 J 0|)-pre8-fiivc,6p-j)rSs'-3?v, cruel, hea- 
 vy 
 £ Pwi-«iv€, pSn'-sIv, <hoi3«btful, serioii* o 
 A Cor-ro sion, kAr-rV-zhon, the eating 
 
 away by degrees* 
 i Dc-jec-tion, dfi-jek'-shfin, lowness of 
 
 spirits 
 j De-vo-tinn, di-v6*-«hfin, piety, t»- 
 
 •pect, uorsliip 
 k E qua-ljie, c'-kwA-bl, e<]iui] to it«elf, 
 
 I Tur-baWent, tar'-L4-]^t, tumultuous, 
 violent 
 
 TO Baiii), lAm, tbe juioe of aa odorife- 
 rous shrub 
 
 M W't>uii.'l, \vi5nd, a hurt give© by vi- 
 olenof, to iiurt by viclcoce 
 Ira-pure, ?m-piro', unholy, onchA^tA, 
 foul wiU» extraneous im)ttunoe,Hro«- 
 
 «y 
 
 The yfijlumct of (kvoiion on tlie happlnui of l^fc, 
 1. Whatever promotes and strengthens virtue-, wfaaV 
 ever calms and rcgukitds tiie tf^mper, is a sourc^i of hapt 
 
3 
 
 199 £5<r£i&H ^CADca. Fart t, 
 
 pinew. DeroHon produces these effects in a remarkable ■ 
 degree. It inspires composure* of spirit, mildness, and I 
 benignit5[ : weakens the painful, and cherishes* the pleas* • 
 Ing emotions ; and, by tnese means, carries on the life off 
 a pious man in a smooth and placid-" tenor. 
 
 2. Besides exerting this habitual influence on the mind, 
 devotion opens a field of enjoyments to which the vicious 
 are entire stranp;ers ; enjoyments the more valuable, ass 
 they peculiarly belong to retirement, when the world 1 
 leaves us ; ana to adversity, when it becomes our foe, 
 These are the two seasons, for which every wise mac 
 would most wish to provide some hidden store of com*J 
 fort. 
 
 3. For let him be placed in the most favourable situa- 
 tion which the human state admits, the world can neith- 
 er always amuse him, nor always shield him from distress. 
 There will be many hours of vacuity, rf and many of de- 
 jection in his life. If he be a stranger to God, and to de- 
 votion, how dreary will the gloom of solitude' often 
 prove ! With what oppressive/ weight will sickness, dis- 
 appointment, or old age, fall upon his spirits. 
 
 4. But for those pensive^ periods, tlt-e pious man has a 
 relief prepared. From the tiresome repetition of the 
 common vanities of life, or from the painful corrosion* or 
 its cares and sorrows, devotion transports him into a new 
 region ; and surrounds him there with such objects, aa 
 are the most fitted to cheer ttie dejection,* to calm the 
 tumults, and to iieal the wounds of his heart, if the 
 world has been empty and delusive, it gladdens him with 
 the prospect of a higher and better order oL things, about 
 to rise. 
 
 5. If men have been ungrateful and base, it displays 
 before him the faithfulness of that Supreme Being, who, 
 though every other friend fail, will never forsake him. 
 Let us consult our experience, and we shall find, that the 
 two greatest sources of inward joy, are, the exercise of 
 love directed towards a deserving obji^et, and the exercise 
 of hope terminating on some hign and assm-ed happineJ^s. 
 Both these are supplied by devotion \i and therefore we 
 have no reason to be surprised, if, on some occasions, it 
 fills the hearts of good men with a satisfaction not to be 
 expressed* 
 
 6. The refined pleasures of a pious mind, are, in many 
 respects, superior to the coarse gratifications of sense, 
 Tbiy are pieaffun^e which belong to t\it highest powcw 
 
€kap- ^ PEOWiBijtTOUS Piu-ks. 191 
 
 finxl b(^t affectlonii of the soul; whereas the gratification 
 of sense reside in the lowest region of our nature. To 
 I the latter, the soul stoops below its native dignity. The 
 former, raises it above itself. The latter, leave always a 
 comfortless, ofr.en a mortifying, remembrance behiod 
 them. The former, are renewed with applause and de- 
 light. 
 
 7. The pleasures of sense resemble a foammg torrent 
 which, after a disorderly course, speedily runs out, and 
 leaves an empty and offensive channel. But the pleas- 
 ures of devotion resemhk- the equable^' current of a pure 
 river, which enlivens the fields through which it passes, 
 and diffuses verdure and fertility along its banks. 
 
 8. To thee, C) Devotion ! we owe the highest improve* 
 ment of our nature, and much of the enjoyment of our 
 life. Thou art the support of our virtue, and the rest of 
 our souls, in this turbulent^ world. Thou composest the 
 thon-ghts. Thou calmest the passions. Thou exahest 
 the heart. Thy communications, and thine only, are im- 
 parted to the low, no less than to the high ; to the poor as 
 well as to the rich. 
 
 9. lii thy presence, worldly distinctions cease ; and un» 
 der thy influence, worldly sorrows are forgotten. Thou 
 art the balm« of the wounded" mind. Ti^y sanctuary is 
 ever open to the miserable; inaccessible only to the un- 
 righteous and impure.*' Thou beginnest on earth the 
 temper of heaven. In thee, the hosts of angels and bles- 
 sed spirits eternally rejoice. bi^air. 
 
 • Ter-res-tri-a1, tSi^r4»'-tre-^l, earthly, 
 not celestial 
 
 i L'u-mi-»ou8, li'-Tni-nfls, shining bright 
 
 e Al-ter-uate-ly, il-tir'-niie-lA, in recip- 
 rocal eucccKsion 
 
 d Or-bit, dr'-bk, the lino described by the 
 revolution of a planet 
 
 « Mys-tick, mls'-tlk, emblematical, ok 
 scure, secret 
 
 / Dia-pen-sfcr, <H»-pin'-sSr, one who 
 dispenses 
 
 fr Mu-nif-i-cence, iT)di-nir-ft-8in»e, lib- 
 erality, generosity 
 
 k ^-gen-cy, ii'-j<^Q-66, the quality or 
 state of acting 
 
 i Ax le, &k'-sl, the pin which riaiies 
 through the midst of a wheel 
 
 ) "Be-^pteft-dsBli f^pJda'-tJaiil, bright, 
 thmhig 
 
 SECTION XIV. 
 
 k Cir-cura-fe-rence, s|r-k&na'*ffc-rliWB, 
 
 space, circle 
 / E6-tx-n)atc, 2ii'-tA-mAte, to adjuit th« 
 
 vtiluc of 
 m Pro-dig-ious, pr^-dld'-jfie, monstroua, 
 
 amazing 
 n £-nor-niou3, k-n&t'-mht^ ezceedinshf 
 
 laree, wicked 
 o Ma-c-hine, m4-sj)^^n', an engine, a 
 
 carriage 
 p Centre, sSn'-fBr, the middle, middlt 
 
 point 
 q Ir-ra-di-ate, Ir-r&'-di-4te, to Adoni 
 
 with light 
 r Di-min-u-tive, d^-m1n'-n6-t!v, email, 
 
 little 
 g Pat-ri-mon-y, pit'-tri-mftn-nA, tm ea^ 
 
 tate poesesecd hj inheritaaoe 
 't Pit ?su»M, p^' tijig*, a wnall portSov 
 
T^jptonetOT^r tmd Urrestrial' xum'lis comparative^ c^nsid* 
 troL 
 
 Xn Td as, who dwell on its surface, the earth h by far 
 tht most extenaive orb that our eyes can any where be- 
 hoM : it is also cJotfted with verdure, distinguished by 
 tre€5s, and adorned with a variety of beautiful decorations ; 
 wh-ereas, to a spectator placed on one of the planets, it 
 wears a uniform aspect ; looks all luminous ;* and no lar- 
 ger tha« ?i spot. To beings who <iw<jil at >tiU greater 
 Sistaitcets it entirely disappears. That which we call al- 
 terffately*" the morning and ^v-ening star., (as m one part 
 of tbeorlMt^ she rides foremost in the procession of night, 
 in th« other ushers in and anticipates tlie dawn,) is a |)lan- 
 •ctary w«rld, 
 
 £. This planet and the four others that so wonderfully 
 vary th«ir mystic dance, are in theraselvts dark bodies, 
 and shine only fey iieilection : have fields, and seisis, and 
 skies, of their own ; are furnisbcd with all accoinraoda- 
 tioias for aoimal subsistence, and are supposed to be the 
 abode* of intellectual life ; all which, together with our 
 earthly habitation, are dependent on that grand dispenser^ 
 of Divine munificence,? trie sun ; receive their light from 
 the distribution of his rays, and derive their comiort from 
 his benign agency.* 
 
 3. The sun, which seems to perform its daily €tagrs 
 through the sky, is in this respect fixed and immovea- 
 ble : it is the great axle* of lieaven, about which the 
 j^lobe we inhabit, and other more spacious orbs, wheel 
 their stated courses. The sun, though seemingly smaller 
 than the dial it illuminates, is abundantly larger than thisl 
 w^ole earth, on which so aiany lofty mountains rise, and 
 cucb vast ocea n* roll, 
 
 4* A tine extending from side to side through the cen- 
 tre of that resjplendentJ orb, would measure more than 
 «ig!ht hundred thousand miles: n girdle formed to g« 
 round its circumference.* would ret^uire a length of mill- 
 idits. Wer« its solid contents to fte e^timated,7 the ac- 
 count would overwhelm our understanding, and be almost 
 beyond the power of language to express. Are we start* 
 ied at these reports of phik)sopby ! 
 
 5. Are we ready to cry out ia a tran-<]3ort of sunprise, 
 •♦How mighty is the Being who kindled so prodigious"* a 
 Sre; And keeps aUvQ, from age to age, so enormous"* 
 mas3 of flame !" let ua atteadfour philosophical guidea* 
 
^^rap. 9. Fromiscuous Tieces, tQ$ 
 
 and w« shall be brought acquainted ^vlth epecuI^llOiM^ 
 more enlarged and more inilaming. 
 
 6. This sun with all its attendant planets, is but a very 
 little part of the grand machine^ of the universe : every 
 star, though in appei^ranco no bigger than the diamond 
 tliai glitters upon a lad3^'s ring, is really a vast globe, like 
 tile sun in size and in gi**ry ; no less spacious, no less lu- 
 minous than the radiant source of day. So that every 
 star, is not barely a world, but the centre/* of a magnifi- 
 cent system; has a retinut; nf worlds irradiated'/ by its 
 beams, and revolving rianid ils attractive influence, all of 
 \Thich are lost to our sight in unmeasurable wilds of eth- 
 er. 
 
 7. That the stars appear like so many dhtfinutive, and 
 scarcely distinguishable points, is owing to their immense 
 and inconceivable distance. Immense and inconceivabln 
 indeed it is, since a ball, shot from the loaded cannon, and 
 ilying with unabated rapidity, must travel, at this impetu- 
 ous rate, almost seven hundred thousand years, before it 
 could reach the nearest of these twinkling luminaries. 
 
 8. While, beholding this vast expanse, 1 learn my own 
 extreme meanness, 1 would also discover the abject little- 
 ness of all terrestrial things. What is the eartli, with all 
 her ostentJ^tious scenes, eomnared with this astonishing 
 grand furniture of thtt skies i What, but a dim speck, 
 hardly perceivable in the map of the univrrse ? 
 
 9. it is observed by a very judicious writer, that if the 
 sun himself, which enlightens this part of the creation, 
 were extinguished, and all the host of plmetary worlds, 
 which move abcnit them, were annihilate d, they would 
 not be missed by an eye that can take in the whole com- 
 pass of nature, any more than a grain of sand upon the 
 sea-shore. Tlie bulk of which they consist, and the 
 space which they occupy, *nv so exceediugly little in com- 
 parison of the whole, tiiat their loss would scarcely leave 
 a blank in the imn^.ensity of' God's works. 
 
 10. If then, not. f»ur globe only, but thi^i whole system, 
 be so very diminutive, wlmt is a kingdom or a country ? 
 What are a few lordships, or the so much admn'ed patri- 
 monies' of those who are styled wealthy? When I meas- 
 ure them with iry own little pittance,' they swell into 
 proud and bloated' dimensions : but when 1 take the uni- 
 verse for my slandard, how scanty is their size.' how 
 contemptible their iigiire ! They shrmk into pompous no- 
 
 thilT^S. ADDlSOPf. 
 
 K 
 
194 Knonmh IIeabeji. Part 1., 
 
 SECTION XV. 
 
 '. lived in the agfc of Homer 
 
 « Ha biL-u at*, hA-W:£h'-&ite, to a 
 
 custotn, to use one's self by f/e-iP 
 
 quonl ropetitions 
 / Su-y)cr-iiu-mor ary, 8&-p?r-n^j'-m8r»i» 
 
 ftr-i, being above a mated, a ueoen-ii 
 
 sary, uuuul, or h rouiul number. 
 V lD-R'^;n-si bly, ii)-s5n'-bi-bi6, impor-fi 
 
 tX'ptibly 
 
 #tTMer-ly, 6f-Af-U, fully, comprct- 
 ly, pBTfoclly 
 
 # 8e-n-efl, si''th'i>ty sucoeasioti course. 
 
 order 
 
 # Fy-thag-oran, pUthAg'^A-rAs, a enle- 
 
 bratcil philoa«phor, born at Sasnos ; 
 K« di*xi oiiout 4U7 years bo 
 Chrial 
 4 He-ni-od, hS'-ihi i.i, a celebrated po 
 *!, borik at Ascra in iioeotia ; he 
 
 On the power ef custom, and the nsts to which it may he ap^ 
 "plkd 
 
 t. There is not a common saying, which has a bctterr 
 turn of sense m it» than what "vve often hear in the mouthsi 
 •f the vulgar, that ' Custom iis a second nature/ It is in- 
 deed able to form the man anew ; and give liim inclina- 
 tions and capacities altogether diiferent from those he wasi 
 h^rn with. 
 
 £. A person who is addicted to pljiy or gaminp;, thought 
 he took but little delight in it at first, by d«3,i;rces contract*! 
 •o strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself upp 
 to •ntireiy to it, that it seems the only end of his being^, 
 The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a mang 
 Insensibly, as he is conversant in the on^i or the other, tilj 
 be i« utterly* unqualified for relishing that to which 1" 
 has been for some time disused. 
 
 5. Nay, a man may smoke, or drink, or take snuff, til 
 he is unable to pass away his time without it ; hot to maw' 
 tioit how our delight in any particular study, art, or sci- 
 ence, rises and improves, in proportion to the application 
 which we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an 
 exercise, becomes at length an entertainment. Our em- 
 ployments are changed into diversions. The mind gvo"" 
 fond of those actions it is accustomed to ; and is drai 
 with reluctancy from those patlis in which it has bei 
 used to walk. 
 
 4. If we attentively consider this property of hum; 
 Dature, it may instruct us in very fine moi-alities. In t 
 irst place, I would have no man discouraged with th 
 kind of life, or series* of action, in which the choice i 
 •thers, or his own necessities, mav have engaged hinii 
 It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him, at hrst ; but 
 use ami application will certainly render it not only kde« 
 painful, but plea.-!ing and satisfactory. 
 
 6. In the second place, I wotJd recommend to t^ery 
 
 ^4 
 
One, the admirable precept, which Pythagoras' Js said to 
 have given to liis oiscij^l^^s, and \vhi<-h that philosopher 
 must have drawn from the observation 1 have enln.rp^td 
 upon: ** Pitch upon that course of life nhich ii* the most 
 excellent, and custom "vvil render it {hit most delightful.' 
 
 6. Mc'), wl;o!-e circuinstanci-s nijl pcriiii- them to 
 choose their own way ol life, are inexcusable if tiiey do 
 not pursu.*. tiiat Avhich their judj^men'. tells ihcm h the 
 most lauv!able. The voice of reason is more to be re- 
 
 farded, than the bent of any present inclinativ^.n ; since, 
 y the rule above-mentioned, incIinatK)n will at length 
 come over to reason, though we can never force reason, 
 to comply with inclination. 
 
 7. In the *hird place, this observation may teach the 
 most sensual and irreligious man, to overlook those hard- 
 ships and dilTiculties, which are apt to discouragu him 
 from the prosecution of a virtuous lif»^. *' The Gods,** 
 said Hesiod,'' ** have placed labour before virtue ; the way 
 to her is at first rough and diflicult, but ^rows more 
 Rraooth and easy the fiirtber we advance in it.'* The 
 man who proceeus in it with stendiucas and resolution, 
 will, in a little time, find that ** her ways are ways of 
 pleasantness, and that all her }>aths are pAace." 
 
 8. To enforce this consideration, we may lurther ob- 
 serve, that the practice of religion will not only be at- 
 tended with thut pleasure which naturally accompanies 
 those actions to which we are habituated,' but w ith those 
 Bupernumerary/ joys of heart, that ris«^ from the con- 
 sciousness of such a pleasure ; from the satisfaction of 
 acting up to the dictates of reason ; and from the pros- 
 pect of a happy immortality. 
 
 9. In the fourth place, we may learn from this ob&er- 
 Tation which we have made on the mind of man, to take 
 particular care, when we are once sittled in a regular 
 course of hfe, how we frequently indulge ourselves in 
 even the most innocent diversions j:nd entertainments ; 
 since the mind may insensibly? fall off from the rcli?h of 
 virtuous actions, and by degrees, exchange Ihat pleas- 
 ure which it takes in the performance of its duty, for de- 
 lights of a much inferior i.nd an unprofitable nature. 
 
 10. The last use which I shall mike of this remarka- 
 ble property in human nature, of being delighted with 
 those actions to which it is acxrufclomed, is, to show how 
 ubsolutelv necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue 
 in this lil£, if we wduld enjc^ Ibe Measures of the o£Zi* 
 
t9f| K56LISU Keai>er. Fart 1. 
 
 The gt;rt€ of bliss we call heaven, will not he capable of 
 affecting those minds which are not thus qualiliea for it : 
 we must, in this world, j^ain a relish for truth and virtue, 
 if we would he a!)U^ to taste that knowjedj^e and perfec- 
 tion, which arci lo make us h' opy in the next. 
 
 II. The scu?ds of those spiritual joys <\n{\ raptures, 
 which are to rise up and flourish in the. soul to all eterni- 
 ty, must be planted in it during tiiis its present state of 
 jirohation. in short, heaven is not to ho looked upon 
 only as tiie reward, but as the natural effect of a reli- ^ 
 ^ious life. ADDisopf. 
 
 SECTION XYl. 
 
 « Re-sult, r^-z?iit', effect, resolve |c Leg-i-ble, IW^ji-bl, such as may bt ■ 
 
 k F>ic-«il-ty, r^k'-6l-i^, RbiiiLy, rcuaon, read 
 dexterity J 
 
 The pleasures resulting^ from o. proper use of our faculties ^ 
 
 1. Happy that man, who, unembarrassed by vulgar 
 cares, master of himself, his time, and fortune, spends 
 his lime in nlaking himself wiser, and his fortune, m 
 making others (and therefore himself) happier : who, as 
 the will and understanding are the two ennobling facul- 
 ties of the soul, thinks himself not complete, till his un- 
 derstanding is beautiful with the valuable furniture of 
 knowledge, as well as his will enriched with every vir- 
 tue; who has furnished himself with all the advantages 
 to relish solitude, and enliven conversation; who, when 
 serious, is not suileu ; and wJien cheerful, not indiscreetly 
 |;ay; whose ambition is, not to be admired for a false 
 glare of greatness, l>ut to be beloved for the gentle and 
 sober lustre of his wisdom arid goodness. 
 
 3,' The greatest minister of state has not more business 
 to do, in a public capacity, than he, and indeed every 
 other i4iian,may find m the retired and still scenes of life. 
 Even in his private walks, everything th<it is visible con- 
 vinces him tliere is present a Being invisible. Aided by 
 natural piiilosophy, he reads plain legible^ traces of the 
 Divinity in every thing he meets : he sees the Deity in 
 every tree, as well as Moses did in the burning bush. 
 tJiough not in so glaring a manner : and when he see.^ i 
 bim, ne adores him with the tribute of a grateful heart. 
 
 BEEit, 
 
ij$^, ft, riLOziiecwous l*l»ci». 
 
 SECTION XVII. 
 
 / Cen-so-ri-ou 
 la ceniiur* 
 g Coi5--<lrui:-tinn,k6fj-8trftk'-8liRii, bu'tli^ 
 
 h ri,\-ieo-u-aic, ikij-tdn'-6-Ito, tu l«Mea, 
 
 pnlliute 
 « Dia-a-vow, d!*-ft-v6u', to disown, dow? 
 j I'urn-mijier-ate, k6ni-miz'-ir-iil«, l« 
 
 j)it/, l<» synipathi/e wi ii 
 
 « BlRn-<Hiih-ra»nt, bHln'-i3!»h-nn^nt, act / Cen-so-ri-ou8, iSa-i^'-r^-Ca, 
 
 of ton(ineM, kind »pccchf« la ceniiur* 
 
 h Cre-du-li-ly, kri-d6'-U-t*, ©ajiinass of 
 
 • Cotii-inen da ble, kom'-m^n-ilA-bl 
 
 laudatdo, worthy of prjuse? 
 i D« 'Rm-ft-lor-y, v.i fAin'-^-tfir-i, ca- 
 
 luiPoi'Mi'", slai-derou* 
 « Su;,'jr«.s-ti..n. sn); jii'-uhfin, privau 
 
 hint, iatimatitiu 
 
 Descripthn of Candour. 
 
 1. Trde candour is aUo^ttherdifTerent from that gnard- 
 eil, inoflensivr language, and that studied openness of be- 
 haviour, wUich wti so frequ<intly niet-t with amorj^ men of 
 tlie world. Smiling, very i^rttn, is the aspect, and sniootli 
 are rhe words, of tliose who inuardiy are the m^st ready 
 to tliink evil of others. Th:»t candour which is a Chris- 
 tian virtue, consists, not in fyirness of speech, but in fair- 
 ness of heart. 
 
 2. It may want the hlandishm<*nts« of i\\ternal cour- 
 tesy, ?)ut suppHes il.'i place ^^ith .a humane and jreneroun 
 lihe'rahty of s^'utiment. Its maniiera are unaflVctcd, and 
 its professions cordial. iCxempt, on one h-md, from the 
 dark jealousy of ;i sus}»lcious mind, it is tto less remov- 
 ed, on the other, from that easy credulity* wliich is im- 
 posed on by every specious })retence. It is [»evfectly 
 consistent witli exten^jv*' k!vo\Nlede:e of the world, and 
 with due attention to our own saiViy. 
 
 3. In tliat vari(»us intercourse, wliich we are obliged 
 to c.'.rry on with persons of every dilferent character, 
 suspicion, to a ctitain de^rree, is a necessary ^uard. It 
 is only when it exceeds the bmnuk of prudent caution, 
 that it degenerates into vice. ^ There is a pro})er mean 
 between tindistin^^nished en dulity, and universal jeal- 
 ousy, which a sound underslanum}c ciiscerns, and which 
 the man of candour t^tudins to preserve. . . 
 
 4. He m-r'krs idlow anco for the inixiufr of evil with 
 
 food, >''hich is to he found in ever}^ hiinum character. — 
 ie expects nr^ne to be faultless ; uiA he is unwiliin<;j to 
 believe that there is r.ny without 6<une comj.u'ndable* 
 qualities, in \\\t midst of many defects, he can discov- 
 er a virtue. Under the inOuen* e of personal ies%»ntmenl, 
 he can be just to the merit of an enemy. 
 
 5. He never lends an open ear to those defamatory^ rm^ 
 pcaKB uid dRTk 9\igg<?€rtions,' which, Ainon£ th« trrfea fJlP 
 
fjie censorious/ circulate with so much rapidit3r, and niewt . 
 with so ready aci-.eptanct^. ll^t is not hasty to ju(J;i:e ; and 
 he requires full evidence bfjfore he %vi!l coiidpjiin. A6 
 tons Hi an action c:in he ascribod to different m')tives, he 
 hoius it «3 no jnark of sagacity to impute it HJwaya to 
 the worst. * 
 
 G. 'Vh* re there is just groimd for doubt, h*; ke^pa his 
 iudjrment undt'cided ; and, during the p'jriud of sui^pense, 
 Jean^ to the jnorit chiifitahle c*>nstructit):u -vvhicli fxn ac- 
 tion can hear. Wh-n he must condemn, he condemus 
 with regret ; and witliout thoi>e aj^j^riivatiuns which tiie 
 ■ererity of others adds to the crime, lie listens calmly 
 to the apoloj^y of the oliender, and readily adn>lts every 
 extenuating'' circumstance, which equity can sugj;e?t. 
 
 7. How much soever he may hhime the principles of 
 any sect or j)arty, he never conTounds, under one jz;i-neral 
 censure, all whiihelonii; to that party or sect. He charg- 
 es them not v/iih such conse(iuence3 of their tenets, as 
 they refuse and disavow.* From one wrcmji; ojiinion, he 
 <loes not infer the subversion of all sound princ?ple3 ; nor 
 from one had action, conclude that all regard to con- 
 science is overthrown. 
 
 8. When he '' hehcdds the mote in his brother's eye," 
 ho remembers " the beam in his own." He commiser- 
 ates-' human frailty ; and jtid^e.-j of others according to 
 the principles, by which he would thirik it reasonable 
 that they should judp;e of him. In a word, he views men 
 and actions in the clear sunshine of charity and ^ood na- 
 ture ; and not in that dark and sullen shade which jeal- 
 ousy and party-spirit throw over all characters. 
 
 BLAIE, 
 
 SJiLCTION XVlIi. 
 
 « Em-beMUh, fm-til'-llsh, to ujornj* Uaf flo, hkf-Q, to ehidc, coRfonnd 
 
 beautify 
 h ProB-o-c»» tioD, pri«-«i-'k6'-flh£n, pjir- 
 
 BUit, suit w) law 
 « Dex-usr-i-iy, <JiJis-iir'-i-ti, nclivity, 
 
 •kill 
 4 ^trat-H gem, »ti4t'-tA-j«ni, an orufice. 
 P & trick 
 
 # Tii-rte* «ant, Tn-pJs'-aJVnt, continnnl 
 / Vijf-il ant, vTti -jU-aia, watch fu', nt 
 
 t^ntiye I 
 
 g Me-U'-ur, ai4'-t^5r, a transitory bod/ 
 
 in tbe air, h vH;>«tuF 
 
 t P 'ti PWHJ ' ^ ^ 
 
 ;■ lian-^uish, !An,? j»w!>ih, to pine away 
 k P!en-i-iude, ;;l2n'-ni-»6de, fiilneai 
 I Stt ti-o-ty, sA'tl'-fS-tr, lulnoM beyond 
 
 (fcisi-H or p'.ftnBiire 
 m Cor-rode, k6r-rA(le', to euior w«a» 
 
 n.vfiy ;n''Hlually 
 /I Gnnw, liAw, to bite and eat by d** 
 
 {.'re.-»8 
 o Ftjs-tor, fifi'-tfir, to nur««, «up[»ort 
 p Ed-i fico, fici'-i'-fis, « labfick, abuiUI 
 
 q In-Ru-spic-ious, In-iw-spMi'-li, «a» 
 fertuuf 1«, ■' 
 
i^hitfL 9. lfftOMI!iCV</Vi t*IH«««. MM 
 
 r TT«cHd-tn-rY, trAu'-«i*lSr-i, cooliitulc LaiM«, rAp«e,fr> (<tttbf 4tagi<raB, i«^ 
 inj; a lihorttimo hj Inndvorjency 
 
 I • Dt»-( rm»;, di-klinB^, to dcviaVp, to run a But ti«u, s&f-f Iza , to b« sviBaADOel 
 I ifito oh'iquitiea, to ahun, to ecfuso 1 
 
 • On the imperfection of that happiness trhich rests 9oldy 011 
 worldly pleasures, 
 
 1. TnE vnnit)^ of human ploa^urcs, is a topic which 
 mi(i:ht be einhf^llisned" with ihf! pomp of mucii il^-scrip- - 
 tion. ,^^\\i I sh;<ll stiHiitiuifiy avoid fxjtjrgreniiion, and oi»» 
 ly poit.t oul a thrcfjfold vanity in hiuiian lilc, \Nliich «▼• 
 cry impartiMl oh?r.rver cannot but admit; disappoint* 
 mrnt in pursuit, dissatisfaction in enjoyment, uncertain- 
 ty in jK)Psession. 
 
 2. Firtrt, disappointment in pursuit. When we looli 
 around us on the world, we every wliere behtdd a bu«j 
 multitude, intent on the prosecunon'' of various df*ign§, 
 whicf) their wants or desires Kav»» suggested. We b*» 
 hold them employing every metiiod which ingenuity can 
 devise; some the patience of industry, some thtt bold- 
 ness of enternriije, others the dextenty*^ of «trata^«IS^^ 
 in order to compass their ends. 
 
 ^. Of this incessant* stir anii activity, what is th« fVuit I 
 In com})arison of the crowd who have toiled in vain, how 
 small is the number of the successful ? Or rather wher* 
 is the man who will declare, that in every point h« bat 
 comj)leted his plan, and attained his utmost wish ? 
 
 4. No extent of human abilities has been able to dl»» 
 cover a path which, in any line of lif^s leads unerringly 
 to success. The race is nivt always to the swift, Dor tn« 
 battle to the strong, nor riches to men of understandinjg.* 
 We may form our plans with the most profound sagacity^ 
 Mud with the most vigil.inU/" caution may guard againil 
 dHng;ers on every side. lUit some unforeseen occurrenss 
 coines across, w hich bafiles our wisdom, and lays our !*• 
 bour in the dust. 
 
 5. Were such disappointments confined to those wh« 
 asj>ire at engrossing tne higher departments of life, th« 
 misfortune would he less. The humiliation of the rnigh* 
 ty, and the fall (jf ambition from its towering height, lit- 
 tle concern the bulk of mankind. These are objects on 
 which, as on distant meteors,^ they ^'aze fromaTar, with- 
 out drawing personal, instruction from event* so much 
 Above them. 
 
 6. Kut alas! when we descend into the resion» of pr^. 
 «ate Ui«« w« find diaa&oointtDi'nt aod bi«st«4 sp^w '«!««<:? 
 
%4» lilNGLisa RfiADKR. Jpart i^, 
 
 *iy prevalent there. Neither the moderation of onrYiews^ 
 
 nor the justice of our pretentions, can ensure success. 
 But ** time and chance happen to ail." Against the 
 stream of events, both the worthy and the undeserving 
 are obliged to struggle ; and both are freqaently over* 
 Dorne alike by t!ie current. 
 
 7. Besides disappointment ir^ pursuit, dissatisfa-ction in 
 enjoyment is a farther vanity, to which the human state is 
 subject. This is the severent of all ^ mortifications f after 
 having been sufcessfui'' in the pursuit, to be baffled' in the 
 enjoyment itself. Yet this is foimd to be. an evil still 
 more general than the former, hjome may be so fortu- 
 nate as to attain what they ha^'e pui-sued ; but none are 
 rendered completely haj^py by wiiat they have attained. 
 
 8. Disappointed homiis misery : and yet successful hope j 
 is only imperfect bliss. Look throu;^h all the ranks of ] 
 mankind. Exaii;ine the condition ot thoai^. who appear 
 most prosperous : and you wiii firul that they are never ' 
 just what they desire to be. If retired, tiiey languishi 
 Tor action ; if busy, they complain of fatigue. If ia 
 middle hfe^ they are im})atient for distinction ; if in b:gh 
 •lations^ they sigh aft^r freedom and <uise. 
 
 9. Sometliing is still wanting to that plenitude^ of sat- 
 isfaction, which they expected to acquire. Together 
 with every wish that is gratifi'ed, a new cLtMioand arises. 
 One void opens in the heiul, as another is iilled. On 
 wishes, wishes grov/; and to the end, it is rather the exr 
 pectation of what tliey hav(< not, tiuio the enjojniient of 
 what they have, whicli occupies and interests the most 
 euccessfuL 
 
 7. This dissatisfaction in the midst of human pleas- 
 ure, springs partly from the nature of oar enjoymenta 
 themselves, and partly f.om circimi-svancfs which cor- 
 rupt them. No worldly erijoyments ar<' i«deqnaCc to the 
 hi^h desires and povvers'oi' an imiDortdl spirit. Fancy 
 pamts tliem at a disttnc^j w^ith spjcn^jii eoiours ; hui pos- 
 session unveils the fall.icy. 
 
 11. The eagerness of j)assi6n Nestor:* up'^'^ them, ^i 
 first, a brisk and lively relish.' Bat it is tb. ir i'.\Ui ai'>va^9 
 to pall by familiarity, and soiijiiri^nea to pass from satie- 
 ty' into disgust. l:Sapj)y would f tie poor man think 
 Ittmsclf, if he could enter on aU fbe riisi^&ures of the 
 ipich ; and happy for a short tiii)e Le might b« : but be- 
 foee h« hiul long coKt«M(>i4)l«tt:d auO admirtWj his i-tate. bis 
 
oflsesslonB would seem to lesseix, and his gat** wtmld 
 
 row. 
 12. Add to the unsatisfyintj; nature of our pleasures^ 
 the atttnding circurnstancts which never fail to corrupt 
 them. Fpr, sucli as they are, tlicy arc at no time pos- 
 si ss;.d uurnixpfl. To human lips it is not pjiven to taste 
 the cup of pure joy. vV htn external circunistances show 
 fairest to the worM, the envied man groans in private un- 
 der his oivn burden. 
 
 \^. Some vexation disquiets, some passion corrodes'* 
 him ; some distress, eith< r felt or llared, gnaws» like a 
 worn, tilt* root of his felicity. When there is nothing 
 from withfMit to disturh \\\v. prosperous, a secret poison 
 operaT< rt within. For worldly happin»*ss ever tends to 
 destroy itstlf, by corruptinjf; the heart. It fosters-' i\\Q> 
 loose and the violetjt passions. It engenders noxious 
 .habits; and taints the n/uid with false- delicacy, which 
 makes it feel a thousand unreal evils. 
 
 14. Kut put the case in the most favourable light. Lay 
 ftside from lumian pleasures both disappointment ii> pur 
 Buit, and deceitfulness in enjoyment; suj)pose them tob« 
 fully attainable, and completely satisfactory ; still there 
 remains to be considered the vanity of uncertain posses- 
 sion and short duration. Were t^.ere in worldly thing» 
 vany fixed point of security which we could gain, the mind 
 would then have some basis on which to rest. 
 
 15. l>ut our condition is such, tliat every thing waverf 
 und totters around us. *'J>oast not thyself of to-mor- 
 row ; for thou knowcst not what a day may bring forth." 
 it is much if, during its course, thou hearestnot of some- 
 wiiat to disQuif t or alarm thee. For life never proceed* 
 long in a uniform train. It is continually varied by un- 
 .^xpected events. 
 
 10. The seeds of alteration are every where sown; 
 ,«nd the sunshine of prosperity commonly acceleratcii 
 their growth, if our enjoyments are numerous, we lift 
 ^more open on different sides to be W(>unded. If we 
 have possessed them long, we have greater cause to dread 
 an aj)proa('hir)g change. J3y slow degrees prosperity 
 rises; but ra}>id is the progress of evil. It requires no 
 preparation to bring it forward. 
 
 17. The edifice^' which it costs much time and labour 
 t> erect, one im:uspi<iious* event, one sudden blow, can 
 level with the dust. PiVen supposing the accidents qf 
 life to leave us untouched, human bliss must still be trail- 
 
VA 
 
 W^^iLium fizjomm^ 
 
 J^tri %. 
 
 ^Jtoryr ft^r n^<*tt fhangps of hlmg^^lf. No CH^ursa of en- 
 ioyment can ddij;ht uh Innj;. What anHi3cd our youth, 
 l(»5e3 its charm in maturer R^ft. As years advance, our 
 powers are himited, and our plf^;ii<'.ii'aljle ftvWi)^'* decline,* 
 
 18. The silent lapse' of time is ever earning Hcjme- 
 what from u^^, till at lenj:[;t]i tlie p*-viod ceme.g, wtjen all 
 must be swept awa)-. The jirospet t of tir.s termination 
 of our Jabours and puri<uit5, is sufficient to mark our 
 rtate with vanity. '* Our days are a hand's breadth, an(} 
 our age is as nolhinj!;." Within that li t»e space is all 
 our enterprise l)j>ii nded. We crowd it with toils and 
 cares, with conlenttiui and strife. We project ,^reat dc- 
 si{:;ns, <M.tertain h\i:j-i hopes, and then leave'our plans un-^ 
 fiiiished, and sink into oblivion. 
 
 19. This nriueh let it suflice" to have said concerning 
 the vanity of tiie world. That too much has not heer> 
 xaid. nuist ap})ear to every one who considers how gen- 
 erally mankind lean to the opposite sid?i ; and how often 
 bv undue attachment to the present state, they both feed 
 the most sinful passions, and " pierce themselves through 
 with many sorrows." blair. 
 
 SKCTiON XIX. 
 
 d Ror-nn-«;iIe, ri^k'-fin-alle, to cumpoa* 
 
 (liH'eiencert 
 c Vrc.t'-i'p.T, praK' ftV, to propose, offer 
 / Baim-ti-fui, WAn'-t*-fil, liberal, jcw- 
 
 erous 
 
 ■ Con-r.«»!c-(»!nn, k«^n-»e?*'-ii}iiin, tlte net 
 
 (ff yi..Iilii.g,Hgraiit 
 i Rep-ro-itKn-ta-luni, rftp-pr'^-zJii-t^'- 
 
 « Ri»c-ol-lec-tic)ii, rMv-k6i l^k'-shftn, a 
 revival in the roemory 
 
 fVhat are the real and solid cnjoipnmts of human life, 
 
 1. It must be admittt^d, that unmixed and complete 
 happiness is unknown on earth. No re{:;ulation of con- 
 duct can altof^ether ])revent j)assions from disturbing our 
 peace, and misfortunes from wounding our heart. 
 
 2. JJut after this concession is made, wilUt follow, that 
 there is no object on earth which deserves our pursuit, or 
 that all enjoyment becomes contemptible which is not 
 perfect? Let us survey our state with an impartial eye^ 
 and be just to the various gifts of Heaven. How vain 
 soever tiiis life, considered in itself, may he, the comfort* 
 and hopes of religion are sutlicient to give solidity to 
 the enjoyments of the righteous. 
 
 8. fn the exercise of ^ood affections, ;\nd the testimony 
 •f an approving conscience ; in the sense of peace and 
 ftconcihation with God, through the great Rf;t5«»«roer ol 
 
mankind; in tho firm confideuoe of b«j{iff , _ ,^ 
 iyirough all the trials ©f life, by infinite Vvisdom j 
 Goodness ; and in the joyful prospect of anivinj^, in th# 
 end, at immortal felicity ; they post-ess a hnfpjiinesslvhieh* 
 descending from a purer arrd more perfect region thafe 
 this world, partakes not of its vanity. 
 
 4. J^esides the enjoyments peculiar to religion, thef* 
 are other pleasures of our present state, tA'hic.h» though of 
 an inferior order, must not he overlooked in the estimntt 
 of human life. It is necessary to call attention to thcs^, 
 in order to check that repining and unthankful spirit 14 
 "which m?sn is always too prone. 
 
 6. Some degree of importance must he allowed to tb« 
 comforts of health, to the innocent gratifications of senses 
 and to the entertainment ailorded us by all the beautiful 
 Bcenes of nature ; some to the pursuits and harmlcM 
 amusements of social life ; and more to the internal enjoy- 
 ments of thought and reflection, and to the pleasurti a# 
 affectionate intercourse with those whom we love. 
 
 6. These comforts are often held in too low eatimatioi^ 
 merely because they are ordinary and common : altbou^ 
 that is the circumstance which ou^ht, in reason, to «!• 
 hance their value. They lie open, ni some degree, to all ; 
 extend through every rank of life ; and fill up agreeably 
 many of those spaces in our present existence, w-nii'har« 
 not occupied with higher objects, or with seriouB cares. 
 
 7. From this representation* it appears that, notwitb- 
 standing the vanity of the world, a considerable degree 
 of comfort is attainable in the present state. Let the rt» 
 collection*^ of this serve to reconcile*^ us to our conditioD;^ 
 and to repress the arrogance of complaints and murnjur*^ 
 What art thou, O son of man ! who, having sprung but 
 yesterday out of the dust, darest to lift up thy roic* »• 
 gainst thy Maker, and to arraign his providence, becauM 
 all things are not ordered according to thy wish ? 
 
 0. What title hast thou to find f:.ult with the order of 
 the universe, whose lot is so much beyond what th_y vii* 
 tue or merit gave thee ground to cinim I Is it nothing l» 
 thee to have been introduced into this magnificent worldj 
 to have been admitted as a spectator of the Divine wii^ 
 dom and works; and to have had access to all tha ccib^ 
 forts which nature, with a bountiful hand, ha» pounrtl 
 forth around thee ? Are all the houra forgotten wUsI^ 
 thou hast passed in ear«, in complacency, %r j^ I 
 
 ^ is it a fmol' fare l^^n thy aywt^ t^ 
 
i(^« ExafiisK Ekader. Part I 
 
 firte Mercy has been stretched forth to aid tliee ; and *. 
 
 thou reject not its proffered assistance, is ready to con- 
 duct thee to a happier state of existence ? When thov 
 comparest th)' conaition with thy desert, blush, and bu 
 ashamed of thy complaints. Be silent, be grateful and 
 adore. Receive with thankfulness the blessings which 
 are allowed thee. Revere that government whicn at pres* 
 ent refuses thee more. Rest in this conclusion, tliat 
 though there are evils in the wo^rld, its Creator is wiae 
 and gooa, and has been bountiful/" to thee. blair. 
 
 SECTION XX. 
 
 tt Mass, mis, a body, the cervice of thc'|/i: Sev-er, s2v'-v3r, to force asunder 
 Roman church \l In-slinct, In'-ntlnkt, ths power whic^i 
 
 d-etcrrnini's the will of brutes \ 
 
 m Ex-u-be-rant, §gz-6'-b^-rAiit, orernr j 
 
 hundant, supcrflnoHsly plenteous 
 n Spec i fy, spes'-s^-fl, to nterition, to 
 show by some, particular mftrk 
 
 Di- vers, dl'-v^rz,6evcral, sundry, ma* i 
 ">' 
 
 /t Tran-fiit-ion, trAn-s!zh'-Sn, pasgagO) 
 
 chnnge 
 b In ior-riie-d>-ate,!Q-tSr-mA'tW-ite, ii>* 
 tervoiiing 
 De-du-ci-b.e, di-d/j'-eS-bl, coliectibrti 
 
 by rcr-oou 
 Pari ty, p^-ri-i-^, equality, reseo*- 
 biance 
 t DeK-v«-ca bl»5, dJK'-pi-ItA-bl, opDt«mj>* 
 
 1 tiblo, laeun, viie 
 
 Scale of Beings. 
 
 1. Though the^c is a great deal of pleasure in cpntem* 
 platinf^ the material world : by which 1 mean, that sys- 
 lem of bodies, into which nature has so curiously wrought 
 the mass" of dead matter, with the several relations that 
 those bodies bear to one another ; there is still, methinks, 
 something more wonderful and surprising, in contempla- 
 tions* on tjie world of life ; by which 1 intend, all those 
 animals with which every part of ihe universe is furnish- 
 ed. The material worbfis only the shell of the universe : 
 the world of hfe are its inhabitants. 
 
 2, If we consider those parts of ths material world, 
 which lie nearest to us, and are therefore subje'^l to o!ir 
 observation, and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the 
 Infinity of animals with which they are stocked. Every 
 part oY matter is peopled ; every green leaf swarms .>vitn 
 Anbabitan4:9. There is scarcely a single hymour id fh^ 
 
 b Con-tem-pla-tion, k6n-t5m-p]A'-Eh5n 
 
 nifiditation, study 
 c Myr-i-ad, mk'-r6 Ad, ten tlirtusand 
 d Cell, sfil, a small cavity, tho cave of ff 
 
 rniigiou^ I>erson 
 c Cav-i-ty, k4v'-^-td, hollo wness, a ho! 
 
 low 
 / Teem, ti^tn, to bring forth vouog, tc 
 
 be full 
 g A'nal-o-gy,A-nir-16-ji, a resemblance 
 
 between things 
 •A Com-rou-ni-ca-tive, k6m-mfi'-n6-k\- 
 
 l!v, apt to communicate 
 ^Spoc-u-la-lion, sp^.k-6-l4'-shfin, ameu- 
 
 tal view, a schenin 
 jf Cone, k6nej a eoiid body like a su 
 
 gar loaf 
 
horfy of a man, or of any other animal, m wfrlcb otr 
 glasses do not discover myriads^" of living creatures, 
 
 S. We find, even in the most solid bodies, as in marble 
 itself, innumerable cells'' and cavities,* which are crowded 
 with imperceptible inhabitants, too little for tlie nake(J 
 eye to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the 
 more bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and 
 rivers, teeming/ Avith numberless kindsoflivirjgcreaturea. 
 We find every mountain and marsh, wi'derness and wood, 
 plentifully stocked with birds i^nd beasts; and every part 
 of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniences, 
 for tlic livelihood hf the multitudes which inhabit it. 
 
 4. The author of ♦* the Plurality of Worlds," draws a 
 very good arg;ument from this consideration, fur the poo- 
 
 f>fing of every planet; as indeed it seems very probuble, 
 rom the analogy^ of reason, that if no part' of matter, 
 with which we are acquainted, lies waste and useless, 
 those great bodies, which are at such a distance from us, 
 are not desert and unpeopled ; but rather, that they are 
 furnished With beings adapted to their respective situa- 
 tions. 
 
 5. Existence is a blessing to tjhose beings only which 
 arc endowed with perception : and is in a manner thrown 
 away upon dead matter, any farther than as it is subserv- 
 ient to beings which arc c(mscious of their existence,t-T 
 Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our 
 .observation, that matter is only made as the basis and 
 support of animals : and that there is no more of the 
 one than what is necessary for the existence of the other. 
 
 6. Infinite goodness is of so communicative* a nature, 
 that it seems to delight in conferring existence upon eve- 
 ry degree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation,* 
 which 1 have often pursued with great pleasure to my- 
 self, 1 shall enlarge farther upon it, by considermg that 
 part of the scale of beings, wiiich corner within our 
 knowledge. 
 
 7. There are some living creatures, which are raised 
 but just above dead matter. To mention only that spe- 
 cies of sliell-fish, which is formed in the fashion of a 
 cone^ that grows to the surface of several rocks; and 
 mxmediatelv dies, on being severed from the place where 
 Jtgrew. There are many other creatures but one re* 
 move from these, which have no other sense than that of 
 
 j feeling and taste. Others have still an additional one of 
 liearing; others of smell ; and others of sight. 
 8 
 
Ml JBitMinateak. J»rri 
 
 •- it Is nonderfhl to obserrc, by what a gmdittal prtfh 
 
 ?rc98 the world of life advances, through a prodigious w 
 iety of species, before a creature is formed, that is comi> 
 plete in all its senses: and even among these, there is 
 Buch a diffeFent degree of perfection, in the sense which 
 one animal enjoys beyond what appears in another, that 
 though the sense in different animals is distinguished by 
 the same common denomination, it seems almost of a 
 different nature. 
 
 9. If, after this, we look into the several inward per- 
 fections of cunning and sag;icit5% or what we genel*ally 
 call iiTsti net,' we find them rising, after the same manner, v 
 imperceptibly one above another ; and receiving addi- ' 
 tional improvements, according to the species, in which 
 they are implanted. This progress in nature is so very 
 gradual, that the most perfect of an inferior speciea 
 comes very near to the most imperfect of that which ii 
 immediately above it. 
 
 10. The exuberant'" Snd overflowing goodness of tb© 
 Supreme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, ii 
 plamly seen, as J have before hinted, in his having madd 
 so very little matter, at least what falls within our know- 
 ledge, that does not swarm with life. Nor is his good- 
 ness less seen in the diversity, than in the multitude of 
 living creatures. Had he made but one species of ani- 
 mals, none of the rest would have enjoyed the happiness 
 of existence : he has, therefore, specijied" in his creation, 
 every degreeof life, every capacity of being. 
 
 11. The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, 
 18 filled up with divera" kinds of creatures, rising one af- 
 ter another, by an ascent so gentle and easy, that the lit- 
 tle transitions^ and deviations from one species to anoth- 
 er, are almost insensible. This intermediate^ space is so 
 well husbanded and managed, that there is scarcely a de- 
 gree of perception, which does not appear in some one 
 part of the world of life. Is the goodness, or the wis- 
 dom of the Divine Being, more manifested in this his 
 proceeding ? 
 
 12^ There is a consequence, besides those I have alrea- 
 dy menHoned, which seems very naturally d<'ducible^ from 
 the foregoing considerations, if the scale of being rises 
 by so regular a progress, so high as man, we may, by 
 parity of reason, suppose, that it still proceeds gradually 
 through those beings which are of a superior natura to 
 bioi ; siaoft there ii infinitely greater space and room lor 
 
Chofi, tw 
 
 rAoni»x:v»C« ftc«jE». 
 
 flifTeirnt degrc?«8 of pei*fect1(»n, betive<»n fh« Stmrc^meBfi^ 
 |ng and man, tlian between man and the most aebpicable» 
 insect. 
 
 IS. In this gjrcat syst<?m of hein?^, thpre is no crp.atar* 
 BO wonderful in its nature, and which so much deservfa 
 our particular attention, as m-in ; wiio fills up the niiddl'i 
 space between the animal and tlif intellectual nature, th« 
 visible and the invisible world : and who is tiiat link in 
 the chain of being, which forms the connexions between 
 both. Sotliat he who, in one reepect is as$eciated with 
 anjrels and archan^,tls, and may look upon a Being of 
 infinite perfecrion as hia fiither, and the highest order of 
 ipirits as his hretiiren, may, in arujther respect, say *• cor- 
 ruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, inou art 
 jny iiother and my sister.'* 
 
 ADDISOIf. 
 
 Ob-nox-iouB, ib-rftk'-shfis, 
 
 liable to punmliriK^nt 
 Con-lin ijen-cy, k6n-i!n'-j^n-«*, tffii- 
 
 dent, il.cqup.liiy of being luiiuilous. 
 
 po85ibiIity 
 At-tri buto, &t'-tri-L6te, the thing at- 
 
 SKCTiON XXI. 
 
 tribuiu'l, bonoiir, qnalify sdbertMl^ 
 
 an n|ii>en(iant 
 U Om-ni«-ri-ciice, Am-nTgh'-i-fni'^, iofr 
 \v-i)<tloin, boiiiuiiMs knowirdft 
 : Su |»#r-nnt-u-rttl, c6-)Tir-n&t'-tthi-r^ 
 
 zbuvo uttiurc 
 
 Tnist in the. care of Providence recommtndej 
 
 1. Man, considered in himself, is a very helpii^^j, inii 
 very wretched beinp. . lie is subject every moment to 
 
 tlie gjreatest calamities and misfoitunes. He is beief 
 ivith dangers ojj all sides ; and may becc^me unhappy by 
 TiUmberless casualties, which hr could not foresee, nor 
 have prevented had he foreseen tliem, 
 
 2. it is our comfort, wliile we are ot;noxious« tn so m«* 
 ny accidents, that we are under the care of onk who di- 
 rects contingencies,'' and has in his hands ihe management 
 of every thinq; that is capable of annoying orolTendu!^ us; 
 "Who knows the assistance we stand In need of, and is al» 
 ways ready to bestow it on thoee who ask it of him. 
 
 rt. TTie natural homage, which such a creature owes to 
 80 infinitely wise and good a liein^, is a firm reliance oa 
 Mm for the blessings and conveniences of life ; and ao 
 habitual trust in bim, for deliverance out of all such dan 
 perrt and dilFiculties as may befall us. 
 
 4. '3'he man who always lives In this disposition os 
 mind, has not the same dark and melancholy views of hii» 
 man nature, as he who considers himself abstractedly froiji 
 Ihis relation to the Sup^ejina Bein^. At tht tirat time 
 
|li«t he i^ftects npon his own weakness and hiaperfbctlon, 
 tie comforts himself with the contemplation of those dh 
 ▼ine attributes/ which are employ ed lor his safety, andf 
 his welfiire. 
 
 5. He finds his want of foresljijht made up, by the om- 
 niscience*^ of him who is his support. Me is nr>t sensible 
 of his own want of strenj^th, when he. knows thit liia 
 helper is almighty. In short, the person who has a firm 
 trust in the Supreme Being, is powerful in his jx^wer, 
 wise by his wisuum, happy by his hai>pine3s.. He rt^s 
 the benefit of every divine attribute ; a jd loses his owa 
 insulliciency in the fidness of inlinite perfection. 
 
 6. To make our lives more easy to us, we are com- 
 manded to put our trust in him, who is thus able to re- ^ 
 iieve and succour us ; the Divine Goodness having; mad« I 
 such, a rehance a duty, notwithstanding we should have 
 been miserable, had it been forbidden us. Attiong aey- 
 eral motives, which might be made use of to recoin:\3end 
 this duty to us, I shall only take notice of those that fol- 
 low. 
 
 7. The first and strongest is, that we are promised, h« 
 will not fail those who put their trust in him. But with- 
 out considering the supernatural' blessing, which accom- 
 panies tbis duty, we may observe, that it has a natural 
 tendency to its own reward ; or, in other words, that this 
 firm trust and confidence in the great disposer of all 
 things, contribute very much to the getting clear of any 
 affliction, or to the bearing of it man! ally. 
 
 8. 4 person who believes he has his succour at Jian<I 
 and that he acts in the sight of his friend, often exerts 
 himself beyond his abilities ; and does wonders, that are 
 not to be matched by one who is not animated v/ith such 
 a confidence of success. Trust i/i the assistance of an 
 Almighty Being naturally produces patience, hope, cheer- 
 i'ulnes3, and all other dispositions of mind, wnich idle- 
 viate those calamities that we are not able to remove. 
 
 9. Thi^ practice of this virtue administers great com- 
 fort to the mind of man, in tinics of j).)verty and afflic- 
 tion ; but most of all, in the hour of death. When the 
 soul is hovering, in the last moments of its separation; 
 when it is just entering on another state of existence, to 
 converse with scenes, and objects, and companions, that 
 are altogether new ; what can su[)port her under such 
 tremblings of thought, such fear, such anxiety, such ap- 
 £N[6(dh«naioQB, btitthe casting of all her cares upouHiM, Khe 
 
iln»t gave her behig ; who has conducted her throush o«n 
 4tage of it ; and who will be always present, to.gui^uaad' 
 oomfort her in her progress through eternity ? 
 
 ADD1901?C 
 
 SECTION XXII. 
 
 A R» ci[)-rn-ral, r^-slp'-pri-ka), alter 
 nmf, niuiutii 
 
 I Cmi fi«(i, koa-vgrl', to change into a 
 riutlu-T oiAie ortiibsiaiicu 
 
 € Un-iius pic-ioux, finsft.vidrth'-Bi, hnv- 
 utg no su!ipicion 
 
 d I'tf-vout, U^-vdilii', pious, rwligious 
 G<aliy 
 
 Trace, irAse, to follow, to mark out 
 
 / Co:j-cur-rencH, k6ii-kur'-r6ij*e, un- 
 ion, cuinliiiiutiuu, help 
 
 g Inci-dent, Tn'-8i-d?nt.easualty, •r«»| 
 k Steultli, sK-kh, thoft, a t^crci act 
 t Un-ap'ptill fcU, £in 4p-p4w'l*d', not 
 
 daunted 
 j Spoc-tre, ijj^k'-tur, an apparition, a 
 
 ghoat 
 k Shup herd, KhSp'-p5rd, one who tend« 
 
 iilicep 
 I Ex hib-it, ^2S-hIb'-lt, tu propose, to 
 
 sliow 
 m GruHS, gr&ae, corpulent, dull, coars* 
 
 Pkty and gratitude enliven prosperity, 
 
 1. Piety, alid gratitude to God, contribute. In a high 
 degree, to enliven prosj^rity. Gratitude is a pleasing 
 emotion. The sense of being distinguished by the kind- 
 ness of another, gladdens the heart, warms it with recip- 
 rocal-^ afi'ectinn, and give? to an}' possession which is 
 aj^reeable in itself, a double relish, from its being the gift 
 «1 a friend. 
 
 2. Favours conferred by ynen, 1 acknowledge, may 
 prove burdensome. For humaii virtue is never perfect \ 
 and sometimes unreasonable ex])jectations on the one 
 side, sometimes a mortifying sense of dependence on the 
 /Other, conode ui secret tlie pleasures of benefits, and pon** 
 vert'' the obligations of friendship into grounds of jeaU 
 ousy. 
 
 3. B^it nothing of this kind can afiect the intercourse 
 of gratit'ide with Heaven. Jts favours are wbolly disin- 
 terested ; and with a gr^ititude tlie most cordial and un- 
 suspicious,'^ a good man looks up to that Almighty Hene- 
 factor, who aims at no end but the happiness of those 
 whom he blesses, and who desires to return from then^t 
 but a devout^^ and thj«nkfui iieart. 
 
 4. WhiUi others can tracer their prosperity to no high- 
 er source than a concurrence/ of worldly causes ; and, 
 often of mean or trilling incidents,^ which occasionally 
 lavo^ired their designs ; with what superior satisfactioj 
 dpes the servant of God remark the hand of tha^ graciouji 
 power which hath raised him up ; which bath happily cofc 
 d:9^eu4 him through tiM varMHw liUpe of iife« ami ero^vKMNl 
 
Mm TfHh the most fdTourahle distinction beyond hfs 
 
 5. Let us farther consider, that not only gratitude for 
 the past, but a cheerinjj; senSe of divine fiivour at the 
 present, enters into the pious emotion. They are only 
 tha virtuoos, who in their ]>rosperous days hear this voice 
 addressed to them, " Go thy way, eat thy bread with 
 joy, and drink thy wine wiili a cheerful heart; for God 
 now accepteth thy works." lie who is the author of 
 their prosperity, ji;ives them a title to enjoy, with com- 
 placency, his own gift. 
 
 6. While b^i-d men snatch the pleasures of the w- orld as 
 by stealth,''' without countenance from the great Proprie- 
 tor of the world, the righteous sit openly down to ihe 
 feast of life, under the smiie of approving heaven. No 
 guilty fears damp their joys. The blessing of God rests 
 upon all that they possess ;'his protection surrounds I hem ; 
 and hence, **in'the habitations of the righteous, is found 
 the voice of rejoicing and salvation." 
 
 7. A lustre unknown to others, invests, in their sight, 
 the whole face of nature. Their piety reflects a sunshine 
 from heaven upon the prosperity of the world ; unites in 
 one point of view, the smiling aspect, both of the pow- 
 ers above* and of the objects below. Not only have they 
 as full a relish as others, for the innocent pleasures of life, 
 but, moreover, in these they hold communion with their 
 divine benefactor. 
 
 8. In all that is good or fair, they trace his hand. 
 From the beauties of nature, from the improvements of 
 art, from the enjoyments of social life, tliey raise their 
 aiiection to the source of all the happiness which sur- 
 rounds them ; and thus widen the sphere of their pleas- 
 ures, by addin;^ intellectual and spiritual, toeartlily joys, 
 
 y. For illustration of what I have said on this fiead, 
 remark that cheerful enjoyment of a proj<j)erous slate, 
 which Kir)g David had when he wrote tlie twenty-third 
 psalm ; and compare the lii;?;hest })leasures of tiie riotous 
 sinner, with the happy and satisfud spirit whieli breathes 
 throughout that psalm. — In the midst of the splendour 
 of royalty, with whatamidble simniicity of ratitude doe» 
 lie look up to the Lord as *' his Sht^jdierd ;" l?'ppi'.-r in 
 a'icribini^ ail his success to Divine favour, than tcthe poli- 
 cy of his councils, or to the force of his arms ! 
 
 10. Hqi^ many instances of divine goodncfls arose be^ 
 ftm him in pleMio^ MOMmbvaoca* wbMo, vkbi auch r«i» 
 
Hh, h« ipeaJ:» of the •• green pastures and itfH wet«r«, 
 beside which God had led him ; of his cup which he ha4 
 made to overflow ; and of the table which he had prepar- 
 ed for him in the presence of his enemies !" VV itn what 
 f)erf»^.ct trHnquillity does he iook forward to tlie time of 
 lib paasinp; thioUi;h '' the valh'y of the shadow of death ;" 
 unapparud b)' tiwit spectreJ >> hose most distant appear- 
 ance bhista the prosperity of sinners. 
 
 11. lie fears no evil, as long as '* the rod and the staflT* 
 of Ilia Divine Shep^.erd^ are with him; and throug;h all 
 the unl<nown periods of this and of future t^xistence, 
 commits himself to his guidance with secure ai.d trium- 
 phant hope: "Surely go(»dness and mercy will follow 
 me all the days of my lif^;; and I shall dwell in the 
 house of the Lord for ever." 
 
 12. What a piuified, sentimental enjoyment of pros, 
 perity is here exhibited !^ llow dilFerent fnun that gro!vs«» 
 relish of worldly pleasures, which belongs to those who 
 behold only the terrestrial side of things : who raise their 
 riews to nf> higher objects than the succession of human 
 contingencies, and the weak efforts of human ability : 
 who have no protector in the heavens, to enliven their 
 prosperity, or to warm tiieir hearts with gratitude aoi 
 
 trust. SJiAlR. 
 
 SECTION XXIIl. 
 
 « n«-phej» tion, hi-f£«'-t#hrir., n Mace 
 
 donian, fainoui for liii intiinac) 
 
 w|;h Alexander 
 t Si-(1o-ni-&[i, B^-d^'-ni-fta, a native oT 
 
 SuJoii 
 e Din-ii.-fer-es-tftd, dIz-lii-Ur-Ja'-tid, 
 
 free tVoMi 8«if !ni«rft*t 
 d Ab-(lu-loR-y-iiiUi. Ab-dft-!6n'-A-mfii 
 
 onn r.r t)i« deicendanu of iJie k'ntgi 
 
 of S don 
 
 e Bii-pC!!-], •ll'-pJnd, wajta, Mt(]«U ynj 
 f U-ieii-A.I, y6 li:j'-»il, any Uk«ful t** 
 
 ■tniiiiaiit 
 r Re fal, ri'-^Al, royal, kinfly 
 h S'jfp-irw, sip'-iftr, an euti^n •f try- 
 
 a!fy 
 i U-ltiMiion, ll-lu'-zhSii, falas show, «r* 
 
 rpur 
 j Mur-niur, inAr'-niAr, a buzx., f ranU«| 
 ' to buzz, to |;rutnbl« 
 
 Virtue J lehcn deeply rooted, is not subject to the influence ej 
 fortunt. 
 1. Thk city of Sidon having surrendered to Alexan- 
 der, he ordered Hephustiori" to bestow the crown on him 
 whom the Sidonians'- should think most worthy of that 
 honour. Hephestion being at that time resident with, 
 two young men of distinction, offered them the kingdom i 
 but they refused it, telling him that it was contr:iry xi 
 t!m laws of their coimtry, to admit i\r\^ D|}« Uf Xh^M hott^ 
 
5H9 E^eMSH ffS^AD^uu Part U 
 
 ^ lie then, having expressed his admh-atlon of thehr 
 4isinterested*^ spirit, desired them to name one of the 
 rwyal race, who might reinemberthat he had received the 
 crown through their hands. Overlooking^ many, who 
 would have been ambitious of this high nonour, they 
 made choice of Abdali:;iTjmus,<^ whose siuguiar m^rit had 
 rendered him conspicuous, even in tiie vale of obscurity. 
 
 S. Though remotely related to the royal family, a se- 
 ries of misfortunes 4iad reduced him to the necessity of 
 cuUivatiag a garden for a small stipend,' in the fuburhs of 
 the city. Wiwle Abdalonymus was busily emj):loyed in 
 weeding his garden, the two friends of Hephestion, bear- 
 ing in their hands the ensigns of royalty, approa.ehed 
 him and saluted him king. i 
 
 4. They informed him that Alexander had appointed 1 
 liim to that office ; and required him immediately to ex- j 
 change his rustic garb, and utensils/ of husbandry, for 1 
 the regal? robe and sceptre.'' At the same time, they ad- 
 monished him, Avhen he should be seated on the throne, 
 and have a nation in his power, rvot to forget the humble 
 condition from which he had been raised. 
 
 5. All this, at the ftrst, appeared to Abdalonymus as an 
 illusion' of the fancy, or an insult oft'ered to llis poverty. 
 He rec^uested them not to trouble him farther with their 
 impertment j<*sts ; and to find some other way of amus- 
 ing themselve', which might leave him in tjie peaceable 
 enjoyment of his obscure habitation. x\t length, howev- 
 er, tliey convinced him, that they were serious in their 
 proposal ; and prevailed upon lijm to accepts ;tlie regal of- 
 hce, ana accompany them to the palace. 
 
 6. No sooner cwas he in possession of the government, 
 than pride and envy created him enemies; w},)o whisper- 
 4id their murmurs.' in t^very place, till at last tiiey reached 
 the ear of Alexander. He commanded the fiew elected 
 prince to be sentior; and incjuired of him, with what 
 tempijr of mind he had borne his poverty. 
 
 7. *' Would to Heaven," replied Abdalonymus, ** that 
 I may be able to bear my crown with equal modenition : 
 for when 1 possessed little, J vvant<d nothing : these hands 
 ■upplied me with whatever 1 desired." From this^nswer, 
 Alexander formed so high an idea oi his wisdo^ia, that 
 4ie confirmed the choice which had been made; and an- 
 fiexod a nei^boiiring province to the goTftrnnficnt of 
 
wriipr ill tlie r«ign ol" Nero, Hh was 
 Rml.n-vsadwr \u Plh-ilu;s 
 A>n 4»a«-sn clur, Ani-bAs sA-dfir, an a 
 g..nf Iromono governaionl to anoth 
 er 
 « fyr Flita, p!r'-r6s, a cplibraictl kin<! 
 of Cpirus, doticendeci Iroin Aclm 
 
 SECTION XXIV. ^ 
 
 Ld Qual-i-fi-ca-floo, kw«H*-f>-k4'-Bh' 
 \ uit bccornpiinliinent, abaUMiient 
 ■ A-liit » ty, A bli -e I*, the power lo <*• 
 
 any lim g 
 / or rii-i-ate, 6l'-fith'-e Ate, to perform 
 
 ntjothcr's ilu:)' 
 r Augiii-i, iw-gObi'. grcdi, royal, mn^ 
 
 lUlfCCHl 
 
 Te« by ihb side oJ hiH inolker, aii(l A Con tiot , kAn-flile', to trust in, rr'y 
 from Hcrt:uicd by that of his fa-it No go-ti-«-iion, uiyi-shA k'-nhfiii, 
 
 l^cr I treaty of busintsB 
 
 Thes}*etch of Fabricius," a Roman amhassadcr,^ to king 
 Pyrrhus,^ who atitmpttd to bribe him to hia initrestSy by 
 tfie ojj'tr of a grtat sum of vioiicy. 
 
 1. WirAftf;if^>t^ my ptverty, the kinj? has, indeeil 
 been justly infiirmed. My ^\h•Ui ♦'}^tate consists in a 
 h#nse\>l hut mefin iippeariaiiie^aiiLa-iitxle sp»t ol'^muiid ; 
 frofh which hy my own labour, I draw my sujjport. Hut 
 if, by any means, thou haBt bti-n persuaded lo think that 
 this poverty rt-nders me of less coiihequenoe in my own 
 country, or in iiny degree unhappy, thou art greatly de- 
 ceived. 
 
 2. 1 have no reason to complain of v)rtune : ahe sup- 
 plies me with all that nature requires; and if ] am wiili- 
 out superiluities, 1 am also free ft-oni tiie desire of them. 
 With these, 1 confess 1 should be more able to sticcour 
 the necessitous, the only advantage for which the wealthy 
 are to be envit- d ; but small as my possessions are, 1 can 
 still contribute something to the support of the state,, and 
 the assistance of my friends. 
 
 3. With respect to honours, my country places me, 
 poor as 1 am, upon a level with tiie ricliest: fi»r Kome 
 Knows no qualifications'^ for j^reat empbyments, but vir- 
 tue and ability .'' She apj>omts me to 'otficltiie/ in the 
 most august^ ceremonies ol religion ; she intrusts me with 
 the command of her armies ; she confides^ to my care 
 the most important negotiations.* IVly poverty does not 
 lessen the weight of my counsels in the senate. The Ko- 
 mnn people honour me for that very poverty, which king 
 Pyrrhus considers as a disgrace. 
 
 4. They know the many op}>ortunitieg 1 have had to 
 tnrich myself, without censure ; they are convinced of 
 my disinterested zeal foi tlieir prosperity : and if 1 have 
 any thin^ to complain of, in the re4;urn they make ine, it 
 t# only the eicesa of their applause. What Yhhie, then* 
 
#t4 BMI.ISH ftEADKft. Part t. 
 
 ^tnn 1 pnt upon thy gold and silver ? Whmt kfng can add 
 any thinj; to my fortune ? ^Uvvays attentive to discharge'' 
 the duties incumbent upon me, 1 have a^mind free from 
 §elf-reproach ; and 1 have an honest fame. 
 
 SfiCTFoN XXV. , • 
 
 • In-of-f«n-giv«, !n-6f-fin'-8lv, harmless, | ostentation of learnitijf 
 
 innocent e Pa-cif-ick, pi-slf-nk, mild, gentle 
 
 h S»-tir«,si'-tfir,sAt'-i^r, si'-tire, orsAt'- 
 Ire, & poftin in winch wickedness or 
 folly ii« censured 
 
 # Con-lem-po-ra-ry, k&n-tftm'-p6-rA-r4, 
 living in th« same ag«, ono who lives 
 at the hume time with another 
 
 4 Ptd-an-lry, pW'-dAn-tri, awkward 
 
 / l*u-sil-iaii-im-i-ty, pfi-s11-lin-T:n-mft- 
 t^,, niefitinesa of spirit, cowurdioe 
 
 a- Nu-tral-i-ly, nij-tr&l'-^-t^, a utate of 
 inditFerence 
 
 h In-tri-cate, !n'-tri-ki.te, entangled, 
 porj)loxcd 
 
 i Do-vuid, d^-vild', empty, vacant 
 
 Character o/ Jame^ I. kin£ of^ir^glan^, 
 
 1. No PRINCE, so little enterprising:; and so inoffensii|p,« 
 was "ever so much exposed to the opposite extremes ot 
 calumny and flattery, of satire* and panegyric. And the 
 factions which began in his time, being still continued, j' 
 liave made his character be as much disputed to this day, 
 as is commonly that of princes who are our contempora 
 ries.' 
 
 2. Many virtues, liowever, it must be owned, he was 
 possessed of ; but not one of them pure, or free from the 
 contagion of the neighbouring vices. His generosity bor- 
 dered on profusion, nis learnm^ on pedantry,'^' his pacific- 
 disposition on pusillanimity*/ his wisdom on cunning, his 
 friendship on light fancy and boyish fondness. While he 
 hnagined that he was only inaintaining his own authori- 
 ty, he may perhaps be su^pf^cted in some of his actions, 
 and still ?nore of his pretentions, to have encroached on 
 the liberties of his people. 
 
 3. VVfiile he endtavoured, by an exact neutrality ,«" to ac- 
 quire the good will of all his neighbours, he was able to 
 preserve fully the esteem and regard of none. His capa- 
 city was considerable, but fitter to discourse on general 
 maxims, than to conduct any intricate* business, 
 
 4. His intentions were just, but more adapted to the 
 conduct of private life, than to the government of king- 
 doms. Awkward in his person, and ungainly in his man- 
 ners, h^ was ill c]ualifiea to command respect: partial 
 and undiscerning in his aflections, he was little fitted to 
 acquire general love. Of a feeble temper, more than oj 
 % fptiga) ^widgn5«nt ; exposed to our ridiou>6 frona his rajo- 
 
Chap, 9. 
 
 VB.ovnncxwv* PiEc«» 
 
 ftt# 
 
 tty, but expmpt from our hatred by hh fre«dOra from 
 pMe and arrogance. 
 
 5. And, upon the vrhol<», it may be pronounced of his 
 character, that all his qualities i\ ere sullied with weakness, 
 and embellished with humanity. Political courage he 
 , was certainly devoid' of ; and from thence chieilv is de- 
 ' rived the strong prejudice, which prevails against bis per- 
 sonal bravery ; an inference, however, wliich must be 
 owned, from general experience, to be extremely falla- 
 cious. HUME. 
 
 SECTION XXVI. 
 
 irict, legal authority, extent of pow 
 
 er 
 k Ab Eolve, Ah z61v', to clean, to quit 
 
 ot" a crime 
 I Al-le-piance, il-l^^jinse, th« duty of 
 
 Bubjecta to u government 
 m Re-count, ri-kAinl', to relate Id d^ 
 
 tail 
 n Ar-du-ou8, Ir'-j6-fi8, lofty, hard M 
 
 climb 
 Im-plore, Im-plire', to solicit, ask, 
 
 bPg 
 p Dis-penso, dTd-p^nse', to deal out, e>> 
 
 ciiso, give 
 q Pa-ter-niil, pi-tir'-n41, futlierif, he- 
 reditary 
 r In-vi-o-la-ble, Tn-vl'-i-lA bl, not to b» 
 
 injured, not to be brokeo 
 
 a Pre-em- i-nence, pri-?m'-m4-n^n«e. «u- 
 
 periour exceilenpe ^ 
 5 I>«j-scend, d^-sind', to come down, to 
 
 fail down • 
 . c Ef-fort, if'-firt, a struggle, laborious 
 
 endeavour 
 i Ri-vul, ri'-v41, a competitor, to op 
 
 pOKO 
 
 g Wresi, r^*t, tapull, snatch, violCincc 
 
 / Di-o cle-»i-Rn,«li-i-kli'-zhi-&ii, a cel- 
 ebrated Romnn cmporour, born of 
 an obscure family in Dalinatia 
 
 ff Rein, rine, part of a bridir, tf» gov 
 ern by a bridle, to control, t j roHtain 
 
 k Pon-i-tont, pfiri'-ni-t<*nt, one Borrow 
 ful for gin, sorrowful 
 
 I Pur-HU-ance, pfir-fiV- Anse, process, 
 pursuit, cuntiiinneuce 
 
 j Ju-ris-dic-tioji, ju-r!«-dlk'-shun, a dii 
 
 Charles V. Emperor of Germany, resisrns his dominions^ 
 and rctirts from tfit world, 
 
 1. This p:reat emperor in the plentilude of his power, 
 and in possession of all tiiehono:irs which can flatter the 
 heart of man, took the extraordinary resolution, to re- 
 sign his kini^doms ; and to withdraw entirely from any 
 concern in business or the affairs of this world, in order 
 that he might spend the remainder of his days in retire- 
 ment and solitude. 
 
 2. Though it requires neither deep reflection, nor ex- 
 traordinary discernment, to discover that the state of roy- 
 alty is not exempt from cares and disappointments ; 
 though most of those who are exalted to a throne, And 
 solicitude, and satiety, and disgust, to be their perpetual 
 attendants, in that envied pre-eminence ;« yet, to desoend* 
 voluntarily from the supreme to a subordinate siatioB, 
 and tp refmquish the possetsit^n of rroiror In ordfr %o atl- 
 
^ain the enjoyment of happiness, aeeiiw to he an efforto 
 %oo great for the human mind. 
 
 3. Several instances, indsed, occur in history, of mort- 
 archs who have quitted a throne, and have ended their days 
 m retireriienl. But they were either weak princes, who 
 took this resolution rashly, and repented of it as soon as it 
 was taken ; or unfortuur'te princes, from whose hands 
 some strong rivaH had wrested' their sceptre, and com- 
 pelled them to descend with reluctance into a private sta- 
 tion. 
 
 4. Dioclesian/ is, perhaps, the only prince capable of 
 holdini^the reins' of government, who ever resigned them 
 from deliberate choice; and who continued, during many 
 years, to enjoy the tranquillity 6f retirement, without 
 fetching one penitent'' sigh, or casting back one look of 
 desire, towards the power or dignity which he had aban- 
 doned. 
 
 5. No wonder, then, that Charles's resignation should 
 fill all Europe with astonishment; and give rise, both 
 among his contemporaries, and among the historians of 
 that period, to various conjectures concerning the motives 
 whi'cn determined a prince, whose ruling passion had 
 been uniformly the love of power, at tbe age of fjfty-six, 
 when objects of ambition operate with full force on the 
 mind, and are pursued with the greatest ardour, to take 
 a resolution so singular and unexpected. 
 
 6. The Emperor, in pursuance* of his determination, 
 having assemoled the states of the Low Countries at 
 Brussels, seated himself, for the last time, in the chair of 
 state ; on one side of which was placed his son, and on 
 the other, his sister the (pieen of Hungary, regent of the 
 Netherlands, with a splendid retinue of the grandei^s ot 
 Spain, and prince*, of the empires standing beiiind him. 
 
 7. The president of the council of Flanders, by his 
 command, explained, in a few words, his intention in 
 calling this extraordinary meeting of the states. He then 
 read the instrument of resignation, by which Charles 
 Burrendered to his son Philip all his territories, jurisdic- 
 tion,-' and authority in the Low Countries ; absolving* his 
 subjects there from their oath of allegiance/ tohim, which 
 he required them to transfer to Phdip his lawful heir ; 
 and to serve him with the same loyalty and zeal that 
 they had manifested, during so long a course of years, in 
 fupport of his government. 
 
 i. Charles then rose from jiis se'at, and teanirig oh tb« 
 
Chap. 94 Fromiscuods Pieces. CIT 
 
 fBhoulder of the prince of Orange, lyccanse he was un»». 
 ble to stand without support, he addressed himself to th6 
 liudienoe ; and from a paper which he held in his hand, in 
 order to assist his memory, he recounted, »« with dignity, 
 but without ostentation, all the great things which he had. 
 undertaken and performed, since the commencement of 
 his administration. 
 
 9. He observed, that from the seventeenth yrar of his 
 «ge, lie had dedicated all his thoughts and attention to 
 public objects, reserving no portion of his time for the 
 Indulgence of his ease, and very little for the enjoyment 
 •of private pleasure; that either in a pficific or hostile 
 manner, he had visited Genuany nine times, ^Spain ?\k 
 times, France four times, Italy seven times, the J.ou- 
 Countries ten times, England twice, Africa as often, and 
 Bad made eleven voyages by sea. 
 
 10. That while his health permitted him to discharge 
 «liis duty, and the vigour of his constitutiini was equal ]n 
 any degree, to the arduous" office of governing domio- 
 *ions so extensive, he had never shunned labour, nor rc- 
 ymed under fatigue; that now, when his health was bro- 
 Ken, and his vigour exhausted by the rage of an incnra- 
 ble distemper, his growing infirmities admonishod him to 
 retire : 
 
 11. Nor was he so fond of reigning, as to retain thft. 
 feceptre in an impotent hand, whicii was no longer able 
 to protect his subjects, or to render them hai)py ; thatin- 
 Btead of a sovereign worn out with diseases, and scarcely 
 half alive, he gave them one in the prime of life, accus- 
 tomed already to govern, and who added to the vigour of 
 youth all the attention and sagacity of maturer years : 
 
 12. That if during the course of a long administration, 
 Jie had committed any material error in government, or 
 If, under the pressure of so many and great affairs, and 
 »imidst the attention which he had been obliged to give to 
 ^hem, he had either neglected or injured any of his sub* 
 lects, he now implored^ their forgiveness : 
 
 15. That for his part he should ever retain a rrateful 
 nense of their fidelity and attachment, and would carry 
 the remembrance of it along with him to the place of 
 his retreat, as his sweetest consolation, as well as the best 
 reward for all his sf^rvices ; and in h^s last prayers to 
 Almighty God, would pour forth his ardent wisnes for 
 ^eir welfare. 
 
 14. Then turnirg towards Philip, who fell oh hh knccf 
 T 
 
%i9 English Reader. rart I. 
 
 and kisiTed his father's hand, " If," says he, " I had left 
 you by my deatli this rich inheritance, to which I have 
 made guch hirge additions, some regard Would have been 
 lustly due to my memory on that account; but now, 
 when 1 voluntarily resign to y^>u what 1 might have still 
 retained, 1 may well expect tlie warmest expressions of 
 thanks on your part. 
 
 15. *♦ With these, however, 1 dispense ;p and shall con- 
 sider yoqr concern for the welfare of your subjects, and 
 VouT love of them, as tlie best and most acceptable tes- 
 timony of your gratitude to me. It is in your power, by 
 A wise and virtuous administration, to justify the extra- 
 ordinary proof which 1 give this day of my paternabaf- 
 ^tion, and to demonstrate that you are wor^thy of the 
 eonfidcHce which I repose in you. 
 
 16. ** Preserve an inviolable'- regard for religion ; main- 
 fain the Catholic faith in all its purity ; let the laws ot 
 yonr country be sacred in your eyes : encroach not on 
 wi'e rrghts ?^nd privileges of your people ; and if the time 
 »hall ever come, when you shall wish to enjoy the tran- 
 quillity of private life, may you have a son endowed with 
 Buch qualities, that you can resign your sceptre to him, 
 with as much satisfaction as 1 give up mine to you." 
 
 17. As soon as Charles had finished this long address 
 to his Bubjects, and to their new sovereign, he sunk into 
 the chair, e^lviusted and ready to faint with the fatigue 
 of so extraordinary an elFort. During his discourse, the 
 whole audience melted into tears ; some from admiration 
 of his magnanimity ; others softened by the expressions 
 of tenderness towards his son, and of love to his people ; 
 ?md all were affected with the deepest so row, at losing a 
 fKivereign, who had distinguished the Netherlands, hisna-» 
 
 . fire country, with particular marks of his regard and at-t 
 lachment. 
 
 SECTION XXVII, 
 
 m An-nw-ftl, An'-n6-AI, coming yonrly, 
 
 th»t which is rockon«MJ by the vear 
 
 I Do-lVay, «U-fri', to bear the cimrges 
 
 f 2.«-tf-btirgh, r&'-h-bSrg, the nam« of Germany 
 
 / Dow-a-ger, doi'-A-jSr, a widow witk 
 a jointure or dowry 
 
 g Max-i-mU-i-an,TnAk8^A-m!r-i-&n, son- 
 in-law of Charles V. Emperor ol 
 
 k place 
 4 Rot>-fl«;/-Toa8, rln'-di-v8Ax, to mee* 
 
 nt a ptaefl ap(K>intod, placo appuint- 
 
 cil fo^ an asasmbly 
 ^T' {v<h»f?h-e»5, Krt8h-dfiU!h'-S«, fheki 
 
 4y of *n 3,re?filu|io 
 
 h Monaa-ter-y, min'-i'.As-tir-ri, houB« 
 of religious retirement 
 
 i Tem-per-a-turo, tSm'-pCi^A-liir©, con- 
 stitution of nature, due balance of 
 contrflrvoties 
 
 j Dc Hc-ious, d«-n»h'-a9,«weet..de3^.tat« 
 
CffJOjK'^ Promiscuous Pieces* ffl> 
 
 k Ar-cW-«»ct, lr'-k*-t?kt, apfofepsorof 
 
 the art of buihiiiig 
 I A-eiiu?,4ki««',Bli«iri), in^t-nipus, keen 
 
 subtle 
 
 m Grnn-deur, griii'-Jflr, state, mofrnifi- 
 
 c«Mice 
 n Dia-eii-tHH-jrle, fl^s-Sn-t&n^'-gl, lo dim 
 
 cngu^t;, 8»-4»araifi 
 
 IVie samt suhject contimted. 
 
 1. A FEW weeks after the resijTBation of the Nether- 
 lands, Chailes, in an assembly no less pplendid and with 
 a ceremonial e(|ually p*'on)})ous, resij^ned to his son the 
 crowns of Spain, with all the terriiories depending; on 
 them, both in the old and in the new worltl. Of all these 
 vast possessions, he reservad nothinj; i\)r himself but an 
 annual* pension of a hundred thousjind crowns, to cle« 
 defray* the charges of his family, and to allbrd him a 
 small sum for acts of beneficence and charity. 
 
 2. Nothinjj; now remained to detain him from that re- 
 treat for which he lanj:;uished. Every thing having been 
 
 Erepared some time for his voyap;e, he set out for Zuit- 
 urgh<" in Zealand, where the ileet had orders to rendez- 
 vous.^ 
 
 8. In his way thither, he passed through Ghent : and 
 after stopping there a few days, to indulge that tender 
 and pleasing melancholy, which arises in the mind of ev- 
 ery man in the decline of life, '.ii visiting the place of 
 his nativity, and viewing the scenes and objects larciliar 
 to him in his early youth, he pursued his journey, ac- 
 companied by his son Philip, his daughter the arch-duch- 
 ess,* his sisters the dowager/ queens of I'Vance and Hun- 
 gary, Maximilians: his son-in-law, and a numerous retinue 
 of the Flemish nobility. 
 
 4. Before he went on board, he dismissed them, with 
 marks of his attention or regard ; and taking leave of 
 Philip with all the tenderness of a father who embraced 
 his son for the last time, he set sail under a convoy of a 
 large fleet of Spanish, Flemish, and English ships. 
 
 5. His voyage was prosperous, and agreeable ; and he 
 arrived at Laredo in Biscay, on the eleventh day after h« 
 left Zealand. As soon as lie landed, he fell prostrate on 
 the ground ; and considering himself now as dead to the 
 woria, he kissed the earth, and said, ** Naked came 1 out 
 of my mother's womb, and naked 1 now return to thee, 
 thou common mother of mankind." 
 
 6. From Laredo he proceeded to Valladolid. There 
 he took a last and tender leave of his two sisters ; whom 
 he would not permit to accompany Kim to his solitude, 
 though they intreated it with tears: not c.uly that tbey 
 
ftfiO English Reader* Fart t* 
 
 mipiht have the consolation of contributing, Dy their at» 
 tendance and care to mitigate or to %ooth his sufferings, 
 but that they mi^ht reap instruction and benefit, by join- 
 ing with him in those pious exercises, to which he had 
 consecrated the remainder of his days. 
 
 7. From Valladolid, he continued his journey to Pla- 
 Kencia in histremadure. He had passed tdrojigh that city 
 a great many years before ; and having been struck at 
 that time with the delightful situation of the monastery^ 
 of St. Justus, belonging to the order of St. Jerome, not 
 many miles distant from that place, he had then observed 
 to some of his attendants, that this was a spot to which 
 Dioclesian might have retired with pleasure. 
 
 8. The impression had remained so strong on his mind, 
 that he pitched upon it as the place of his retreat. It 
 was seated in a vale of no great extent, watered by a small 
 brook, and surrounded by rising grounds, covered with 
 lofty trees. From the nature of' the soil, as well as the 
 temperature'' of the climate, it was esteemed the most 
 healthful and delicious situation in Spain. 
 
 9. Some months before his resignation he had sent an 
 architect* thither, to add a new apartment to the monas- 
 tery, for his accommodation ; but he gave strict orders 
 that the style of the building should be such as suited his 
 present station, rather than his former dignity. It con- 
 sisted only of six rooms, four of them in the form of fri- 
 ar's cells, with naked walls ; the other two, each twenty 
 feet square, vrere hung with brown fcloth, and furnished 
 in the most simple manner. 
 
 10. They were all on a level with the ground; with a 
 door on one side into a garden, of which Charles himself 
 had dven the plan, and had filled it with various plants, 
 which he proposed to cultivate with his own hands. On 
 the other side they communicated with the chapel of the 
 monastery, in which he w^as to perform his devotions. 
 
 *^. Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the 
 ctiniiortaoie accommodation of a private gentleman, did 
 Charles enter with twelve domestics onJy. He buried 
 there in solitude and silence, his grandeur, his anibition, 
 *oeether with all those vast projects, which, during hall 
 
 -^rtrtfui V, nad alarmed and agitated Europe ; filling eve- 
 wy'klngcfom in it, by turns, with the terror of his arms, 
 and the dread of being subjected to his power. 
 
 12. In this retirement, Charles formed such a plan of 
 Mftj for himsfclf, as would have suited the condition of, a 
 
\ 
 
 raOMlStUbuS PlBC£6. CSi 
 
 pnvato person of a moderato fortune. His table was 
 ^eat but plain ; his domestics fp.w ; his intercourse with 
 them familiar; all the cumbersome and ceremoniou* 
 forms of attendance on his person were entirely abolish- 
 ed, as destructive of that social ease and tranquillity, 
 which hi courted, in order to sooth the remainder of his 
 days. 
 
 'is. As rne mildnes-; of the climate, ♦ojjjether wilh his 
 deliverance from the burdens and car'^s of ^overnmenl, 
 procured him, at first, a considerable j-emi'^sion from the 
 acute' pains with which he had been long tormented, he 
 enjoyed, perhaps, more complete satisfaction in this hum- 
 ble solitude, tiian all his j];randeur« hid ever yielded him. 
 14. The ambitious thouj^hts and projects which h.'id so 
 lang engrossed and discjuieted him, were cjuite eliaceiJ 
 from his mind. Far from taking any part in the political 
 transactions of the princes of Euro|)e, he restramed hiii 
 curiosity even from any inquiry concerning them ; andh« 
 seemed to view the busy seene which he had abandoned, 
 with all the contempt and indiflVrence arisinj^ from his tho- 
 rough experience of its vanity, as well as from the pleas- 
 ing reflection of having disentangled" himself from iU 
 caret. i>r. kobkiitsov. 
 
 T ^ 
 
PART II. 
 
 CHAl-TEll 1. 
 
 SELECT SENTEiNCES AND PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 SHORT AND EASY SENTENCES. 
 
 Education. 
 
 Oralis Edueation forms the common mind; 
 JL Just as th« twig is Lent, the tree^s inclined* 
 
 Candour, 
 With pleasure let iis own our errors past ; 
 And make each day a critic on the iapt. 
 
 Reflect ion. 
 A soul -without reflection, like a pile 
 Witaout inhabitant, to ruin runs. 
 Secret Virtue. 
 The private path. t!ie secret acts of man, 
 If noble, far the noblest of their lives. 
 
 Nexessnry knowledge easily attained. 
 Our needful knov\leds;e, like our needful food, 
 Unhedji^'d, lies open in life's common field : 
 Ai<d bids all welcome to the vital feast. 
 
 JJisrjpjmntmejit. 
 Disappointment lurks in many a prize 
 As bees in tlovv'rs ; avid stings us witii success. 
 
 VirtiKms elevation. 
 The mind that would be happy, must be great, 
 Great in its wishes ; great in its sun'eys. 
 Extended views a narrow mind extend. 
 
 t Natural and fanciful life . 
 
 Who lives to nature, rarely can be poor, 
 Who lives to ^ancy, nevei* can be rich. 
 
 fio\j» — In the firtX chapter, tho Com{viIcr hnn exhibitttd a <tof^«i^ab)« 
 4( pooticel eo»»triiCtiun, for iho ymm^ rofwiwr'a proparatocy Me7«iM 
 
Chap, 1. isicLKcT ISi:?«TK.'Hck8, &Ci Mi 
 
 In fai(h and hope tlic world will disagree ; 
 But ail mankind's concern is charity. 
 
 The prize of virtue* 
 What nothing earthly gives, or can dcstrojr. 
 The souFs calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joj^ 
 Is virtue's prize. 
 
 Serise tind modesty connected, 
 Pistrustful sense with modest cavktion speaks j > 
 It still looks home, and short excursions makes ;> 
 But rattling nonsense in full volleys breaks. j| 
 
 Moral discipline salutary. 
 Heaven gives us friends to bless the present scen<i s 
 Resumes them to prepare us for the nett« 
 All evils natural are moral goods ; 
 All discipline, indulgence on thd whole* 
 
 Present blessings undervalued* 
 Like birds, whose Ifeauties languish, half concfiard, 
 Till, mounted on the wing, their glossy plumes 
 Expanded shine with azure, green, antf ^oldj 
 How blessings brighten as they take their flighti 
 
 Hope, 
 Hope, of all passions most befriends us here ; 
 Passions of prouder name befriend us less. 
 Joy has her tears, and transport has her de»t& : 
 Hope like a cordial, innocent, though strong, 
 Man's heart, at once, inspirits aifid serenes:. 
 Happiness inode^t and tranquil,, 
 
 '^ Never man was truly blest, 
 
 But it composed, and gave him such a caat 
 As folly might mistake for want of joy ;, 
 And cast unlike the triumpli of the proud j 
 A modest aspect, and a smile at heart. 
 
 True greatness. 
 Who noble ends, by noble means obtains, 
 Or faihng, smiles in exile or in chains. 
 Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
 Lik-s Socrates that man is great indeed- 
 
 The tear of sympathy. 
 No radiant pear), which crested fortune weaiBi 
 1^0 gem, that twinkling ban^s from beauty's tkl^ 
 
m Enolisii IIkadek. Pari A. 
 
 Nor the bright stars, which nip;ht's blue arch adorn. 
 Nor rising suns that gild the vernal morn, 
 Shine with such lustre, as the tear that breaks, 
 For others'* wo, down virtue's manly cheeks. 
 SECTION II. 
 
 r ERSES IN WHICH THE LINES ARE OP DIFFERENT l,ENGTIl / 
 
 Blm of celestial origin* 
 Restless mortals toil for nought ; 
 i31issin vain from earth is sought; 
 Bliss, a native of the sky, 
 Never wanders. Mortals^ try ; 
 There you cannot seek in vain ; 
 For to seek her is to ^in. 
 
 The passions. 
 The passions are a num'rous crowd. 
 Imperious, positive, and loud. 
 Curb these licentious sons of strife ; 
 Hence chiefly rise the storms of hfe : 
 U they grow mutinous, and rave, 
 They are thy masters, thou their slavj^. 
 
 Trust in Providence recommended 
 •Tis Providence alone secures, 
 In ev*ry change, both mine and yours. 
 Safety consists not in escape 
 From dangers of a frightful shape ; 
 An earthquake may be bid to spare 
 The man that's strangled by a hair. 
 Fate steals along with silent tread, 
 Found oft'nest in what least we dread ; 
 Frowns in the storm w^ith angry brow, 
 Uut in the sunshine strikes the blow. 
 
 Epitaph. , ■ 
 
 How lov'd, how valuM Once, avails thee not, 
 To whom related, or by whom begot : 
 A heap of dust alone remains of thee ; 
 'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be. 
 
 Fame, 
 All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; 
 Plays round the nead, but comes not to the hear^. 
 One self-approving hour, whole years outweighs 
 Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas ; 
 And liiore true joy Marcellus exil'd feels. 
 Than Ccesar with a senate at his heels 
 
C^tap. 1. Select Sentenced, &:e. ttft 
 
 Virttts the guardian of youth* 
 Down the smooth stream of life the stripllnc dartjv 
 Gay as the morn : bright {i;!ows the vernal sky 
 Hope swells his sails, and Passion steers his coura^i^ 
 Sate glides his little bark along the shore, 
 Where Virtue takes her stand : but if too far 
 He launches forth beyond discretion's mark, 
 Sudden the teni})est scowls, the surges roar 
 Blot his fair day and plunge him in the deep. 
 
 Sunrise, 
 But yonder comes the powerful king of day, 
 Rejoicing in the east. The less'ning cloud, 
 The kindling a/.ure, and the mountain's brow, 
 lllum'd with iluid gold, his near approach 
 Betoken glad. Lo, now apparent all 
 Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air, 
 He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; 
 And sheds the ehining day, that burnish'd plays 
 On rocks, and hills, and tow'rs, and wand'nng streamy 
 High gleaming from afar. 
 
 StiJ-govtfnment, 
 May 1 govern my passions with absolute s>\5f 
 And grow wiser and better as life- wears awa^ 
 
 Shepherd, 
 On a mountain, strctch'd beneath a hoary wilVow, 
 Lay a shepherd swain, and view'd the rolling billow. 
 
 SECTION HI. 
 
 VERSES CONTAINING EXCLARTATIONS, INTERQGAT10N8. AND 
 PARENTHESIS. 
 
 Competence, 
 A competence is all we can enjoy ; 
 Oh ! be content, where Heaven can give no more ; 
 
 Reflection essential to Jiappiness, 
 Much joy not only speaks small happiness, 
 But happiness that shortly must expire. 
 Can joy unbottom'd in reflection, stand ? 
 And.* in a tempest, can reflection live ? 
 
 Frundship, 
 Can gold gain friendship ? Impudence of hope * 
 As well mere man an aogel might beget. 
 Love, and k)ve only, is tke loan for love. 
 
f!S6 ^Nofcisn Header;. Pari f 
 
 Lothjozo r pride repress ; nor hope to fi^ncf 
 A friend^. Hut what ha* found a friend Fn the«,, 
 All like thft purchase; few the price wi^P pay j 
 And this rna4es frieiids such miracles befow^ 
 
 Patience. 
 Beware of/ desp'rate steps. The dankest daj 
 (Lire till to-morrow); will have pass'daway.. 
 
 Lurury, 
 
 • O luxury ! 
 
 Bane of elated Ufe,- of allluent states^ 
 What dreary chanj^e, what ruin is not thine f 
 How doth thy hoAvl intoxicate the mind! 
 To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave, 
 How dost thou hu'e the fortunate andgrea^;! 
 Dreadful attniction I 
 
 Virtuous activity, 
 
 JSeize, mortals ! seize the transient hour;; 
 Improve each moment as it fiies : 
 Life's a short summer — man aflow'r;" 
 He -dies — Alas ! — how soon he dies ! 
 
 The sxmrce of happiness^. 
 Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sensft. 
 Lie in three v/ords, health, peace, and competenc»'U 
 But health consists wi^h temperance alone; 
 And peace» O virtue ! Peace is all thy own. 
 
 Placid emotion. 
 Who can forbear to smile with nature ?. Can 
 The stormy passions in the bosom rolli 
 While ev'rv gale is peace, and ev'ry grovo 
 Is melody f 
 
 SalUude.* 
 O sacred solitude ; divine retreat ! 
 Choice of the prudent ! envy of the great.' 
 By thy pure stream, or in thy waving shade, 
 W^court fair wisdom, that celestial maid : 
 Tiic genuine offspring of her lov'd embrace^ 
 TStrangers on earth,) are innocence and peace, 
 There from the ways of men laid safe ashore, 
 We smile to hear the distant tempest roar ; 
 There bless'd with health, with bus'hess u:)perpIex*(L 
 This life we relish, and ensure the next. 
 
 . *Bv solitude hcfe is rnoant, a temi>6T^Tj Bedumoot ftiva tJM vwrU. 
 
Chap, i. Select Sentences, Sic. foafi 
 
 Presume not on to-momno* 
 In human hf arts what bolder thoughts can rise, 
 Than man's presumption on to-morrow*« daws • 
 ' X'f^here is to-morrow ? In another world, 
 For numbers this is certain ; the reverae 
 Is sure to none. 
 
 Dum vivimus vivamus. 
 Whilst we live let zts live, 
 "Live while you live," the epicure woirM stcf^ 
 '* And seize the pleasures of the present day.** 
 •*Live, while you live/* the sacred preacher cries'^ 
 •* And give to God each moment as it fliies.** 
 Lord I m my views, let both united bfe ; 
 1 live in pleasure, when I live to thee ! doddridos* 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 VERSES IN VARIOUS F6RMS. 
 The security of Virtm. 
 Let coward guilt, with pallid fear, 
 
 To sheltVing caverns fly. 
 And justly dread the vengeful ftite, 
 That thunders through the sky. 
 Protected by that hand, whose law, ^' 
 
 The threat'ning storms obey, ^ 
 
 Intrepid virtue smiles secure, 
 As in the blaze of day. 
 
 ResignatHon, 
 And O I by error's force subdu'd,- 
 
 Since oft my stubborn will 
 Preposterous shuns the latent good, 
 
 And grasps the specious ill. 
 Not to my wish, but to my want, 
 
 Do thou thy gifts apply ; 
 Unask'd, what good tnou kn o west grant ; 
 What ill, though ask'd, deny. 
 ComjKtssion. 
 1 have found out a gift for my fair; 
 
 I have found where the wood pi^eciifi tireedi 
 But let me that plunder forbear ! 
 
 She will' say, 'tis a barbarous deed. 
 For he ne'er can be true, she avprr'd. 
 Who can rob a poor bird of its yoiwg v 
 
1 
 
 £8 £f«oLisu Readea. Pari £. 
 
 And 1 lov'd her the more when I heard 
 
 Such tenderness fall from her tongue. 
 Epitqjjh. 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 
 A youth to fortune ardto fcime unknown ; 
 Fair science frovva'd not on his humble birth, 
 
 And melancholy marl«id him for her own. 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 
 
 Heaven did a recompence as largely send; 
 He gave to misery all he had — a tear ; 
 
 He gain'd from Heav'n, ('twas all he wishM) a IrieniL 
 No /further seek his merits to disclo^-e, . 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
 (There they alike in trembling hope reuose,) 
 
 The bosom of his father and his Goa. 
 Joy wul sorrot» connected, 
 StiU, where rosy pleasure leads, 
 See a kindred grief pursue ; 
 Behind the steps that mis'ry treadu, 
 Approaching comforts view. 
 Tne hues of bliss mare brightly glow, 
 ChftstisM by sable tints of wo ; 
 And blended form, with artful strife, 
 The strength and harmony of life. 
 • The goldemnean. 
 
 He that holds fast the golden mean, 
 And lives contentedly between 
 
 The little and the great, 
 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor. 
 Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door^ 
 
 Imbitt'rin^ all his state. 
 The tallest pines feel most the pow'p 
 Of wint'ry blast ; the loftiest tow'r 
 
 Comes heaviest to the ground. 
 The bolts that spare the mountain's side. 
 His cloud-cap eminence divide ; 
 
 And spread the ruin round. 
 
 Modtrate views and aims recommended. 
 With passions unrullled, untainted with pride. 
 
 By reason my life let me square ; 
 The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied ; 
 
 And the rest are but folly and care. 
 JJow vainly, through infinite trouble ^nd Strife, 
 
 The many their labours employ I . 
 
CJ^ap' t* Select Sentences, &€• S2§ 
 
 Since all that is truly delightfu} in life. 
 
 Is what all, if they please, njay enjoy. 
 Attachvient to life. 
 
 The tree of deepest root is found 
 
 Least willing still to quit the ground ; 
 *Twas therefore sajd, hy ancient sages, 
 That love of life incraas'd with years, 
 
 ISo much, that in our latter stages, 
 
 When pains gro.w sharp, and sickness r^gcs« 
 "Tlie greatest love of life appears. 
 
 Virtue's address to pleasure • 
 Vast happiness enjoy thy gay alhes I 
 
 A youtii of follies, an old age of cares 
 Young yet enervate, old yet never wise, 
 
 Vice wastes their vigour, and their mirvd impairs* 
 Vain, idle, delicate, in thoughtjess ease. 
 
 Reserving woes for age, their prime they spend ; 
 All wretched, hopeless m the -evil days, 
 
 With sorrow to the verge of life they tend. • 
 <jiriev'd with the present, of the past asham'd, 
 
 They live and are despis'd ; they die, no more ar# 
 namM. 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 VERSES IN WHICH SOUND CORRESPONDS TO SIGNIFICATIOIl 
 Smooth and rovgh verst. 
 
 Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows. 
 
 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
 
 The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
 
 Slotv motion imitated* 
 ,When Ajax strives some rock's va&t weight to throw, 
 
 The line too labours, and the words move alow. 
 Swift and easy motion. 
 
 Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain. 
 
 Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims alopg the main* 
 ' Felling trees in a wood. 
 
 Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes ; 
 
 On all sides roimd the forest hurls her oafc* 
 
 * Sjfinsaal Pleasure. 
 
 u 
 
$S0 JBlfOLlSH ABADtlt. Art %4 
 
 Headlong* Deep echoing groan the thickets Irfown^ 
 iThen rustling, crackling, crasliing, thunder dowo, 
 Sound of a bowstring* 
 
 m , .....i ; -« The string let fly * 
 
 Twang'd short and sharp, like the shrill swallows cry. 
 
 The Pheasant, 
 See from the brake the whirring pheasant spthlgs*^ 
 And mounts exulting on triumpnant wings. 
 
 Scylla and Charybdis* 
 Dire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, 
 And here Chary bdis fills the deep with storms.- 
 When the tide rushes from her rumbling cave^. 
 The rough rock roars ; tumultuous bo-il the waves. 
 
 Boisterous and gentle sounds. 
 Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, 
 The roaring winds tempestuous rage restrain : 
 Within, the waves in softer niurmurs glide ;• 
 And ships secure without their halsers ride. 
 Laljorious and impetuous motion* 
 With many a weary step, and many a ^roan, 
 Up the higli hill he heaves a huge rouna stone ; 
 Tne huge round stone resulting with a bound, 
 Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. 
 
 Regular and slow movement. 
 First march the heavy mules securely slow ; 
 "D'er hills, o'er dales, o*er crags, o'er rocks they ^o. 
 
 Motion slow and difficult, 
 A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 
 That like a wounded snake, drags its slow length &)oDg« 
 
 A rock torn from the braw of a mountain. 
 Still gathering force, it smokes, and urg'd amain, 
 Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plaltt. 
 
 Extent and violence of the waves. 
 The waves behind impel the waves before, 
 Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore* 
 
 Pensive numbers. 
 In these deep solitudes anjl awful cells, 
 Where heavenly pensiv^e contempl^on dwelk^- 
 And eVer-musing melancholy reigns. 
 
fJJtop^ h Select Se.^tkkcm, t*c^^ §(0 
 
 Battle, 
 -Arms on armour rlashlng bray*d 
 
 Horrible discoi-d; and the maddiug >vheela 
 Of brazen fury rag'd. 
 
 Sound imitatkif^ rduttance. 
 For who, to dumb forgetful ness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resignM ; 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerfiu day, 
 Nor cast one longing, ling'rrng look behind I 
 SECTION VL 
 
 PARAGRAPHS OF GRt]ATER LENGTH. 
 
 Commbixil affecdon. 
 The love that cheers life's^ latest sta^e^ 
 Froof against sickness and old age, 
 Preserv'd by virtue frmn declonsion,- 
 Becomes not weary of attention ; 
 But lives, when that exterior grace, 
 Which first inspired the flame, deeay^ 
 •Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
 To faults compassionate, or blind ; 
 And will with sympathy endure 
 Those evils it would gladly cure. 
 But angry, coarse, and hapsh expi^ession^ 
 Shows love to be a mere profefision ; 
 Proves that the heart is none of his, 
 *)r soon expels him if it is. 
 
 Swaiins of flying insects 
 Thick in yon stream of light a thoufand ways, 
 Upward and downward, thwarting and convoW^ 
 Tne quiv'ring nations sport ; till tempest-wing'd. 
 Fierce winter sweeps them from the face of day 
 Ev'n so, luxurions men, unheeding, pass 
 An idle summer Hfe, in fortune's shine, 
 A season's ghtter ! Thus they flutter on, 
 From toy to toy,, from vanity to vice : 
 Till, blown away by death, oblivion (^mes 
 Behind, and strikes them from the book of lii^ 
 
 BeneficeiKt its own' reward* 
 My fortune (for I'll mention hII^ 
 And more than you dare teliyis small ; 
 Yet ev'ry friendi partakes my store, 
 A-nd wont ftous^ smiling from my doo^* 
 
Ekolish reader. Part t» 
 
 WW forty shillings warm the breast 
 Of worth or industry distressed! 
 This sum I cheerfully impart ; 
 •Tis fourscore pleasures to my heart : 
 And jou may make, by means like these, 
 Five talents ten, whenever you please. 
 'Tis^rue, my little purse grows light; 
 hut then 1 ^eep so sweet at night ! 
 This grand specific will prevail, 
 When all the doctor's opiates fail. 
 
 Virtue the best treasure. 
 
 Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, 
 Is the best gift qi Heav'n : a happiness 
 That, even above the smiles and frowns of fate, 
 Exalts great nature's favourites : a wealth 
 That ne*er encumbers ; nor to baser hands 
 Can be transferr'd. . It is the only good 
 Man justly boasts of, or cait;i call nis own. 
 Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earned. 
 But for one end, one much-neglected use. 
 Are riches Worth our care ; (for nature's wants 
 Are few, and without opulence supplied ;) 
 This noble end is to produce the soul ; 
 To show the virtues in their fairest hght ; 
 And make humapity the minister 
 Of bounteous Provfdence. 
 
 Contemplationi 
 
 As yet *tis ipidni^ht deep. The weary clouds, 
 Slow meetij?c, mmgle into soUd gloom. 
 Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep. 
 Let me associate with the serious night, 
 And conteipplation her sedate compeer ; 
 Let me shake off th' intrusive cares of day. 
 And lay the meddling senses all aside. 
 
 Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 
 Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train ! 
 Where are you now ? and what is your amount ! 
 Vexation, disappointment, and remorse. 
 8ad, sick'ning thought ! And jet, deluded man, 
 A scene of crude disjointed visions past, 
 And broken slumbers, rises still resolv'd. 
 With ne»r flushed hopes, to run the giddy round. 
 
Chap, d Nakratiyk Pi£C£ft« 90^ 
 
 Pleasure of piety. 
 A Deity beliey^d; is joy begun ; 
 A Deity ador'd, is joy advanc'd, 
 A Deity beluv'd, is juy matur'd ; 
 Each branch of piety deliglit inspires : 
 Faitli builds a bridge froni this world to the next» 
 O'er death's dark gulf, and ail its horror hides; 
 |*raise, the sweet exhalation of our joy, 
 That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still ; 
 Pray'r ardent opens heav'n, iets down a stream] 
 or glory, on the consecrated hour 
 Of man in audience with the Deity. 
 
 CHAPTER IJ. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 The bears and the Lees. 
 1. As two young bears, in wanton moo/i, 
 
 Forth issuing from a neighbouring wood. 
 
 Came where the industrious bees had btor*d. 
 
 In artful cells, their luscious hoard ; 
 
 O'erjoy'd they seiz'd, with eager haste, 
 
 Luxiirfous on the rich repast. 
 
 Alarm'd at this the little crew 
 
 About their ears vindictive flew. 
 SI, The beasts, un-able to sustain 
 
 Th' unequal combat, quit the plain; 
 
 Half blind with rage, and mad with pajin* 
 
 Their native shelter they regain ; 
 
 There sit, and now, discreeter grown. 
 
 Too late their rashness they bemoan ; 
 
 And this by dear experience gain, 
 
 That pleasure's ever bought with pais. 
 •S. So when the gilded baits of vice 
 
 Are placM before our longing eyes, 
 
 With greedy haste we snatch our fill. 
 
 And swallow down the latent ill : 
 
 liut when experience ope3 our e/es, 
 
 Away the fancied pJeasurc fli'js. 
 
 It flies, but 3h . too late we find. 
 
 It U>aT€8 a real sting behind. iixiiUISKa. 
 
 U & 
 
i^ English UKAUKii uri l!, 
 
 SECTION IL 
 
 i^f^e nightingale and the gLfw-tDorm, 
 . t. A jriGHTiNGALE, that all day long - 
 
 Had cheer'd the village Avith his song, ' 
 Not* yet at eve his note suspended, 
 Not yet when eventide was ended, 
 Began to feel, as well he mij^ht, 
 The keen demands of appetite ; 
 When, looking eagerly around, 
 He spied far off, upon the ground,- 
 A something shining in the dark. 
 And knew the glow-worm by his spark* 
 So, stooping down from hawthorn top, 
 He thought to put him in his crop, 
 t. The worm aware of his intent. 
 
 Harangued him thus, right eloquent — 
 
 * Did you admire my lamp,' quoth he, 
 
 * As much as 1 your minstrelsy, 
 You would abhor to do me wrong, 
 As much as 1 to spoil your son^ ; 
 For 'twas the self-same pow'r divine, 
 Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
 That you with music, I with lijjht. 
 Might beautify and cheer the night.' 
 
 S. The songster heard his short oration, 
 
 And, warbling out his approbation, 
 
 Releas'd him, as my story tells, 
 
 And found a supper somewhere else. 
 
 Hence, jarring sectaries may learn 
 
 Their real int'rest to discern ; 
 
 Thit brother should not war with brother 
 
 And worry and devour each other : 
 
 But sin j; and shine by sweet consent. 
 
 Till life's poor transient night is spent ; 
 
 Respecting, in each other's case, 
 
 The gifts of nature and of grace. 
 4« Those Christians best deserve the name, 
 
 Who studiously make peace their aim : 
 
 Peace, both the duty and ^he prize 
 
 Of him that creeps, and him that flies. cowrwi 
 SECT[ON m. 
 r/ie trials of virtue. 
 V Plac'd on the verge of youth, my infodl 
 Life's op'Ding scene surrey'd : 
 
hip* IL Narrative Pii[fc£8. ii( 
 
 I 1 vlew'd Its ills of various kind, 
 I Afflicted and afraid. 
 1 1. But chief my fear tlie dangers mor'd. 
 That virtue's path enclose : 
 My heart the wise pursuit approv'd ; 
 but O, what toils oppose ! 
 8. For see, ah see ! while yet her ways 
 With doubtful step I tread, 
 A hostile world its terrors raise, 
 Its snares delusive spread. 
 " . O how shall 1, with heart prepared, 
 Those terrors learn to meet ? 
 How, from the thousand snares to guard 
 
 My unexperienc'd feet ? , 
 
 5. As thus 1 inusM, oppressive sleep ^'\ 
 
 Soft o'er my temples drew 
 Oblivion's veil. — The wat'ry deep, 
 
 An object strange and n»w. \ 
 
 C. Before me rose : on the wide shore ,j 
 
 Observant as I stood, :.' 
 
 The gathering storms around me roar, ; 
 
 And heave the boiling flood. f 
 
 7. Near, and more near the billows rise ; .<i^ 
 
 Even now my steps they lave; 
 And death to my affrightea eyes 
 
 Approached in ev'ry wave. \ 
 
 8. What hope, or whither to retreat J 
 
 Each nerve at once unstrung ; 
 Chill fear had fetter'd fast my feet, 
 
 And chain'd my speechless tongue. 
 9- 1 felt my heart within me die ; ^ 
 
 When sudden to mine ear 
 A voice, descending; from on high, 
 
 Reprov'd my erring fear. 
 
 10. ** What tho' the swelling surge thou 8e# 
 
 Impatient to devour ; 
 Rest, mortffi, rest on God's decree, 
 And thankful own his pow'r. 
 
 11. " Know, when he bade che deep appear* 
 
 Thus far,' th' Almighty said, 
 • Thus far, no farther, rage ; and h«}i^ 
 * 1a^ thy proud wavcjj oe stayed.** 
 
FarM 
 
 |t EfTOLiSU U£AD£R. 
 
 1ft. I beard ; and lo ! at once controird* 
 The waves in wild retreat, 
 Back on themselves reluctant roll'd, 
 And murm'ring left my feet. 
 15. Deeps to assembling det^ps in vain 
 Once more the signal gave : 
 The shores thr rushing weight sustain, 
 And check the usurping wave. 
 
 14. Convinc'd, in nature's volume wise, 
 
 The imag'd truth I read ; 
 And sudden from my waking eyes 
 The instructive vision fled. 
 
 15. Then why thus heavy, O my soul ! 
 
 Say why, distrustful still, 
 Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll 
 
 O'er scenes of future ill ? 
 . Let faith suppress each rising fear, 
 
 Each anxious doubt exclude : 
 Thy Maker's will has plac'd thee here, 
 
 A maker wise and good ! 
 17. He to thy ev'ry trial knows 
 
 Its just restraint to give ; 
 Attentive to behold thy woes, 
 
 And faithful to relieve. 
 IS. Then why thus heavy, O my soul ' 
 
 Say why, distrustful still, 
 *rhy thoughts with vain impatience roll 
 
 O'er scenes of future ill / 
 19. Tho' griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, 
 
 Still m thy God confide, 
 Whose hnzer marks the seas their bound. 
 
 And euros the head long tide. mere ck« 
 
 i^ECTION IV. 
 
 The youth and the philosopher. 
 1. A Grecian youth of talents rare, 
 Whom Plato's philosophic care 
 Had form'd for virtue's nobler view, , . 
 By precept and example too, 
 Would often boast his matchless skill. 
 To curb the steed, and guide the wheel ; 
 And as he pass'd the gasjing throng, ^ 
 
 WUh graced) ease, and amack*d the tbcMS^i 
 
jf, d. Narrative Pieces. fiS 
 
 The ideot wonder they expressed. 
 
 Was nraise and transport to his breast. 
 . At length, miite vain, he needs would show 
 
 His master what his art could do ; 
 
 And bade his slaves the chariot lead 
 
 To Academus' sacred shade. 
 
 The trembling grove confess'd its fright, 
 
 The wood-nymphs started at the sight ; 
 
 The muses d.rop the learned lyre, 
 
 And to their inmost shades retire. 
 . llowe'er the youth with forward air ; 
 
 liows to the sage and mounts the car. 
 
 The lash resounds, the coarserS spring, 
 
 The chariot marks the rollinf^ ring ; 
 
 And gath'ring crowds, with eagt^r eye^, 
 
 And shouts, pursue him as he ilies. 
 . Triumphant to the goal return'd, 
 
 With nooler thirst his bosom burn'd ; 
 
 And now along th' indented plain 
 
 The self-same track he marks again, 
 
 Pursues with care the nice design, 
 
 Nor ever deviates from the line. 
 
 Amazei^icnt seiz/d the circling crowd ; 
 
 The youths with emulation glow'd ; 
 
 Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy ; 
 
 And all but Plato gaz'd with joy. 
 >. For, he deep-judging sage, beheld 
 
 With pain the triumphs of the field ; 
 
 And when the charioteer drew nigh, 
 
 And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye, 
 
 ♦* Alas! unhappy youth," he cry'd, 
 
 ** Expect no praise from me," (and sigh'd*) 
 1. " With indignation I survey 
 
 Such skill and judgment thrown away : 
 
 The time profusely squandered there» 
 
 On vulgar arts beneath thy care, 
 
 If well employ'd, at less expense. 
 
 Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense ; 
 
 And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate 
 
 To govern men and guide the state." whitehead 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Discourse between Adam and Eve^ retiring io rest* 
 .Now came still ev'ning on, and twilight gray 
 
 Had in her sober liv'ry all things claa, 
 
Si English Reader. PUfll 
 
 8!l«noe acoompanied ; for beast and bird, 
 They to their srassy couch, these to their nests 
 Were sUmk ; all buf; the wakeful nijj;htingale. 
 She ali night long her am'rous descant sung: 
 Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament'! 
 With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led 
 The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 
 Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
 Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light, 
 And o*er the dark her silver mantle threw. 
 
 t* When Adam thus to Eve : " Fair consort, th' h( 
 Of night, and all things now retlr'd to rest, 
 Mind us of like repose ; since God hath set 
 Labour and rest, as day and night, to men 
 Successive ; and the timely dew of sleep. 
 Now falling with soft slumbrous weight, incline* 
 Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long 
 Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest : 
 Man hath his daily wo4*k of body or mind 
 Appointed, which declares his d,ignity. 
 And the regard of Heav'n on all his ways ; 
 While other animals unactive range, 
 And of their doings God takes no account. 
 
 8. To-morrow, ere fi-esh morning streak the east 
 With first approach of light, we must be risen, 
 And at our pleasant labour ; to reform 
 Yon flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green, i 
 
 Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, 1 
 That mock our scant manuring, and require 
 More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth. 
 Those blossoms also, and tliose dropping g,ums 
 That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmootn. 
 Ask riddance, if we mean to tread Avith case. 
 Mean while, as nature wills, night bids us rest." 
 
 4. To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'c 
 " My author and disposer, what thou bidst 
 Unargu'd 1 6hey ; so God ordains. 
 With thee conversing 1 forget all time ; 
 AH seasons and their change, all please alike. 
 Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet. 
 With charm of earhest birds ; pleasant the sun 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow'r 
 Glist'ring with dew : fragrant the fertile earth 
 Afttr tan show'rs; and sweet the cowiing en 
 
Otuqt. S. Narrative Pieces. $^ 
 
 Of gratefui evening mild ; then silent night. 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair nioon« 
 And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train; 
 
 5. But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
 With charm of earliest birds : nor rising sun 
 On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flow'r, 
 Glist'ring with dew; nor fragrance, after shoWrs ; 
 Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night 
 With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon, 
 Or glitt'ring star light, — without thee is sweet. 
 
 But wherefore all nightlong shine these ? for whom 
 This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes!" 
 
 6. To whom our gen'ral ancestor reply'd : 
 
 " Daughter of God and man, accomplish'd Eve, 
 
 Jhesc have their course to finish round the earth 
 y morrow ev'ning; and from land to land. 
 In order, thou2;h to nations yet unborn, 
 Minist'ring light prepar'd, they set and rise; 
 Lest total darkness simuld bynight regain 
 Her old possession, and extinguish life 
 In nature and all things; which these soft fires 
 Not only enlighten, but, with kindly heat 
 Of various iniluence, foment and warm, 
 Temper or nourish ; or in part shed down 
 Their stellar virtues on all kinds that grow 
 On earth, made hereby apter to receive 
 Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. 
 
 7. These then, though unbeheld in deep of night, 
 Shine not in vain ; nor think, though men were none. 
 That heav'n would want spectators, God want praise ; 
 Millions of spirit'^^l creatures walk the earth 
 Unseen, both ^vhen we wake, and when we sleep. 
 All these with ceaseless praise his works behold, 
 Both day and night. How often, from the steep 
 Of echomg hill or thicket have we heard 
 Celestial voices to the midnight air, 
 
 Sole, or responsive each to others' note, 
 Sinking their great Creator ? Oft in bands. 
 While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk 
 With heav'nly touch of instrumental sounds, 
 In full harmonic number join'd, their songs 
 Divide tne nignt, and liftour thoughts to heav'n.*' 
 A» Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass*d 
 Ob to their blissful bow'r. t - 
 > ■ ■ There arriv'd, both stoad. 
 
fin English Header^. Fart t^ 
 
 Both tumM ; &nd under open sky adorM 
 
 The God that made both sky, air, earth, andheav'n 
 
 Which they beheid, the moon's resplendent globe, 
 
 And starry jiole^ *' Thou also macfs't the night 
 
 Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day. 
 
 Which we» in our appointed work employ'd> 
 
 Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help. 
 
 And mutual love, the croivn of all our Miss 
 
 Ordain'd by thee ; and this delicious place 
 
 For us too large, where thy abundance wants 
 
 Partakers, and uncro})t falls to the ground. 
 
 But thou hast promis'd from us two a race, 
 
 To fill the earth, who shall with us extol 
 
 Thy goodness itifinite, both when we wake, 
 
 And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep.'* Milto. 
 
 Sli^CTION VI. 
 
 x^~ Meligio-n and Deaths 
 
 ^ I. Lo ! a form divinely bright 
 
 Descends and bursts upon my sight? 
 A seraph of illustrious birth ! 
 (Religion was her name on earth ;) 
 Supremely sweet her radiant face, 
 And blooming with celestial grace ! 
 Three shining cherubs form'd her tram, 
 Wav'd their light wings, and reach'd the plain 
 Faith, with sublime and piercmg eye, 
 And pinions flu tt' ring for the sky ; 
 iiefe Hope, that smiling angel stands, 
 And golden anchors grace her hands ; 
 There Charity in robes of white, 
 Fairest and fav'rite maid of light. 
 ^ The seraph spoke—** Tis reason's part 
 To govern and guard the heart ; 
 To lull the wayward soul to rest, 
 When hopes and fears distract the breast* 
 Reason may calm this doubtful strife. 
 And steer thy bark through various life : 
 But when the storms of death are nigh, 
 And midnight darkness veils the skj', 
 Shall reason then direct thy sail. 
 Disperse the clouds, or sink the gale ? 
 Stranger, this skill alone is mine, 
 Skill that traiiscends his scanty line " 
 
Ckap, & Narrative Pikcss. §41 
 
 S. •• Revere, thyself— thou Vt near affledl ( 
 
 To angels on tny better side. 
 How various e'er their ranks or krndsv 
 Angels are but unbodied minds : 
 When the partition walls decay. 
 Men emerge angels from their clay. 
 Yes, when the frailer body dies, 
 The soul asserts her kindred skies. 
 I5ut minds, though sprung from heav'nly {"Rtc^ 
 Must first be tutor'd for the place : 
 The joys above are understood. 
 And relish'd only by the g;ood. 
 Who shall assume this guardian care ; 
 Who shall secure their birth -risjht there ? 
 Souls are my charge — to me 'tis giv'n 
 To train them for their native heav'n." 
 
 4. ** Know then — who bow the early knc«t 
 And give the willing heart to me ; 
 
 Who wisely when temptation waits, 
 
 Elude her frauds, and spurn her baits ; 
 
 Who dare to own my injur'd cause, ♦ 
 
 Though fools deride my sacred laws ; 
 
 Or scorn to deviate to the wrong, 
 
 Though persecution lifts her thon^ ; 
 
 Thoujijh all the sons of h^ll consnire 
 
 To raise the stake and light the fire ; 
 
 Know that for such superior souls. 
 
 There lies a bliss beyond the poles : 
 
 "\Yhere spirit? shine with purer ray. 
 
 And brighten lo meridian day; 
 
 Where love, wh^u-e boundless friendship rulet 
 
 (No friends that change, no lore that cools ;) 
 
 Where rising floods of knowledge roll, 
 
 And pour, and pour upon the soul ! 
 
 5. *' But Where's the passaj:;e to the skies ? 
 The road througli death's black valley lies. 
 Na5% do not shudder ?t my tale; 
 
 Tho dark the shades, yet safe the vale. 
 This path the best of men have trod : 
 And who'd decline the road to God ? 
 Oh ! 'tis a gl(?i-ious boon tf> die .• 
 This favour can't be priz'dtoo high." 
 
 6. While thus she spoke, my looks exprew'd 
 The raptures kindling in my breast ; 
 
 My sou! a fix'd atttntion gave ; 
 
•4f KffGxisH Header. Part ft. 
 
 When the sl^m monarch of the grave, 
 
 With haughty strides approach'd : — amaz'd 
 
 I stood and trembled as I gaz'd. 
 ' The seraph calmM each anxious fear, 
 
 And kintlly wip'd the falling tear, 
 
 Then hasten'd with expanded wing 
 
 To meet the pale, terrific king. 
 ^ T. But now wnat milder scenes arise I 
 
 The tyrant drops his hostile guise ; 
 
 He seems a jouth divinely fair, 
 
 In graceful ringlets waves his hair : 
 
 His wings their whit'ning plumes display, 
 
 His burnish'd plumes reflect the day ; 
 
 Ciight flows his shining azure vest, 
 
 And all the angel stands confess'd. 
 
 I view'd the change with sweet surprise ; 
 
 And Oh ! 1 panted for the skies : 
 
 Thank*d heav'n that e'er I drew my breath ; *>. 
 
 And triumph'd in the thoughts of death. * cotton.) 
 
 CHAPTER llf. 
 
 ©Itrattic ^tctes. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 The vanity of wealth. 
 !• No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, ' 
 ^ With aVrice painful vigils keep ; ^ 
 
 ^ Still unenjoy'd the present store, 
 ' Still endless sighs are breath'd for more. 
 
 • Oh ! quit the Shadow, c^itch the prize, 
 
 . Which not all India's treasure buys I ' 
 
 To purchase heav'n has gold the pow'r ? , 
 
 * Can gold remove the mortal hour ? 
 
 . <ln life can love be bought with gold ? ' 
 
 ♦ Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ? » 
 , «No— all that's worth a wish — a thought, » 
 
 Fair rirtue gives unbrib'd, unbought. f 
 
 * Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind ; , 
 
 ' L«t nobler views engage thy mind. dr. johnson* 
 SECTION II. 
 Nothing foTin^d in. vain, 
 I. lyST fK> presuming impious railer tax 
 Crtative^ wisdom ; as iC aught was form'd 
 
Chap. 3. DiiiACTic f lECKS. C^ 
 
 In vain, or not far admirable ends. 
 Shall little haughty ij^norance pronounce 
 His wyrk;? unwise, of which the smallest part 
 Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind 1 
 As if, upon a full-proportionVl dome, 
 On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art ! 
 A critic-ily, whose feeble ray scarce spreads 
 An inch around, with blind presumption bold. 
 Should dare to tax the structure of the w hole. 
 S. And lives the man, whose universal eye 
 
 Has swept at once Ih' unbounded scheme of things ; 
 
 MarkM their dependence so, and i\vm accord, 
 
 As with unfault'ring accent to conclude, 
 
 That this availeth nauj^ht I Ha^ any seen 
 
 The mighty chain of beif}p;s, less'nmg down 
 
 From infinite perfection, to the brink 
 
 Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss ! 
 
 From which astonish'd thought^ recoiling; turnd T 
 
 Till then alone It^ zealous praise ascend. 
 
 And hymns of holy wonder, to tliat P(nvKR, 
 
 Whose wisdom shines as lovely in our minds. 
 
 As cv our smiling e3^es his servant sun. THOMPSOifr 
 
 SECTION 111. 
 
 On pride. 
 
 J)f all the causes, which conspire to blind 
 Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, 
 What the weak head with strongest bias rules, 
 Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 
 Whatever nature has in worth deny'd, 
 She gives in large recruits of nerd fid pride ! 
 For, as in bodies, thus in souls, we find m 
 
 What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind 
 Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence. 
 And fills up all the mighty void, of sense-. 
 fi* if once right reason drives that cloud away. 
 Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. 
 Trust not yourself ; but, your defects to knoit, 
 Make use of ev'ry friend — and rv'ry foe. 
 A little learning is a dangerous thing ; 
 Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring : * 
 
 There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain ; 
 ADd4rinking Jargely sobers us again. 
 
t44 Es^GLisH Reader. Part £• 
 
 d. Fir'd at first sight with what the muse imparts. 
 In fearless youtii we tempt the heights of arts. 
 While, from the bounded level of our mind, 
 Short views we tjike, nor see the lengths behind ; 
 But more advanc'd, behold, with strange surprise, 
 New distant scenes of endless science rise ! 
 So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, 
 •Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; 
 Th' eternal snows appear already past, 
 And the first clouds and mountains seem the last ; 
 But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey 
 The growing labours of the lengthen'd way ; 
 Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes; 
 Hills peep o'er Iiills, and Alps on Alps arise, rops. 
 SECTION IV. 
 Cruelty to brutes censured, 
 
 1. 1 WOULD not enter on my Fist of friends, 
 (Though pac'd with polish'd manners and fine senses 
 Yet wantnig sensibility,) the man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail, 
 That crawls at evening in the public path; 
 But he that has humanity, forewarn'a, 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 
 £.The creepinj^ vermin, loathsome to the sight, 
 And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes 
 A visitor unwelcome into scenes 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove, 
 The chamber, or refectory may die. 
 A necessarj'' act incurs no blame. 
 Not so, when held within their proper bounds, 
 And guiltless of offence they ran^e the air. 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious field, 
 'theie they are privile^'d. And he that hunts 
 Or harms them there, is guilty of a wrong ; 
 Disturbs th' economy of nature's relm, 
 Who, when she form'd, designed them an abode* 
 
 8. The sum is Jiis ; if man's convenience, health. 
 Or safety interfere, his rights and claims. 
 Are paramount-, and must extinguish theirs. 
 Else they are all — the meanest things that are, 
 As free to live and to enjoy that life, 
 As God was fr(^e to forrn them at first. 
 Who, in his sovereign wisdom, made them all. 
 
QtafK $» DlDACTU PlKCKS. M^ 
 
 ^ Ye, therefore, who love mercj, teach your tODt 
 To love it too. The sprin*:: tjme of our yearn 
 Is soon dishonour'cl and defil'd, in most, 
 By budding ills, that nsk a prudent hand 
 To cneck them, hut, alas ! none sooner shoots 
 If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 
 Than cruelty, most dt^v'lish of them all. 
 
 S.Mercy to him that shoivs it, is the rule 
 And righteous limitation of its act, 
 Hy which heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty man t 
 And he that shows none, beinp; ripe in years, 
 ^ And conscious of the outra^^e he commits, 
 
 Shall seek it, and not find it in his turn. cowpsi« 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 A paraphrase on the latter part of the (jth chapter of SL 
 
 Matthew. 
 
 I.When my breast labours with oppressiv(* care, 
 And o'er my cheek descends the failing tear; 
 "While all my warring passions are at strife, 
 Oh ! let me listen to the words of life ! 
 Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart. 
 And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping; heart, 
 
 f. "Tliink not, when all your scanty stores afford. 
 Is spread al once u|)on the sparinj; hoard ; 
 Think not, when worn the homely robe appears^ 
 While on the roof the howlinji; tempest bears; 
 What farther siiall this feeble life sustain. 
 And wliat,shall clothe tiiese shiv'rinj^ limbs agjvin. 
 
 C. Say, does not life its nourishment exceed] 
 Ana the fair body its inveslinjr weed ? 
 Behold I and look away your low despair- 
 See the light tenants of the l»arren air : 
 To them, nor stores, nor j^ranaries belonp; : 
 Nought, but the woodland, and the pleasin',^ songt 
 Yet, yoiu* kind heav'nly fatiier bends his eye 
 On the least wing that Hits along the sky. 
 
 4. To him they sing when s})ring renews the plain i"^ 
 To him they cry in winter's pinching reign : > 
 Nor is their mubic, nor their plaint in vain : j 
 He hears the gay, and the distressful call ; 
 
 And with uns))aVing bounty (ills them all.** 
 
 5. ** Observe the rising lily's snowy }^racQ< 
 Ob«e4Te the various vegetable race ; 
 
 w a 
 
§46 EiVGiiSH Rkadeh. Fart £. 
 
 'they ne.lthor toil, nov spin, but careless {^row ; 
 Yetsceliow warm th«y bluv.h ! how bri>?;htthciy glow 
 What rngal vestments can with th^^m compare ! 
 What k\ivx SO' shining; ! of'vhat (jiicen so iair ! 
 6. ** If ce'dsr.k'«s, thus, the fowls of heaven he feedB; 
 If o'er the fields suc^i lucid robes he spreads ; 
 Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say ? 
 Is he unwise ? o=r, are ye less than they /" 
 
 THOMSON. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 IVie death of a good man a strong incentive to virtue^, 
 S. Tiis chamber where the good man meets kis fate^ 
 
 Is privilcj^'d beyond the common walk 
 
 Of virtuoivs life, quite in the verge of heav'n* 
 
 Fly, ^ir. profane! if not, draw near with awe, 
 
 Receive the blessing, and adore the chance, 
 
 That threw in this 13ethesda your disease : 
 
 If unrestor'd by this, despair your cure. 
 2. For, here, resistU^ss demonstration dwells ; 
 
 A death-bed's a detector of the heart. 
 
 Here tir'd dissimulation drops her mask, 
 
 Thro' lifer's grimace, that mistress of the scen«? 
 
 Here, real and apparent, are the same. 
 
 You see the man ; you see his hold on heav'n,. 
 
 If sound his virtue, as Philander's sound. 
 5. Heav'n waits not the last moment ; owns her friends 
 
 0« this side death ; and points them out to ijaen ; 
 
 A lecture, silent, but of sov'reign p-ow'r ! 
 
 'J'o vice, confusion : and to. virtue, peace.. 
 
 Whatever farce the boastful hero plays, 
 
 Virtue alone has majesty in death ; 
 
 And) greater still, the more the tyrant frowns^ 
 
 TOUWe. 
 
 SECTION vn. 
 
 Reflections on a future state^ from a review of winter, 
 l.'Tis done ! dread Avinter spreads his latest glooms, 
 
 And reigns tremeadous o'er the conquer'd year. 
 
 How, dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
 
 How dumb the tuneful ! Horror Avide extends 
 
 His desolate domain. Jiehold, fond man ! 
 
 See here thy pictured life : pass some few years. 
 
 Thy flow'ring spring, thy summer's ardeat 8tr«n|;th» 
 
 Thy sober autumn fading into a|;o, 
 
And pule concluding winter comes at kst. 
 And shuts the scene. 
 
 2. Ah ! whither now are fled 
 Those dreams of greatness ? tJ)oae unsolid hop<:9 
 Of happiness ? those longings after fame 7 
 Those restless cares ? those busy bustling dayt T 
 Those gay-spent festive nights ? those veering thou^M^ 
 Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy hfc? 
 
 3. Ail now are vanish'd ! Virtue sole burvivcs, 
 Immortal, never failing friend of mun» 
 Misguide to happiness on liigh. And see ! 
 'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 
 Of heav'n and earth ! awakening nature hears 
 The new-creating Avord ; and starts to life, 
 
 In ev'ry heighten'd form, from pain and death 
 For ever free. The great eternal scheme, 
 Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
 Uniting as the ])rospect wider spreads., 
 To reason's eye renn'd clears jp apace. 
 
 4. Ye vainly wise ! Ye blind presumptuoui ! iu>w, 
 Confounded in the dust, adore that Power, 
 And Wisdom oft arraign'd ; see now the cauM 
 Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd, 
 
 And died neglected : why the good man'i 8hiir« 
 In life was gall, and bitterness of soul : 
 Why the lone widow and her orphani pln'tj 
 In starving solitude ; While luxury, 
 In palaces lay straining her low thought, 
 To form unreal wants : why heav'n-born truth. 
 And moderation fair, wore the red marks 
 Of superstition's scourge; why licensed pain, 
 That cruel snoiler, that embosera'd foe, 
 Imbitter'd all our bliss, 
 d. Ye good distresaM I 
 
 Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
 Beneath life's pressure, vet bear up awhile, 
 And what your bounded view which only aaw 
 A little part, deem'd evil, is no more : 
 The storms of wint'ry time will quickly pass. 
 And one unbounded spring encircle all. TUOMtMlk 
 
 SECTION VIll. 
 Adam's advice to Eve, to avoid t^mpiatiof^ 
 1. ** O WOMAN, best are all things as the will 
 Of God ordain'd them ; his creating baD<ii 
 
ftft English JIeader. Pari %, ^i 
 
 ^ottilaff imperfect or deficient left 
 Of all tiiat lie created, much lessinaa, 
 Oraujjht that might his happy state secure> 
 Hecure from outward force. Within himself 
 The danj;er lies, yet lies within his pow'r : 
 Against his will he can receive no harm. 
 
 ^ But God left free the will : for what obeys 
 Reason is free, and reason he made right ; 
 But bid her well beware, nnd still erect, 
 Lest by some fair appearing ^ood surprised 
 She dictate false, and misinform the will 
 To do what God expressly hath forbid. 
 Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins • 
 That I should mind thee oft : and mind thoumei. 
 
 d> Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve, 
 Since reason not impossibly nviy meet 
 Some specious object by the foe suborn'd, 
 And fall into deception unaware, 
 Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned. 
 Seek not temptation then, which to avoid 
 Were better, and most likely if from me 
 Thou sever not ; trial will come unsouj!;ht. 
 
 4. Wouldst thou apj)ruve thy constancy ? approve 
 First thy obedience ; th' other who can know, 
 Not seeing thee attempted, who attest? 
 But if thou think, trial unsought may find 
 Us both securer than thus warnM thou secm^stt 
 Gu ; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more : 
 Go in thy native innocence ; rely 
 On'what thou hast of virtue, summon all ; 
 For God towards thee hath done his part; do thine.** 
 
 MILT09. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 On Procrastination, 
 
 3. Bk wise tO'day ; 'tis madness to defer: 
 
 Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
 
 Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. 
 
 Procrastination is the thief of time. 
 
 Year after year it steals, till all are fled ; 
 
 And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
 
 The Tast concerns of an eternal scene. 
 1L or man's miracirious mistakes, this bears 
 
 Tbe palm, ** That all me;i are aiiout to Uy« t** 
 
CkttJK 8k DlDACTl* flECEJK §4# 
 
 For erer on tho brink of belnp; ooriu 
 
 All pay themselvcL^ tlie comj>liinent to think. 
 
 They one day shall not drivel ; and their prid« 
 
 On this roversion takes up ready praise ; 
 
 At least, Iheir own ; their future selves applauds; 
 
 liow excellent that life they ne'er will lead! 
 
 Time lodp;Vi in their own I)ands is folly's vaili; 
 
 That lod^'d in fate's, to wisdinm they consi^^n ; 
 
 The thinj; thev can't but purpose, they postpone* 
 
 'Tis not in folly, not to scorn a fool ; 
 
 And scarce in fiuman wisdom to do more, 
 t. All promise is j)Oor dilatory man ; 
 
 Ana that thro' cv'ry sta^e. ^Vhen young, indee4« 
 
 In full content, we sometimes nobly rest, 
 
 Unanxioi^s for ourselves; and only wish, 
 
 As duteous sons, our fathers Were mure wise 
 
 At thirty, man suspects himself a fool; 
 
 Knows It at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
 
 At fifty, chides fiis infamous delay ; 
 
 Pushes his prudent purpose to res»olve ; 
 
 Jn all the magnanimity of thoujijht, 
 
 Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same. 
 4. And why ? JJecause he thinks himsetf immortal. 
 
 All men think all men mortiil, but themselves ; 
 
 Themselves, when some alarminj; shock of fate 
 
 Strikes tliro' their wounded hearts the sudden <lread| 
 
 But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, 
 
 Soon close ; where, past the shaft, no trace is found. 
 
 As from the winji; no scar tiie sky retains; 
 
 The parted wave no furrow from the keel ; 
 
 So dies in human hearts the thou<i;ht of death. 
 
 Ev*n with the tender tear which Nature sh«ds 
 
 O'er those we love, we dropt it in their grave. TOVif« 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 That philosophy, which stops at secondary caxtsts^ rtpromi 
 I, Happy the mnn who sees a God employed 
 
 In all the good and ill that checker life I 
 
 Kesolvinj^ all events, with their effects 
 
 And manifold results, into the will 
 
 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
 
 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
 
 The least of our concerns ; (since from the lent 
 
 The greatest oft originate ;) could chanct 
 
 Find place in his dominioni or dispose 
 
iSO iL.NuLisH KEAOfcU. Part a. 
 
 One l;l^Yloss parfrele to thwart his }jh.n ; 
 Then ium im^^Ut he surj>n?'(!, and 'Wiforesften 
 (y'ontingepce vnj^ht Mi:irin iiim, >in(\ disturb 
 The smooth nod tMjuai ri>mse of h'l'i alTairs. 
 
 £. This trut!i, ph'lusophy, tliou^li ea^-ie-ey'd 
 In nature's tendencies, nft o'erlook.s ; 
 And having; round his instrument, forgets 
 Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, 
 J")enie:-4 the povv'r that wiejds it. God proclaims 
 His hot displeasure against foolish men 
 That live an at.heist life ; involves the heav'n 
 In tempests ; (piits his ^rasp upon the winds, 
 And gives them :dl their fury ; bids a plague 
 Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin, 
 And putrify the breath of blooming health ;" 
 
 i <*,lle calls f(u- famine, and the meagre hend • 
 j^lows mildew froiii between his shrivel'd lips, 
 And taints the golden ear ; he springs his mines. 
 And desolates a nation at a bl.ist : 
 Forth steps the spruce philosoplier, and tells 
 Of homogeneal and discordant springs 
 A.nd principles ; of causes, how they work 
 By necessary laws their sure eflects, 
 S)[ action and re-action. 
 I He has found 
 
 The source of the disease that nature feels; 
 And bids the world take heart and banish r*5ar. 
 Thou fool ! will thy discov'ry of the cause 
 Suspend th' effect, or heal it ? lias not God 
 Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? 
 And did he not of old employ his means. 
 To drown it ? What is his creation leiis 
 Than a capacious reservoir of means, 
 Form'd for his use, and ready at his w 111 ? 
 Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve : ask of him, 
 Or ask of whomsoever he has taught; * 
 And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 
 
 SECTION XL 
 
 Indignant sentiments on national prejudices a»d hatred; 
 and on slater y. 
 
 1. Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,. 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
 Vhere rumour of oppression and fkceU* 
 
it^nofu X Dii^ACTie FiJBCEfi. ijfi^ 
 
 Of unsuccessful or successful vrar, 
 
 Might never reach me more ! My ear ia {>aAp*d| 
 
 My soul is sick with every day's report 
 
 Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fiM'it ' 
 
 There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ; 
 
 It does not fee! for man. The natural bond.^ 
 
 Of brotherhood is sever'd as the ilax 
 
 That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 
 
 £. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
 
 Not coloured like his own ; and having pow'r 
 T' enforce the wronc, for such a worthy catwe 
 Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 
 Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
 Abhor each other. Mountains interposM, 
 Make enemies of nations, who had else, 
 Like kindred drops, been mingled into onct. 
 
 5. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroy* f 
 And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd. 
 As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
 Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts hi* »wea| 
 With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding lb«art« 
 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 
 
 4. Then what is man ! And what man seeina thu^ 
 And having human feelings, does not bluish 
 And hang his head, to think himself a mAti 7 
 
 I would not have a slave to till mv ground. 
 To carry me, to fan me while I slfpep, 
 And tremble when 1 wake, for all the wealth 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever «arn*cL 
 
 5. No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart*! 
 Just estimation priz'd above all price ; 
 
 1 had much rather be myself the slave, 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 We have no slaves at home — then w hy abroad 1 
 And they themselves once ferried o'er the wm?« 
 
 , That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd. 
 
 6 Slaves cannot breathe in E.Qgland : if their luofii' 
 
 1 Receive our air, that momeat they are free ; 
 
 They touch our country, and their shaekle* taiL 
 That's n-ohle, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And ieaJourf of the blessing. Spread it Ibeo, 
 And let it circulate througli evVy veia 
 
 Of all your empire : that where Britajn 
 
 felt, mankind may feel hec morc^ 
 
 
#5ft £noli8h Readeb. M*ari ifv^il 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SECTION 1. 
 77f^ morning in summer, 
 1« The meekey'd raorn appears, mother of dews. 
 
 At first faint gleaming in the dappled e-'ist ; 
 
 Till far o'er ether spreads the wid'ning glow ; 
 
 And from before the lustre of her face 
 
 White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step 
 
 Brown night retires : young day pours in apace, 
 
 And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
 £• The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, 
 
 Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 
 
 Blu^, thro* the dusk, the smoaking currents shine; 
 
 And" from the bladed field the fearful hare , 
 
 Limps awkward : while along the forest-glad« 
 ^ The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze 
 
 At early passenger. Music awakes 
 
 The native voice of undissembled joy ; 
 
 And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 
 d. Kou8*d by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
 
 HJ8 mossy cottage, where with peace ne dwells ; 
 
 And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 
 
 His flock to taste the verdure of the morn. 
 Fa?l8ely luxurious, will not man awake ; 
 
 And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 
 
 Th« cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour" 
 
 To meditation due and sacred song ? 
 
 For is there ought in sleep can charm the wise ? 
 4. To lie in dead oblivion, losing half 
 
 The fleeting moments of too short a life ; 
 
 Total extinction of th' enlightened soul ! 
 
 Or else to feverish vanity alive, 
 
 Wilder*d, and tossing thro' distemper'd dreams 1 
 
 Who would, in such a gloomy state, remain 
 
 Longer than nature craves ; when ev'ry muse 
 
 And every blooming pleasure waits wShout, 
 
 To blew the wildly devious morning walk? 
 
 TUOMBOIf 
 
 SECTION IL 
 Rttrtd sounds ^ as well as rural sights y delightful* 
 I.N^r rural sights alone, but rural gounds 
 tlxhiJcrate tlie »;>irit, and restore 
 
Ckap. i. 'Descriptive Tikcev. 909 
 
 The tone oT languid nature. Miglity wJnds, 
 That sweep t-he <<kirt of bonie farTsprcading wood 
 Of ancient prrow'th, oiake niiisic, not unlike 
 Thii dash of Ocean on his windin;:; ?horp. 
 And lull the spirit wliile thny iill the mind^ 
 Unnumt>(M''d hranehes vvavin;^ in the Wast, 
 And all their leaves fasi iiutt'ring all at once. 
 H. Nor less composure wails upon the roar 
 Of distant floods ; or on th*.' softer voice 
 Of neij;hl)'rin;:; fountain ; t>r of rills that slip 
 Throu?;h the cleft rock, and, cliiniing as iUvy fait 
 Upon loose pehhies, lose thenist^lves atlen;;;tu 
 In matted grass, that, will) a livelier green, 
 Betrays the secret of their silerit course. 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet soumJa ; 
 Jlut animated nature sweeter still, 
 To Booth and satisfy the human ear. 
 3. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
 Th6 live-lonj; night. Nor these alone, whose do^ 
 Nice iinp;er'd art must emulate in vajn ; 
 liut cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime, 
 Jn still repeated circles, screaminj^ Jond, 
 The ja}, the ])ye, and ev'n the boding owl 
 That hails the risi^jgmoon, liave charms for me. 
 Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh. 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reip^ns, 
 And only there, please higlily for their sake. 
 
 cowrKE. 
 SECTION 111. 
 The Rose. 
 !. The rose had been wash'd, lateJy wash'd in a skoweff 
 Which Mary to Anna convey'd ; 
 The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower, 
 And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 
 fi. The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, 
 
 And seem'd to a fanciful view, 
 j To weep for the buds it had left with regret, 
 
 On the flourishing bush where it grew. 
 ^ 8. 1 hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was 
 
 For a nosegay, so dripping and drownM ; 
 And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas! 
 I 1 snap'd it — it fell to the ground. 
 
 '*4. And such, 1 exclaim'd, is the pitiless par^ 
 Some act by the delicate mincl. 
 
ft^ EKGLisri Readek. Pmt % 
 
 Kegardles6 of wringing and breaking a bcarU 
 Already to sorrow resign'd. 
 6. ThJs elegant rose, had I shaken it less. 
 
 Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile : 
 And the tear that is wip'd with a little address. 
 May be followed jxjrhaps by a smile. cowpwl 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Care of birds for their young. 
 
 1. As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, 
 Not to be tem-pted from her tender task, 
 Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, 
 Tho' the whole loosen'd spring around her blows, 
 Her sympathizing partner takes his stand 
 High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 
 The tedious time away ; or else supplies 
 Her place a moment, while she sudaen iiits 
 To pick the scanty meal. 
 
 £. Th' appointed time 
 
 With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, 
 Warm'd and expanded into perfect life. 
 Their brittle bondage break, and come to light, 
 A helpless family, demanding food 
 With constant clamour. O what passions then. 
 What melting sentiments of kindly care, 
 On the new parents seize ! 
 
 8. Away they fly 
 
 Affectionate, and undesiring bear 
 The most delicious morsel to their young ; 
 Which equally distributed, again 
 The search begins. Even so a gentle pair 
 By fortune sunlc, but form'd of gen'rous mould, 
 And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast, 
 In some lone cot amid the distant woods, 
 •Sustain'd alone b)r' providential Heav*n, 
 Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train, 
 Check their own appetites, and give them all. 
 
 THOSirSOlf 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 Ltbtiy i4id slavery contrasted. Part of a letter vnittm 
 from Italy by Addison, 
 l.How has kind Heav'n adorn'U the happy land, 
 And scattered blessings with a wasteful nand-t 
 
 I 
 
Chap» 4. Descrxptivk Tieces* S^ 
 
 But what avail her unexhausted store*, 
 Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores. 
 With all the j;irts that heav'n and earth impart, 
 The smiles of nature, and the charms of art. 
 While proud oppression in her valley's reigns, 
 And tyranny usurps her hnppy plains ! 
 The poorinhabitant beholds in vain 
 The ledd'nin^ oranj^e, and the swellinj; j^rain; 
 joyless he sees the throwing oils and wines, 
 And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines, 
 ft. Oh, Liberty, thou pow'r supremely bright, 
 Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! 
 Perpetual pleasures in thy presence reign ; 
 Ana smiling plenty leads thy wanton train. 
 Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light; 
 And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight. 
 Thou mak'st the gloonjy face of nature gay ; 
 Giv'st beauty to the sun, and nleasure to th*6 <\aii 
 $, On foieign mountains, may the sun refine 
 The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine ; 
 With citron groves adorn a ilistant soil^ 
 And the fat olive swell with Hoods of oil: 
 We envy not the warmer clime, that lies 
 In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ; 
 Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, 
 Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine ' 
 *Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's Is)e, 
 And makes her barren locks, and her bleac moiiiy 
 tains smile. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 Charity, A paraj)krase on the ISth Chapter of the firit 
 epistle to the Corinthians, 
 1. Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue. 
 Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung; 
 Had 1 all knowledge human and divine, 
 That thought can reach, or science can define ( 
 And had I pow'r to give that knowledge birth, 
 In all the speeches of the babbling earth ; 
 Did Shadrach's zeal my growing breast inspire. 
 To wean^ tortures, and rejoice in fire; 
 Or had 1 faith like that which Israel sa^T, 
 When Moses gave them miracles and law; 
 Yet gracious charity, indulgent guest, 
 Were not thy dowt exerted in my breasi^l 
 
UM Enolisb Reader. Pari % 
 
 Tt»os««pe*^h(Mi would send up unheeded pray*r ; 
 
 That scorn of life would he hut wild despair ; 
 
 A cymhal's sound were, helter than my roice ; 
 
 My faitii were form ; my eloquence irere noise, 
 i. Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind, 
 
 Softens the hif!;h, and rears the abject mind r 
 
 Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guidt 
 
 Jietwixt vile shame, and arhitrary pride. 
 
 Not soon provok'd she easily forgives ; 
 
 Andmu«h shesulfers, as she much believes. 
 
 Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ; 
 
 She DuHds our <juiet, as she forms our livei* 
 
 Lays the rough paths of peevish nature eren ; 
 
 And opens m each heart a little heav'n. 
 8. Each other gift, which God on man bestoirs. 
 
 Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows; 
 
 To one fix'd purpose dedicates its pow*r ; 
 
 And finishing its act, exists no more. 
 
 Thus, in obedience to what heav'n decrees, 
 
 Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease; 
 
 But lasting charity's more ample sway. 
 
 Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay, 
 
 In happy triumph shall for ever live ; 
 
 And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receiTei. 
 
 4. As through the artist's intervening glass. 
 Our eye observes the distant planets pass ; 
 A little w^e discover ; but allow, 
 
 That more remains unseen, than art can show; 
 So whilst our mind its knowledge would improvet 
 lits feeble eye intent on things above,) 
 High as we may, we lift our reason up. 
 By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope; 
 Vet are we able only to survey, 
 Dawnings of l)eams and promises of day ; 
 Heav'n*s fuller affluence mocks our dazzled sig;ht ; 
 Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light* 
 
 5. But soon the mediate clouds «hall be dispelled; 
 The sun shall soon be face to face beheld, 
 
 In all his robes, with all his ^lory on, 
 Seated sublime on his meridian throne. 
 Then constant faith, and holy hope shall die. 
 One lost in certainty, and one in joy : 
 Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair chanty. 
 Triumphant sister, greatest of the three, 
 Thy office, and thy nature still th« same* 
 
Lasting thy .am^ and URCOnsum'd thy fJ<ime» 
 
 Shalt still survive — 
 
 Shalt stand l»efor« the host of hoav'n confesU 
 
 For ever blessing, and for ever blest. FKU 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 Picture of a s^ood man, 
 
 1. SoMS anj;el guide my pencil, while I draw. 
 What nothing else than angel can exceed, 
 A man on earth devoted to the skk's; 
 Like ships at sea, while in, above the world. 
 
 With aspect mild, and elevated eye, 
 Jiehold him seated on a mount serene. 
 Above tile fogs of sense, \m\ nassion's storm; 
 All the black cares, an-d tumults of tliis life, 
 Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, 
 Excite, his pity, not impair 'lis {)ea^t;. 
 
 £. Karth's genuine sons, Uie sceptred, and the slave, 
 A mingled mob ! a wand'rins; herd ! he sees, 
 BewikferM in the vale ; in iiX\ unlike ! 
 His full reverse in all I What high«-r praise ^ 
 What stronger demonstratioii of the rii^iU ? 
 
 The prnsi'nt a!) their care; the future his; 
 Wlien nuhlic welfare calls, or private want, 
 Thev give "o fune ; his bounty he conceals. 
 'I'heir virtues ' arnish nature; his t^xalt. 
 •Mankind's esteem they court; atid he his own. 
 
 8. Theirs the wild chase of false felicities ; 
 His, the composed |)OSHcssion of the true. 
 Alike throughout is his consistent piece» 
 All of one colour, and antiven thread; 
 Wliile party-culour'd shades of hMj)))ines9, 
 With hideous gaps between, patch up for them 
 A madman's robe ; each ])i:frof fortune blowa 
 Their tatters l)y, and shows their nakedness. 
 
 4. He sees with other eyes than theirs ; where XhxSJ 
 Behold a sun, he spies a Deity ; 
 What makes them only smile, makes him adore* 
 Where they see mountains, he but atoms se^^ 
 An empire in his balance, weighs a ^raia. 
 They things terrestrial worship as divine: 
 Kis Iiopes immortal blow them by, as dust. 
 That dims his sight and shortens his surrej* 
 Wiiich lon^s, in iri^nite, to loose all bound 
 X ft 
 
,6. Titles and honours (if they prove his fktc) 
 He lays aside to ihui his dignity ; 
 No dif^nity they find in anj^ht het^ides. 
 They triumph in externals, (which conceal 
 Man's real glory,) proud ot* an eclipse : 
 Himself too much ne prizes to be proud ; 
 And nothing; thinks so |i;reat in man, as man, 
 Tot) dear he holds his int'rest, to neglect 
 Another's welfare or his ri^ht invade ; 
 Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey. 
 
 6. They kindle at the shadow of a wrong ; 
 Wrongs he sustains ^vith temper, looks on heay'o, 
 Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe : 
 
 Nought, but whatAvounds his virtue, wounds hi* peace. 
 A cover'd heart their character defends; 
 A cover'd heart denies him half his praise. 
 
 7. With nakedness his innocence agrees! 
 While their hioji^ foliage testifies their fall ! 
 Their no-joys end» where his full feast begins: 
 His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. 
 To triumph in existence, his alone ; 
 
 And his alone triumphantly to think 
 His true existence is not jet begun. 
 His jjlorious coui-se w^as, yesterday^ complete : 
 Deaths then, w^as welcome; vet life »till is sweet. TuUKO* 
 SECTION VHl. 
 The 'pleasures of Retutment* 
 
 1. O KNEW he but his happiness, of men ♦ 
 
 The happiest he ! who, far from public rage, 
 Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, 
 Drinks the ])ure pleasures of the rural life. 
 What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, 
 Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd 
 Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd ? 
 Vile intercourse ! What though the glitt'ring robe. 
 Of ev'ry hue reflected li<i;ht can give. 
 Or floated loose, or stifl'with mazy gold. 
 The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not ? 
 
 1. What tho', Irom utmost land and sea purveyed, 
 For him each rarer tributary life 
 Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heafis 
 With luxury and death ? What tho* his bowl 
 Flame.9 not'with costly juice; nor sunk in bed* 
 Oft of gay care, he tosses out tho night, 
 Or melts the thoughtl«;:)3 hours in idk state? 
 
Chap. 4r pEscsiFTivR Pieces. flEM^ 
 
 What tbo* he knows not those fi^DtastJc joySt^ 
 That still amuse the wanton, still deceire ; 
 A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain : 
 Their hollow moments undeli^hted all? 
 Sure peace is his; a solid life estran^'d 
 To disappointment, and fallacious hope. 
 
 5. Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich, 
 
 In herbs and fruits ; whatever j^reens the spffn^t 
 
 When heaven descends in showers; or bends the b0U|{)-. 
 
 When summer reddens, and when autumn beams ; 
 
 Or in the wintry {i;lebe whatever lies 
 
 Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap : 
 
 These are not wanting ; nnr the milky drove, 
 
 Luxunant» spread o'er all the lowinj^ vale ; 
 
 Nor hleatinj^ mountains; nor the chide of streams, 
 
 And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere 
 
 Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, 
 
 Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; 
 
 Nor ought besides of prospect, grove, or song. 
 
 Dim grottos, gleamirg lakes, and fountains clear. 
 
 4. Here too dwells simple truth; plain inaocence ; 
 Unsullied beauty : sound unbroken youth, 
 Patient of labour, witii a little pleas'd ; 
 Health ever blooming ; unambitious toil ; 
 Calm contemplation, and politic ease. tmomsok. 
 
 SECTION IX. 
 
 The pleasure and henejit of an improved and icell-dirtcte^ 
 imagi nation. 
 
 1. On ! blest of Heaven, who not the languid songs 
 Of luxury, the siren I not the bribes 
 Of sonfid w(\ilth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
 Of pageant Honour, can su(hice toleave 
 Those ever blooiuing swe(:ts, which, from the stor« 
 Of nature, fair imagination culls. 
 To charm th' enlivr>i'd soul ! What tho* not all 
 Of mortal offspring can attain the height 
 Of envy'd life ; tho' only few possess 
 Patrician treasures, or imperial state; 
 Yet nature's care, to all her children ju«t, 
 With richer treasures, and an ampler stat^ 
 Endows at large whatever happy man 
 Will deign to us them. 
 
 ft. His the city's pomp, 
 
 The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns 
 The priacely dome, the column, as^i the ai^t^ 
 
ifBO Engliih Ukader. Pari %\ 
 
 The breathing marble and the sculptured ^old, 
 Beyond tUe ])roud possessor's narrow claim, 
 His tuHeful breast enjoys. For him, the spring 
 Distills her dews, and Irom the silken gem 
 Jts lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 
 Of autumn tinges every fertile branch 
 With bloominj^ gold, and blushes like the morn. 
 Each passing liour sheds tribute from her wings : 
 And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
 And loves unfelt attract him. 
 
 8, Not a breeze 
 
 Flies o'er the meadow ; not a cloud imbibea 
 
 The setting sun's eliulgence ; not a strain 
 
 From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
 
 Ascends ; but whence his bosom can partake 
 
 Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes 
 
 Fresh pleasure only ; for th' attentive mind, 
 
 i^y this harmonious action on her powers, 
 
 J5ecome3 herself harmonious : wont so oft 
 
 In outward things to meditate the charm 
 
 Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home, 
 
 To lind a kindred order; to exert 
 
 Within herself this elegance of love. 
 
 This fair inspir'd delight : her temper'd pow'ra 
 
 Kefine at lenijth and every passion wears 
 
 A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 
 
 4- But if to ampler ])rospects, if to gaze 
 On natures torm, where, negligent of all 
 These lesser graces, she assumt's tlie port 
 Of tliat Kternal Majesty, that weigh'd 
 The world's foundations, if to these tiie mind 
 Exalts her daring eye ; then mightier far 
 Will be the change and nobler. Would the fornss 
 Of servile customs cramp her gen'rous pow'rs? 
 Would sordid policies, the barb'rous growth 
 Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down 
 To tame })ursuits, to indolence and fear ; 
 
 J. Lo ! she appeals to natu»*e, to the w^inds 
 And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course. 
 The elements and seasons : all declare 
 For what th' eternal makkr has ordain d 
 The powers of man : we feel within ourselves 
 His energy divine ; he tells the heart. 
 "He meant, he made us to behold and lore 
 What he b&holda and loves, the general orK 
 
li^kap, 5. Pathetic Pieces. tUt 
 
 Of life and bein^ : to he p;re8.t like Him» 
 lieneAcent and active. Thus the men 
 Whom nature's works instruct, with God himself 
 Hold converse ; jcrow familiar, day by day, 
 "With his conceptions ; act u])on his plan ; 
 And form to his, the relish of their souls. akensidBm 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 The Hermit, 
 I. At the close of the day, ivhen the hamlet h Btill, 
 
 And mortals the sweets of forgetfulnesa prove ;. 
 When nouj^ht but the torrent is neard on the hill, 
 
 And nought hut the nip^htingale's song in the groret 
 *Twas thus by theeave of the moimtain afar, 
 
 While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; 
 No more with himself or with nature at war. 
 
 He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man. 
 t. ** Ah ! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo; 
 
 Why lone Thilomela, that languishing fall ? 
 For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
 
 And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. 
 But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay. 
 
 Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to moarn; 
 O sooth him whose pleasures like thine pass away : 
 
 Full quickly they pass — but they never return. 
 8. ** Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 
 
 The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays c 
 But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high 
 
 She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 
 Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 
 
 The path that conducts thee to splendour again : 
 But man's faded glory what change shall renew ! 
 
 Ah fool ! to exult in a glory so vain !" 
 4. " *Ti8 ni^ht, and the landscape is lovely no more : 
 
 1 mourn, but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you { 
 For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
 
 Perfum'd witn fresh fragrance, and glitt' ring with dem 
 Nor yet for the ravage oi winter 1 mourn ; 
 
 Kind nature the embryo blossom will save : 
 But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ! 
 
 O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave f* 
 &. »* 'Twas thus by the glare of ftilse science betray' J, 
 
 That leads to bewilder ; and dazslej to blind; 
 
ft91 Engl sh Reader. Pari f. 
 
 Mythoughts w-ontto roam, from shade onward to shade^ 
 
 Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 
 O pity, great Father of Hj?;ht, then 1 cri'd. 
 
 Thy creature who fain Would not wander from thee ! 
 Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish nn' pride : 
 
 From doubt and from darkness ibou only canst free." 
 6. ** And darkness and doubt are i-cv/ fiying away; 
 
 No longer 1 roam in conjectuie fo»iovii: 
 So breaks on the traveller, fairer ?r.d astray. 
 
 The bright and the balmy effulgt^ince of morn. 
 See truth, love, and mercy,* in triumph descending. 
 
 And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! 
 On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are Mending, 
 
 And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 
 
 BEATTIB. 
 
 SECTION n. 
 
 The Beggar'^ Petition, 
 1. Pitt the «©ttows of a poor old man. 
 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door 
 Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; 
 Oh ! give relief, and heav'n will bless your store, 
 ft. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak. 
 
 These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years ; 
 And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek. 
 Has been the channel to a flood of tears. 
 
 5. Yon house, erected on the rising ground, 
 
 With tempting aspect drew me from my road; 
 For plenty there a residence has found, 
 
 And grandeur a magnificent abode. 
 4. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor ! 
 
 Here as 1 crav*d a morsel of then- bread, 
 A pamper'd menial drove me from the door, 
 
 To geek a shelter in an humbler shed. 
 
 6. Oh ! take me to your hospitable dome ; 
 
 Keen blows the wind, and piercing is t.he%old .' 
 Short is my passage to the friendly tomb ; 
 For 1 am poor, and miserably old. 
 €. Should I reveal the sources of my grief. 
 If soft humanity e'er touch'd j^our breast, 
 Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, 
 And tears of pity would not be represt. 
 
 7. Heav'n sends misfortunes: why should we repine ? 
 
 'Tis HtSLv'n has brought me to the state you see ; 
 
Chap. ». Pathetic Pieces* 165 
 
 And your condition may be soon like mine,, 
 The child of sorrow and oi misery. 
 
 8. A little farm was my paternal lot ; 
 
 Th»»n like the. lark J sprightly hail'd the mora : 
 But ah ! Oppression forc'd me frcni my cot, 
 My catt'je died, and blighted was my corn. 
 
 9. My daughter, ofice the comfort of my age, 
 
 Lurd bv a vilhiln fp^m her native home. 
 
 Is caat aliaiidon'd on the world'r, wide stage, 
 
 And docm'd in scanty poverty to roam. 
 
 10. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care ! 
 
 Str'Jck with sad anguish a*, the stern decree, 
 FeU, I'nge'ing fell, a victim to despair; 
 
 And left the world to wretchedness and me. 
 
 11. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man. 
 
 Whoso ♦^'-pjifibhng limbs have borne him toyoAirdoor; 
 Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; 
 Oh ! give relief, and heav'n will bless your store. 
 SECTION Jli. 
 Unhappy close of life, 
 I. How shocking must thy sumrnon? be, O Death! 
 Tr. him that is at ease in his ])ossrssions ! 
 Who counting on long years of pleasure here, 
 }^ quite unfurnish'd for the world to come ! 
 In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
 Raves round the walla of her clay tenement ; 
 Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help ; 
 Rut shrieks in vain I How wishfully she looks 
 Oc. all she's leaving, now no longer hers I 
 t. A.^ttle longer ; yet a little longer ; 
 
 O Plight she stay to wash away her stains ; 
 Anu fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! 
 Her rery eyes Aveep blood ; and ev'ry groan 
 She heaves is big with horror. Rut the foe, 
 JJ'ie a staunch murd'rer, steady to his purpose, 
 Pu"'sues her close, thro' ev'ry lane o/ life ; 
 Nor misses once the track ; but presses on, 
 Till forc'd at last to the tremendous verge, 
 At once she sinks to everlasting ruin. R« BLilB. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 Ekgy to Pity. 
 1. Hail, IotcIt pow'rl ivhose boaom heaves the fttgh. 
 When feiTcy paints thf 8€«ne of deep diBtress ; 
 
i(4 £27«LisH Reader Fart t. L 
 
 ^Vhose tears spontaneous crystallize the eye, 
 When rigid fate denies the pow'r to bless. 
 C« Not all the sweets Arabia's gales convey 
 
 From flow'ry meads, can with that sij];h conapar© ; 
 Not dew-drops glittering in the morning ray, j 
 
 Seen near so beauteous as that falling tear* Jj 
 
 5. Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play ; 
 Emblem of peace, the dove before thee 'flies ; 
 Wo blood-stain'd traces mark thy blameless way, 
 Beneath thy feet no hapless insect dies ; 
 4. Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with me, 
 To spring the partridge from the guileful foe ; 
 From secret snares the struggling bird to free : 
 And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow. 
 I. And when the air with heat meridian glows, 
 
 And nature droops beneath the conq'ring gleam, 
 I^t us, slow wand'ring where the current Hows, 
 Save sinking flies that float along the stream. 
 6 Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care, 
 To me thy sympathetic gifts impart ; 
 Teach me in friendship'^ griefs to bear a share, 
 And justly boast the gen'rous feeling heart. 
 7. Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief ; 
 With timely aid the widow's woes assuage ; 
 To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief; 
 And be the sure resource of drooping age. 
 t. So when the genial spring of life shall fade, 
 And sinking nature own the dread decay, 
 Borne soul congenial then may lend its aicf, 
 And gild the close of life's eventful day. 
 SECTION V. 
 ferses supposed to be written hy Alexander Selkir/c, during 
 his solitary abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez, 
 1. 1 AM monarch of all I survey. 
 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 From the centre all round to the sea, 
 
 1 am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 Oh solitude ! where are the charms. 
 That sages have seen in thy face? 
 Better dwell ^n the midst of alarms, 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 £ 1 am out of humanity's reach, 
 1 must ^nish my journey alone ; 
 
Chap^ 5. rATHETIC FlECES. €M 
 
 ; Never hear the sweet music of speech 
 { 1 start ut the sound of tny own. ' « 
 
 1 The beasts that voixm over the plain, / 
 
 i My form with indillerentvi see : 
 They are ho unacquainted with man, 
 Their taaieiitiss is shocking to me* 
 
 3. Society, friendship, and love, 
 
 Divinely bestow'd upon man, 
 Oh had 1 the wings of a dove, 
 
 How soon would 1 taste you n^ain ! 
 My sijrrows 1 tiu^n inis;ht assuage 
 
 In the ways of reii<^ion and truth ; 
 Mij^ht learn from the wisdom of age, 
 
 And be cheer'd by the saihes of youth 
 
 4. Religion ! what treasure untold 
 
 Resides in that heavenly word ! 
 More j)recious than silver or gold. 
 
 Or ail that this earth can aflnrd. 
 hut the sound of the church-going bell 
 
 These vallies and rocks never heard ; 
 JNe'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell, t 
 
 Or smil'd when a sidbbath appeared. 
 6. Ye winds that have made me your sport, 
 
 Convey to this desolate HJitU'e, 
 Some cordial en<learing report 
 
 Of a land 1 shall viiiit no more. 
 My friends, do they now and then send 
 
 *A wish ur a thought after me ? 
 O tell me 1 yet have a friend, 
 
 Thougii a friend 1 am never to see. 
 
 6. How fleet is a ghmce of the mind ! 
 
 Compar'd with the speed of its flight* 
 The tempest itself lags behind. 
 
 And the swift-wing'd arrows of light. 
 When 1 think of my own native land, 
 
 In a momei't I seem to he there ; 
 But, alas ! rec(>llcGtion at hand 
 
 Soon hiu-ries me back to despair. 
 T, But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 
 
 The beast is laid down in his lair; 
 Even here is a season of rest, 
 
 And I to my cabin repair. 
 There's merry in every place ; 
 
 And meny — enccjriiging thought* ■ ^ ^ ^ 
 
English Reader. Pari % 
 
 OfTM «yefl afOlction a g;race, 
 And reconciles m,in to his lot* cowp*«. 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 
 Gratitude. 
 1. When all thy mercies, O my God ! 
 
 My rising soul surveys, 
 Transported with the view, I'm lost 
 In wonder, love, and praise. 
 t. O how shall words, with equal warmth, 
 The gratitude declare, 
 That glows within my ravished heart? 
 But thou canst read it there. 
 9. Thy Providence my life sustained. 
 And all my wants red rest, 
 When in the silent womh I lay, 
 And hung upon the hreast. 
 4. To all my weak complaints and cries, 
 Thy mercy lent an ear, 
 Bre yet my feehl« thoughts had learned 
 To form themselves in pray'r. 
 9> Unnumher'd comforts to my soul 
 Thy tender care bestow'd, 
 I^efore my infant heart conceived 
 From whom those comforts flow'd. 
 6. When, in the slipp'ry paths of youth, 
 With heedless steps, I ran, 
 Thine arm, unseen, convey 'd me safe, 
 And led me up to man. 
 T. Througli hidden dangers, tolls, and deaths, 
 It gently clear'd rny way ; 
 And through the pleasing snares of vice. 
 More to be ftar'd than they. 
 8. When worn with sickness, oft hast thou. 
 With health renew'd my face ; 
 And, when in sins and sorrows sunk, 
 Reviv'd my soul with grace. 
 •. Thy bounteous hand, with worldly bliss. 
 Has made my cup run oV ; 
 And, in a kind and faithful friend, 
 Has doubled all my store. 
 FO. Ten thousand thousand preaous gifts 
 
 My daily thanks employ ; ' 
 
Cht^* •. Pathetic pieces. fttf 
 
 Nor Is the least a cheerful heart 
 That tastes those ji^ifts with joy. 
 11. Through ev'ry period of my life, 
 Thy goodness I'll pursue : 
 And, aftc^r death, in distant worlds, 
 The glorious theme renew. 
 It. When nature f<\ils, and day and night 
 Divide thy works no more, 
 My ever-gratc.ful heart, O Lord I 
 Thy mercy shall adore. 
 
 13. Througb 'd! eternity^ to thee 
 A iovful song I'll raise,, 
 For i) ? eternity's too short 
 
 To utter all thy praise. iDDisoir. 
 
 SECTION VII. 
 
 A man perishini]^ in the snoir ; from whence reflections m% 
 raised on the 7niserks of life. 
 
 l.As thus the snows arise ; and foul anci fierce 
 All winter drives aionijthe darken'd air ; 
 in his own loose revolving field the swain 
 DisasterM stands ; sees ctluM' hills ascend. 
 Of unknown joyless hrow; and other scenes, 
 Of horrid prospect, snag the trackless plain* 
 Nor finds the river, nor 1 he forest, hid 
 Beneath the formless wild ; hut w^anders on, 
 From hill to dale, ^till more and more astray 
 Impatient flouncing throu^li th^drifted hea]>s, 
 Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts ofhoDM 
 Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth 
 In many a vain attempt. 
 
 S. How sinks his soul ! 
 
 What black despair, what liorror fills his heart 
 When for the dusky spot, which fanc)' feign'd 
 His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 
 He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 
 Far from the track and hiest abode of man ; 
 While round him night resistless closes fast, 
 And ev'ry tempest howling o'er his head. 
 Renders the savage wilderness more. wild. 
 
 5. Then throng the busy shapes into his mind, 
 Of cover'd -pits, unfathomaol}' deep, . 
 A dire descent,, beyond the pow'r of frost ! 
 Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 
 ' Smooth'd up with snow ; and what h land, unknown, 
 
•ffl ENGLISH Reader. Fitri t 
 
 Whiit water, of the still unfrozen spring. 
 
 In the loose inwrsh or solitary lake, 
 
 Where the fresli fomitain from the bottom boils. 
 
 4. These check Iiis fearful steps ; and down he sinks 
 P.eneatli the siiclter of the shapeless drift, 
 Thinkinj; o'er ail the bitterness of death, 
 IMix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots 
 Tlirojji;h the wrung boso!n of the dying man, 
 His wife, his children, atid his friends tinseen. 
 In vain for himth' oflicious wife prepares 
 The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm'; 
 
 h» In vain his little children, peeping oul, 
 * Into the mingled storm, demand their sire, 
 With tears of artless innocence. Alas! 
 Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold; 
 Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerY« 
 The deadly w inter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 
 And, o'er his inmost vitals ci'eej)ing cold, 
 l^ays him along the snows a stiffen'd corse, 
 Stretch 'd out and bleaching in the northern blast. 
 
 f. Ah, little think the gay licentious proud, 
 
 Whom pleasure, ])ow'r, and alTluence surround; 
 
 They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
 
 And wanton, often cruel riot, waste ; 
 
 Ah little ttiink they, while they dance along. 
 
 How many feel, this very moment, death, 
 
 And all the sad variety of pain ! 
 
 H^w many sink in, the devouring flood, 
 
 Or more devouring llame ! How many bleed, 
 
 By shameful variance betwixt man and man! 
 
 T. flow many pine in want and dungeon glooms, 
 Siiut fronitbe common air, and common use 
 Of their own limbs ! How many drink the cup 
 Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
 Of misery ! Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, 
 How many shrink into the sordid hut 
 Of cheerless poverty! liow many shake 
 With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, 
 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ! 
 
 fsHow many, rack'd with honest j)assions, droop 
 J-n deep.Tetir'd distress! How many stand 
 Around the death- bed of their dearest friends, 
 And point the parting anguisii ! Thought fond man 
 Of these, and all tiie thousand nameless ills, 
 That one incessant strugjrle render life, 
 
(7Ae^. ft. Pathetic Tiecrs. tilJF 
 
 One Fcene of toil, of suffiM'in<;, and of Tate, 
 Vice in his hij;U career would stand appatl'd, 
 I And heedless rambling impulse learn to think 5 
 [ The coiiscious'heart of eharity would vrarm,. 
 And her wide ^v»sli benevolence dilate ; 
 The social tear would rise, llie social sigh ; 
 And into clear perfection, gradual bliKS, 
 Kefining still, tne social passions work. THOifttiNl 
 
 SECTION WllL 
 A inoniinf^ hymn, 
 
 1. Thkse are thy glorious woi*ks, parent of good« 
 Almighty, tbine this universal frame, 
 fhus wond'rous fair: thyself bow wond'rous theai 
 Unspeakable, who sitt'st alxjvc iUiiae Ijeav^us 
 To us, invisiblle, or dimly seen 
 In these thy hxwer worlls ; yet these declare 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, artd pow'r dtvloe. 
 
 f. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of lights 
 Angels ; for ye behold him, and witli songs 
 And choral cymphonies, day uitliout nighty 
 Circl'j his throne rejoicing ; ye, in lieav'n, 
 On earth, join all ye cn-atures to extol 
 liim first, iliin last, ilim midst, and without end* 
 
 d. Fairest of star^-, last in the train of night, 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn. 
 Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling ni»»r» 
 With thy bright circh-.t, praisi; him in thy spheri»» 
 VVhil.'s day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
 Thou sunV of this great \voi-l(J, both rye and smil, 
 AcknowU;dge him thy greatei', sound his praise 
 \n thy eternal cc)nrse, both wiiwi thou rlimb'sl. 
 And when high noon hast gainM, and when than f^ill't* 
 
 4. Moon, that now meetst th«' orient sun, now Oy'sl, 
 With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ; 
 And ye five other wand'ring iires that move 
 In mystic dance, not without song, resourid 
 His prai'ie, who out of darkness call'tJ up light. 
 Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
 Of nature's womb, thnt in (|uaterrjion run 
 i'ernetual circle, mnltiforni, and mix 
 Ana nourish all things; lei: your ceaseless ehftng* n 
 
 Vary to our gre-it makkr stili new praise. 
 
 h. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise 
 From hill or streaming lake, dusky or gray. 
 Till the sun paint your iJltiWv skirU with ^ -* 
 Y a." 
 
VO English Rkadkh. Arl*"i6% 
 
 Id honour of the world's f;reat author risef 
 Whether to deck with clouds ih' uncoloiir'd skyv 
 Or wet the thirsty *%irth with falling showVs, 
 Rfsing or falling ^still advance his praise. 
 
 6. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
 .Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, yc p-ines. 
 With ev'ry plant in si^n of w'orsf.ip wave. 
 Fountains, and yethatwarbie as ye flow 
 Melodious mui-niurs, warblinj^ tune his praise. 
 
 Join voices, all ye livinj^; s.4)ids; ye birds 
 
 That sinj;in>^, u\y to heaven's I'^ate ascend, 
 
 Bear on your winj^s and in your notes his praise* 
 
 7. Ye that m waters g:Iide, and ye that walk 
 Tile earth, and stately tread, o-r lowly creep ; 
 Witness if] he silent, morn or even, 
 
 To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade 
 
 Made vocal by my song:, and taupjht his praisev 
 
 Hail, UNiVKiisAL Lord ! he bounteous still 
 
 To give us only good ; and if the night 
 
 Has gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd, 
 
 Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. HiXTOI 
 
 CHAPTER Vi. 
 
 SECTION 1. 
 
 Ode to content, 
 %• O Thou, the rtymph with placid eye ! 
 O seldom found, yet ever nigh ! 
 Receive my temp'rate vow : 
 Not all thd storms that shake the pole 
 Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, 
 And smooth, unalter'd brow. 
 9L, O come, in sim})lest vest array'd. 
 With all thy sober cheer disnlay'd, 
 
 To bless my longing signt; 
 
 Thy mien co!Yip)os'd, thy even pace. 
 
 Thy meek r^jgard, thy matron grace, 
 
 And chaste subdu'd delight. 
 
 5. No ^nore by varying nassions beat, 
 
 O gently guide my pilgrim feet 
 
 To find thy hermit cell ; 
 Where in some pure and equal dcy, 
 Beneath thy soft indulgent tye, .'1' 
 
 The. mode&t virtues dwelk ,^_- 
 
^ FbOMISCUOUS Pi£C£8. ^4|^ 
 
 , '. - - 
 
 C BlmpUcity In attic vest, 
 
 Ana innocence, with candid breast. 
 
 And clear undaunted eye ; ^ 
 
 And Hof)e, who points to distant yeare* 
 Fair op'ning thro' this vale of tear^ 
 
 A vista to the sky. 
 K There Health, thro' whose calm bosom glkte 
 The temperate joys in even tide, 
 
 That rarely ebb or flow ; 
 And patience there, thy sister meek. 
 Presents her mild, unvarying cheek, 
 
 To meet the t)ffer'd blow. 
 
 0. Her influence taught the Phrygian sagt Jly 
 A tyrant master's wanton rage. 
 
 With settled smiles, to meet : 
 InurM to toil and bitter bread. 
 He bow'd his meek submitted head, 
 And kiss'd thy sainted feet 
 T. But thou, O nymph, retir'd and coy. 
 In what brown hamfet dost thou joy 
 
 To tell thy tender talc ? I 
 
 The lowliest children of the grouftd, I 
 
 Moss-rose and violet blossom rouufd. 
 And lily of the vale. 
 S. O say what soft propitious hour 
 1 best may choose to hail thy pow'f, 
 
 And court thy gentle sway ? 
 Wlien autumn, friendly to the muae,^ 
 Shall thy own modest tints difluse. 
 And. shed thy milder day ? 
 4 When eve, her dewy star beneath. 
 Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, 
 
 And ev'ry storm is hid ? 
 If snch an hour was e'er thy choice 
 Oft let me hear thy soothing voice. 
 Low whisp'ring through the shade. 
 SECTIOiY n. 
 21ie shepherd and the philosopher, 
 
 1. Remote from oities liv'd a swain, 
 Unvcx'd with all the cares of gain ; 
 His head was silver'd o er with age, 
 And long experience made him sa^« ; 
 1q summer's htat and winter's cola, " 
 He fed his flock and peun'd the faldfl 
 Uis houfs in chcetsful labour flew^ 
 
English Header. l^art f ^ 
 
 Nor envy nor ambition knew : 
 
 His wiscfom and his honest fame 
 
 Through all iha country rais'd his name. 
 
 A deep philosopher (whose rules 
 
 Of moral life were drawn from schools) 
 
 The shepherd's hornely cottage sought, 
 
 Andthius explor'd his reach of thought. 
 
 ** Whence is thy learning ? Hath thy toil 
 O'er books consuin'd the midnight oil ? 
 Hast thou o}d Greece and Rome survey*d» 
 And the v»\st sense of Plato weighed ? 
 Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd, 
 And hast thou fathom'd Tolly's mind? 
 Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown, 
 By various fates, oi realms unknown. 
 Hast thou through many cities stray'd, 
 Their customs, laws, and manners wcigh'i* 
 k The shepherd modestly rephed, 
 ** 1 ne*er the paths of learning tried ; 
 Nor have I roam'd in fT>reign parts, 
 TBo read mankind, their lawo and arts , 
 For man is practis'd in disguise. 
 He cheats the most discerning eyes. 
 Who by that search shall wiser grow 7 
 IW that ourselves we never know. 
 Tne little knowledge 1 have gain'd, 
 Was all from simple nature drainM ; 
 Hence my life's maxims took their risi*. 
 Hence ^rew my settled hate of vice. 
 . The daily labours of the bee 
 Awake my soul to industry. 
 Who can observe the careTul ant. 
 And not provide for future want? 
 Mr doj^ (the trustiest of his kind) 
 With gratitude inflames my mind : 
 1 mark his true, his laithful way, 
 And in my service copy Tray, 
 In constancy and nuptial love, 
 J learn my duty from the dove. 
 The hen, who from the chilly air, 
 With pious wing, protects her care» 
 And ev'ry fowl that flies at large, 
 Instructs me in a parent's ciiarge." 
 • ** From nature too 1 take my rule, 
 To shun contempt and ridieuk. 
 
iShofK 5 Promiscuous PiECfs. tT#' 
 
 1 ntve.r, witU Important air, < 
 
 In conversatii>ii overbear. 
 
 Can pjravc and forma) pas3 for wlso, 
 
 WhtMi men the solemn owl despise / 
 
 My ton;;ue within my lips 1 rein ; \ 
 
 For who talks much must talk in vain. 
 
 We from the wordy torrent fly : 
 
 Who listens to the ehatt'rinj; pyc ? 
 
 Nor would 1, with felonious ilight, 
 
 IJy stealth invade my neighbour's right ; 
 S.Rapaeious animals we hate ; 
 
 Kites, hawks, and wolves, deserve their fatfc 
 
 Do not we just abhorrence find 
 
 Against the load and serpent kind 1 
 
 But envy, calumn5% and spite. 
 ^ Bear stronger venom in their bite. 
 
 Thus ev'ry object of creation 
 
 Can furnish hints to contemplation; 
 
 And from the most minute and mean, 
 
 A virluous mitul can morals j;lean." 
 7. ** Thy fame is just," the sap:e replies; 
 
 **Thy virtue j)roves thee truly wise. 
 
 Pride often {guides the author's pen, 
 * "Books as allected are as men : 
 
 But he Avho studies nature's laws, 
 
 From certain truth his maxims draws; 
 
 And those, without our schools, auf!ic» 
 
 To make men moral, j;ood. a nd wise," CAf • 
 
 SECTION 11. 
 
 The road to happiness open to all men, 
 (>H happiness! our being's end and aim ! 
 Good, pleasure, ease, content I Whate'er thy name I 
 That somelhiu}; still which prompts th' eternal figlk 
 For which we bear to live, or dare to die : 
 Which still so near us, yet bevond us lies, 
 O'erlook'd, seen double, by tFie fool and wise ; 
 Plant of celestial seed, if uropt below, 
 Saif', in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow? 
 Fair op'nin<; to some court's pro])itious shine, 
 Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine ? 
 Twin'd with the wreath-i Parnassian laurels yicl<l« 
 Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field ? 
 Wliere ^rows 1 where grows it not ? if vain our toli 
 We ougrit to blame the culture, not the soil. 
 
C7I E.VGL18H Ueadeiu /Vrl ti 
 
 Flxd te rvo 8|)otls happiness sincere;; 
 '^V'iS no irhere to be lound, or ev'ry where; 
 •Tis n^trtT to be l)oiJght, but al\vay»?i free ; 
 And, fled from n:i(»tuirchs, St. John I dwells with th 
 6. Ask of the learnM ihe way. The learnM are blind .^ 
 This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind : 
 Some place the bliss in action, some in ease ; 
 Those call it pleasure, and contentment these 
 Some sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain; 
 Some sweli'd to gods, confess ev'n virtue vain; 
 Or indolent, to each extreme they fall. 
 To trust in ev'ry thinp;, or doubt of alj. 
 4. Who thus define it, say .they more or less 
 Than this, that happiness is'happiness ? 
 Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave ; 
 All states can reach it, and all heads conceive : 
 Obvious her aoods, in no extreme they dwell ; 
 There needs but thinkinj^ ri}z;!it, and- meaning* weil^; 
 And mourn our various portions as we please^ 
 Kqiiai is common sense, and common^ ease. 
 
 Kemember, man, " the universal cause 
 •* Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws •/*' 
 And makes what happiness we justly call, 
 Subsist not in the good of one, but alL W^W3 
 
 SECTION IV; 
 TVie goodness of Providence^ 
 1. The Lord my pasture shall prepare^- 
 
 And' feed me with a shepherd's care ;. 
 
 His presence shall my wants supply.,. 
 
 And guard me with a watchful eye ^ 
 
 My noon-day walks he shall attend,. 
 
 And all my midnight hours defend, 
 ft. When in the sultry glebe 1 faint, 
 
 Or on the thirsty mountains pant ; 
 
 To fertile vales, and dewy meads, 
 
 Mv weary wand'ring steps he leads : 
 
 Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow, 
 
 Amid the verdant landscape flow. 
 9. Tho' in the paths of death 1 tread» 
 
 With gloomy horrors overspread, 
 
 My steadfast heart shall fear no ill ; 
 
 J or thou, O Lord, art with me still ; 
 
 'i hy friendly crook shall give me aid, 
 
 A nd guide me through the dreadful shade. 
 
4. Tho' in a bare and rugged way, 
 Through devious Jonely wilds 1 stray. 
 Thy bounty shall my pains beguile ; 
 The barren wilderness shall smile. 
 With sudden greens and herbage crowM*d, 
 And streams siiall murmur all around. ▲bikI^M# 
 
 SECTION V. 
 
 The Creator's works attest his grtatn€d$^ 
 l» TifE spacious firmament on high, 
 
 With all the blue ethereal sky. 
 
 And spangled heav'ns a shining frame, 
 
 Their great original proclaim : 
 
 Th* unwearied sun, from day to day, 
 
 Does his Creator's pow'r disp^fciy, 
 
 And publishes to ev'ry land, 
 
 The work of an Almighty hand. 
 t« Soon>a3 the evening shades prevail. 
 
 The moon takes up the wond'rous ta]o^ 
 
 And, nightly, to the list'ning earth. 
 
 Repeats the story of her birth : 
 
 Whilst all the stars that round her buni^ 
 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 
 Confirm the tid gs as they roll, 
 
 And spread the truth from pole to pobK 
 6. What though in solemn silence, all 
 
 Move rouna the dark terrestrial ball y 
 
 What tho* nor real voice nor sound. 
 
 Amid their radiant orbs be found ! 
 
 In reason's ear they all rejojce. 
 
 And utter forth a glorious voice, 
 
 Forever singing as they shine, 
 
 •♦The hand that made us is divine.** 
 
 SECTION VI. 
 An address to fheDeityi 
 
 !• O THOU ! whose balance does the mountains 
 Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey ; 
 Whose breath can turn those WatVy worlds It iM 
 That flame to tempest, and that tempest (MBa ; 
 Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate l^iiS^ 
 And on the boundless of thy goodness eal^A. 
 
 !• O ! give the winds all past offence lo twtt^. 
 To tcatter wide, or !>ui^ in the deof « 
 
ftf?(j E^^GLISH Kkadek. fart 
 
 Thy powV, my weaknesr., may I ever see^ 
 
 Ariu wholly dedicate my boul to tbee. 
 
 Keign o'er'my will ; my passions ebb and flow 
 
 At Iny commatid, nor iuiman motive know ! 
 
 it' anj^er bois let anj^er be niy ))raise, 
 
 And sin the graceful indij^nalion raise. 
 
 Wy love be warm to s-uei:uur the distressed, 
 
 And lift tlie burden from the soul 0}»press'd. 
 B. O may my understandinj^ ever read 
 
 This gk)rious volume wluch thy wisdom made ! 
 
 May sea and land, and earth and heav'n be;oin*d. 
 
 To bring th' eternal Author to niy mind ! 
 
 \Vk:;n oceans roar, or awfui thunder's roll. 
 
 May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my sou 
 
 When earth's in bloom, or planets prtiudly sliine, 
 
 Adore, my heart, the Miijesty divine ^ 
 4. Grant 1 niay ever at the morning ray. 
 
 Open with pray'r the consecrated day; 
 
 Tun* thy griiat i^raise, and bid my soul arise^ 
 
 And with the mounting sun ascend the skies ; 
 
 As that advances, let my zeal improve, 
 
 And glow with ardour of consummate love ; 
 
 Nor cea^-e at eve, but with the setting sun 
 
 My endless worship shall be still begun. 
 d. And oh ! permit the gloom of solemn night. 
 
 To sacred thought may forcibly invite. 
 
 When this world's shut, ar.d awful planets rise. 
 
 Call on our minds, and raise tliem to the skies ; 
 
 Compose our souis with a less dazzling sight, 
 
 And show all nature in a milder light ; 
 
 How evVy boist'rous thought in calm subsides ! 
 
 How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides! 
 (. Oh how divine! to tread the milky way, 
 
 To the bright palace of the Lord of Day; 
 
 His court admire, or for ins favour sue, 
 
 Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew ; 
 
 Pleas'd to l(»ok down and see the world asleep ; 
 
 While 1 long vigils to its F'oander keen ! 
 
 Canst thou not .shake the ceuire I Oh control* 
 
 Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul ; 
 
 Thou w^ho canst still the raging'of the flood, 
 
 Kestrain the various tumults of my blood ; 
 
 Teach me, with equal fuinness, to siistam 
 
 Alluring pleasure, anu aiJsauUing pain. 
 ?.' O may 1 pant for thee in each desire! 
 
 And with strong faith foment the holy fire I 
 
Strolch out my soul \n hope, nnd gragp the |>rfze. 
 Which in olernity's dt'.ep bosom lics I 
 At the r;rcat day of reromp<nse b<'ho!d. 
 Devoid of fear, the fatal hook unf')!d ! 
 Then wafted upward to the blissSid Siist, 
 From a{^e to aj;e my gratefvd bonj^ rejH;at ; 
 My Li|5lit, my Life, 'my CJod, my S<iviour »ce, 
 And rival angels in the praise ul' thcu 1 TO«JN0* 
 
 SKCTION VIJ. 
 The pursuit of happiness often ill'diticttd^ 
 
 1. The midnight moon .serenely smiles 
 
 O'er nature's soft repoSe ; 
 No low'rinj; cloud obscures the shy» 
 Nor ruftlinj; tem]*<'St btows. 
 
 2. Now ev'ry passion sinks to rest, 
 
 The thronbinj; heait He« still; 
 And varyinp; schem«*s of life, no mor* 
 Distract the labouring will. 
 
 3. Id silence hnsh'd to reason's voice, 
 
 Attends each mental puw'r : 
 Coine, dear Emelia, and enjoy 
 Kellection's fav'ritc hour. 
 
 4. Come; while the peact.'ful scene invites. 
 
 Lot's Hcarcii this ample round ; 
 Where sliall the lovely Heeling form 
 
 Of happiness be found / 
 j. Does it amidst the frolic mirth 
 
 Of gay assemblies dwell ; 
 Or hide beneath the solemn glooin* 
 
 That shades the hermit's cell '/ 
 6. How oft the laughing brow of joy 
 
 A sick'ning heart 'conceals ! 
 And, through the cloister's deep recess* 
 
 Invading sorrow steals. 
 
 , 7. In vain, through beauty, fortune, wit. 
 j The fugitivt* we trace ; 
 
 . It dwells not in the laithless smile 
 . That brightens Clodia^a face. 
 
 8. Perhaps the joy to these deny'd, 
 
 The heart in friendship fmus : 
 I Ah ! dear delusion, gay conceit 
 
 Of visionary mitids f 
 
 9. Howe'er our varying notionfi rov©,^ 
 
 Yet all agree in on«, n^ — 
 
J3t English Readbiu Pmi • 
 
 To place its bein?: in some state, 
 . At distar^ce fFom our own. 
 to, O blind to each indulgent aim. 
 Of power supremely wise. 
 Who fancy happiness in aught 
 The hand of heav'n denies ! 
 11. Vain is alike the joy we seek, 
 And vain that we possess, 
 Unless harmonious reason tunes 
 The passions into peace. ^ 
 Xa. To temper'd wishes, just desires,. 
 Is happiness confin'd ; 
 And, deaf to folly's call, attends 
 
 The music af the mind. • eJktntMt 
 
 SECTION Vlll. 
 l^he fire-side. 
 f. Dear Chloe, while the busy crowdV 
 The vain, the wealthy, ancl the proud. 
 
 In folly's maze advance ; 
 Tho' singularity and pride 
 Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside. 
 Nor join the giddy dance. 
 S* From the gay world, we'll oft retire 
 To our own family and fire,* 
 
 Where love our hours employs^; 
 No noisy neighbour enters here, 
 No intermeddling stranger near,. ♦ 
 
 To spoil our heart-felt joys. 
 0. If solid happiness we prize. 
 
 Within our breast this jewel lies'; ._ 
 
 And they are fools who roam : 
 The world has nothing to bectow : 
 From our own selves our joys must floWf 
 And that dear hut our home. 
 4. Of rest was Noah's dove bereft. 
 When with impatient wing she left 
 
 That safe retreat, the ark ; 
 Giving her vain excursion o'er, 
 The disappointed bi^d once more 
 Explor'd the sacred bark. 
 0« Tho* fools spurn Hymen's gentle po-w'1% 
 We, who improve his golden hour», 
 hf Bweet experience know, 
 
That marriage rightly understood, 
 Giveg to the tender and the good 
 A paradise below. 
 ^Our uabes shall richest comforts bring f 
 If tutor'd rij^ht, they'll prove a spring 
 
 Whence pleasures ever rise : 
 We'll form their minds, with studious carw, 
 To all that's manly, gootl, and fair, 
 And train them for thn skies. 
 'i^ While they our wisest hours enj^aj^c, 
 They'll joy our y^uth, support our age, 
 
 And crown our hoary hairs; 
 They'll grow in virtue ev'ry day, 
 And thus our fondest loves repay, 
 And recompense our rares. 
 8^»No borrow'd joys I they're all our ow«v 
 While to the world we live unknown,. 
 
 Or hy the world forgot : 
 
 Monarchs I we envy not your state ; 
 
 We look with pitv on the great. 
 
 And bless our numbler lot. 
 
 ftr Our portion is not large, indeed ! 
 
 But then how little do we ne«d ! 
 
 For nature's calls are few : 
 Jn this the art of Ihinj^ lies, 
 To want no more than niay suffice, 
 And make that Httle do. 
 DO We'll ther^ffore relish' with conient, 
 Whate'er kind Providence has sent^ 
 
 Nor aim beyond our pow'r; 
 For if our stock be very amall, 
 *Tis prudence to enjoy it all, 
 Nor lose the present hour. 
 11. To be resign'd, when ills betide, 
 Patient when favours are denied. 
 
 And pleas'd^ with favours giv*n : 
 
 Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part ; 
 
 This is that ineence of the heart. 
 
 Whose fragrance smells to heav'nt 
 
 M. We'll ask no long protracted treat. 
 
 Since winter-life is seldom sweet; 
 
 But when our feast is o'er, 
 Grateful from table we'll arise, 
 JNor grudge our sons, with enrioti»4 
 The relies O'f ovlt stor«# 
 
(80 English Header. P<wI t 
 
 13. Thiw hand in hand, t)ir,ough life we'll go; 
 Its clu'jjiu'r'd pn:hs of joy and wo, 
 
 Witli cautious slips, vve'll tiv.ad ; 
 Quit its vain scenes \VilI:.out a tear, 
 Witliout a trouhk* or a fear. 
 
 And mingle TV'itii tli<i dead. ^ 
 
 14. Wliilti conscience, like a faithful friend. 
 Shall thro' the j^looiny vale attend 
 
 And cheer our dying breath ; 
 Bhall, wheji ail othor comforts cease, 
 Like a kind angel whispiu* ueaci^, 
 
 And smooth the bed of death. cuTTOK. 
 
 BECTION IX. 
 
 Providence vindicated m tJie present state of tnan. 
 I.Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
 
 All but the page prcscrih'd, their present state ; 
 
 From brutes what men, from men what spirits know; 
 
 Or who could suffer being here below ? 
 The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
 
 Had he thy reason would he skip and play ? 
 
 IMeas'd to the last, he crops the ilow'ry food, 
 
 And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood, 
 £. Oh blindness to the future ! kindly giv'n, 
 
 That each may iill the circle mark'd by HeaY*o ; 
 
 Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
 
 A hero perish, or a sparrow fall ; 
 
 Atoms or systetsis uito rum hurl'd. 
 
 And now a biujjble burst, and now a world. 
 8. Hope humbly then : with treiribling pinions soar; 
 
 Wait the greatteacher death ; and God adore. 
 
 What future bliss he gives not thee to know. 
 
 But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 
 
 Hope springs eternal in the human breast : 
 
 Man never is, but always to be blest. 
 
 T|ie soul, uneasy, and confin'd from home. 
 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 
 4. Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutor'd mind 
 
 Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; 
 
 His soul proud science never taught to stray 
 
 Far as the Solar Walk or Milky Wav ; 
 
 Yet simple nature to his hope has gfv'n, 
 
 Behind the rioud-topt hill, a humbler Iveav'n ; 
 
 Some safer w orid in depth of woods embrac'^d^ 
 
Chap, eu rKOwrscuoBfs i^iKPV* ^| 
 
 Borne happier Island in the wat'ry waste ; 
 
 Where sslaves once more thf^ir native land behold* 
 
 No fiends toiincnt, no Chri^^tians thirst for gold. 
 1. To he, eontents his natural desre ; 
 
 He asks no an>;ey*s >VMig, no «eraph*H fire ; 
 
 J^ut thJni<is, a(in>itted to that equal sky. 
 
 His faithful dog biiaM bear him company. 
 Go, wiser thou \ and in tliy scale of sen9e> 
 
 Weij^h thy opinion against Providence ; 
 . Call imperfection what thou fanciest such ; 
 
 Say here he gives too little, there too much.— • 
 %. Jn pride, in reas'ning pride^ our error lies ; 
 
 All quit their sphere, and rush into the ski^a. 
 
 Vride still is aiming at the blest abodes; 
 
 Men would be angels, angels would be goc)j|« 
 
 Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, 
 
 Aspiring to be angels, men relwl : 
 
 Andivho but wishes to invert the laws 
 
 Of oRi»KK, sins agaiuLtth' ktick.nal cj^vsiut rONk 
 
 SECTION X. 
 
 SelfiShiiess reproved. 
 
 1. Has God, thou fnol ! work'd solely for thy good. 
 Thy joy, thy |>astimc, thy attire, thy ionij 
 Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn* 
 For him as kindly snreads the flow'ry lawQ, 
 Is it-fortl»ee the larK ascends and *iings ? 
 Joy tunes jiis voice, joy elevates his wings. 
 Is It for thee the linnet pours h's throat f 
 J.oves of his own, and raptures swell the note* 
 
 £. The bounding steed you pompously bestride. 
 Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride^ 
 Is thi»ie alone the seed tnat strews the pjam ? 
 The birds of heav'n shall vindicate their grain* 
 Thine the full han'p^t of the golden year i 
 Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer. 
 The nog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy calL 
 Lives on the labours of this lord ot all. 
 
 Know, nature's children all divide her cr.re ; 
 The fur that warms a monarch, warm'd a bear. 
 While man exclaims, ** See all things for my ui« ?• 
 ** See man for mine !'* replies a pampered gooH^ 
 And just as Short of reason he must fall, 
 Wku thinks nil mado for one, not ono for alt 
 Z s. 
 
^g$ English Header. I^tri ft 
 
 4» Grant that the pow'rful still the weak contJ'ol 2 
 lie man the wit and tyrant of the whole : 
 Nature that tyrant checks ; he only knows, 
 And helps another creature's wants and woes. 
 Sa^r will the falcon stoophig from above, 
 Smitwith her varying plumage, spare the dove 7 
 Admires, the jay, the insect's gilded wings T 
 Or hears the hawk when Fhilomela sings ? 
 
 5. Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods, 
 To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods : 
 For some his int'rest prompts him to provide, 
 For more his pleasures, yet for more his pride* 
 All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy 
 
 Th* extensive blessing of his luxury. 
 
 6. That very life his learned hunger craves, 
 
 lie saves from famine, from the savage saves; 
 Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast : 
 And till he ends the being, makes it blest : 
 Which sees no more the stroke, nor feels the paio. 
 Than favour'd man by touch ethereal slain. 
 The creature had his feast of life before ; 
 Thou too must perish, when thy feast i» o*er I Ton 
 SECTION XI. 
 Human jfrailty. 
 I. Weak and irresolute is man ; 
 The purpose of to-d'dj, 
 Woven with pains into his plan, 
 To-morrow*rends away. 
 £. The bow well bent, and smart the Bprilig« 
 •Vice seems already slain ; 
 But passion rudely snaps the string, ^ 
 And it revives again.' 
 
 £. Some foe to his upright intent 
 Finds out his weaker part ; 
 Virtue engages his assent. 
 But pleasure wins his heart. 
 A. *Tis here the folly of the wise, 
 Through all his art we view } 
 And while his tongue the charge denmr 
 His conscience owns it true. 
 fr. Bound on a voyage of awful lengthf 
 And dangers little known, 
 A stranger to superior strength^ 
 Alan vainly trusts his own. 
 
eAi^p. 6 l^ROMJSctrous Piseef. 
 
 •. But oars alone can ne'er prevail 
 To reach the distant coast ; 
 The breath of heav'n must swell th« lal^ 
 Or all the toil is lost. 
 
 SECTION XII. 
 Ode topeac€, 
 1. Come, peace of mind, delightful gueit 
 Return, and make thy downy nest 
 
 Once more in this sad heart 
 
 Nor riches I, nor povv'r ^nirsue, 
 
 Nor hold forbidden joys in view; 
 
 We tlicrcfore need not part. 
 
 t. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me. 
 
 From av'rice and ambition t'rtUt 
 
 And pleasure's fatal wiles; 
 For whom, alas ! dost than prepart 
 The sweets that I was woiit to slwrc. 
 The banquet of thy smiles 1 
 5. The great, the gay, shall they partake 
 The lieav'n that tnou alone canst make ; 
 
 And wilt thou quit the stream. 
 That murmurs through the dewy meMi, 
 The grove and the secjuester'd shadttr 
 To be a guest with them ? 
 4. Foi thee 1 panted, thee 1 nriz'd, 
 For thee I gladly sacrific'u 
 Whate'er I lov'd before ; 
 And shall 1 see thee start away, 
 And helpless, hopeless, hear thee i»y— 
 Farewell, we meet no more ? 
 SECTION XIll. 
 Ode to adversity, 
 1. Daughter of Heav'n, relentless powV, 
 Thou tamer of the human breast, 
 Whose iron scourge, and tort'rin§; houft 
 The bad affright, alflict the best I 
 Bound in thy adamantine chain, 
 The pioud are taught to taste of pain. 
 And purple tyrants vainly groan 
 Ytiih pangs unlelt before, unpitied and aloiM* 
 ft. When first thy sire to send on earth 
 Virtue, hiti darling child, de^ignM, 
 To theo he gave tlw beov'nly birtW 
 
iM EifGi.isH Header. Part t<1 
 
 And bade to form her infant mind. 
 Btern rugged nurse . thy rigid lore •• 
 With patience many a year she bore. 
 What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know ; 
 
 And from her own she learn'd to mek at others' Wcl 
 8. Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly 
 Self-pleasing folly's idle brood, 
 Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy. 
 And leave us leisure to be good- 
 Light they disperse ; and with them go 
 The summer-mend, the Uatt'ring foe. 
 By rain prosperity received. 
 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'<L 
 
 4. Wisdom, in sable garb array'd, 
 Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, 
 And melancholy, silent maid, 
 With leaden eye that loves the ground, 
 8till on thy solemn steps attend; 
 Warm charity, the gen'ral friend, 
 With justice to herself sevtn-e, 
 
 And pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear* 
 
 5. Oh gently on thy suppliant's head. 
 Dread powV, lay thy chast'uing hand *. 
 Not in thy gor;^ or terrors clad, 
 Nor circled witli the vengeful band, 
 (As by the impious thou art seen,) 
 With thund'ring voice, and thrcai'ning mh^ 
 With screaming horror's fun'ral cry, 
 
 despair, and fell disease, and ghastly poverty, 
 t. Thy form benign, propitious, weajr, 
 Thy milder mfluence impart ; 
 Thy philosophic train be there. 
 To soften, not to wound my iieart. 
 The gen'rous spark extinct revive ; 
 Teach me to love, and to forgive ; 
 Exact my own defects to scan ; 
 Whit others are to feel ; and know myself a ynan. tft^f 
 SECTION XIV. 
 7^ creation required to praise its Auifivr* 
 1. Beoin my soul, th* exalted lay ! 
 L«t each enraptur'd thought obey, 
 
 And praise th' Almighty's name : 
 JLo heaven and earth, and seas and ikiet« 
 
 I 
 
Chaff. Promiscuous Pieces. %t% 
 
 In one melodious concert rise, 
 
 To swcil ih' inspiring theme. 
 £, Yc fields of light, celestial plains, 
 Where gay transporting; beauty reigns, 
 
 Ye scenes divinely fair ! 
 Your Maker s wond'rous pow'r proclaim^ 
 Tell how he form'd voiir shining framci 
 
 And hreatlrd the lluid air. 
 
 5. Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound ! 
 While all the adoring ihrone« aroun«i 
 
 His boundless mercy sing : 
 Let every list'ning saint above 
 Wake all the Uuieful soul of love, 
 
 And touch the swcett^st string. 
 
 4. Join, ye loud spheres, th(i vocal chou* 
 
 Tliou dazzling orb of liquid fire. 
 
 Tile mighty chorus aid : 
 S(\on as gray eveninf^ gilds the plain, 
 Thou m()(»n, protract the melting strain. 
 
 And praise liim in the shade. 
 5. 1'hou heav'n of heav'ns, his vast abode , 
 Yc. clouds, proclaim your forming God> 
 
 Who cali'd yon worlds from night : 
 ** Ye shudes dispel I" — th' Eternal said: 
 At nnce tli' involving darkness fled. 
 
 And nature sprung to light. 
 
 6. WhateVr a blooming world contains, 
 ThhC wingis the air, that skims the plains^ 
 
 United praise bestow : 
 Ye dragons, sound his awful name 
 To heav'n aloud ; and roar acclaim. 
 
 Ye swelling deeps below. • 
 
 7. Let ev'ry elonent rejoice ; 
 
 Yti thunders burst with awful voice 
 
 To HIM -who bids you roll : 
 His praise in softer nores declare, 
 Fiacn whispering breeze of yieldioj air, 
 
 And breathe it to the soul. 
 
 5. To him, ye graceful cedars bow ; 
 Ye towering mountains, bending low. 
 
 Your great Creator own ; 
 Tell, when affrighted nature shook, ^^^ ij** 
 
 How Sinai kindled at his look. 
 
 And trembled at hh frown. -j^^- 
 
£NeLtsH Reader. Fart I« 
 
 •« Y« i!ock« that haunt the fumble vale. 
 Ye insects flut.t'ring on the gale, 
 
 In mutual concourse rise ; 
 Crop the ^ay rose's vermeil bloom, 
 And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume, 
 
 In incense to the skies. 
 
 10. Wnke all ye mounting tribes and sing ; 
 Ye plumy warblers of the spring. 
 
 Harmonious anthems raise 
 Tt) HIM who shap'd your finer mould, 
 Who tippM your glitt'ring win^s with gold. 
 
 And tun'd your voice to praise. 
 
 11. Let man, by nobler passions sway'd, 
 The feeling heart, the judging head, 
 
 In hcav'nly praise employ ; 
 Spread his tremendous name abroad, 
 Till heav'n's broad arch rings back the sound* 
 
 The gen'ral burst of joy. 
 it. Ye whom the charms of ^andeur please, 
 Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease. 
 
 Fall prostrate at his throne : 
 Ye princes, rulers, all adore ; 
 Praise him, ye kings, who makes your pow'r 
 
 An image of his own. 
 IS. Ye fair, by nature form'd, to move, 
 O praise th' eternal sourck of love, 
 
 With youth's enUv'ning lire 
 
 Let ace take up the tuneful lay. 
 Sigh his bless'd name — then soar away, 
 And ask an angel's lyre. oqtlvi^ 
 
 SECTIOM XV. 
 
 The universal prayer. 
 . Father or all ! in ev'ry age. 
 
 In ev'ry clime, ador'd, 
 By saint, by savage, and by sage, , 
 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 
 . Thou GREAT FIRST CAUSE, least understood^ 
 
 Who all my sense confiii'd 
 To know but this, thut Thou art good. 
 
 And that myself am blind ; 
 . Yet gave me, in this dark estate. 
 
 To see the good from ill ; 
 
 And binding nature fast in fate. 
 
 Left free the human will. 
 
tJ9^' 0' I'romiscuous Pieces. tit 
 
 4. What conscience dictates to be done. 
 Or warns me not to do, 
 This teach me more than hell to shun, 
 That more than heav'n pursue. 
 ft. What blessings thy free bounty gives. 
 Let me not cast away ; 
 For God is paid, Avhen man receives 
 T* enjoy is to obey. 
 •• Yet not to earth's contracted span 
 Thy goodness let me bound, 
 Or thmk thee Lord alone of man, 
 When thousand worlds are round. 
 
 7. Let, not this weak, unknowing hana 
 
 Presume thy bolts to throw ; 
 And deal damnation round the land. 
 On each 1 judge thy foe. 
 
 8. If 1 am right, thy grace impart, 
 
 Still in the right to stay ; 
 If 1 am wrong, oh teach my heart 
 To find that better way! 
 
 9. Save me alike from foolish prid^ 
 
 Or impious discontent. 
 At aught thy wisdom has denied^ 
 Or aught thy goodness lent. 
 
 10. Teach me to feel another's wo. 
 
 To hide the fault 1 see ; 
 That mercy 1 to others show, 
 That mercy show to me. 
 
 11. Mean tho' 1 am, not wholly so, 
 
 Since quicken'd by thy breath ; 
 O lead me wherosoe'er 1 go. 
 
 Thro' this day's life or death I 
 If. This day, be bread and peace my lo^ 
 
 All else beneath the sun 
 Thou know'stif best bestow'd or not. 
 
 And let thy will be done. 
 M.To thee, whose temple is all spacer 
 
 Whose altar, earth, aea, skies ] 
 One chorus let all beings raise I 
 
 All nature's incense rise. pops 
 
MS £n«£ish Reader. . Part % 
 
 SECTION XVI, 
 
 Coiiscience, 
 1. O TREACHEROUS consdence ! while she seems to steep. 
 On rose nnd myrtle, luU'd with syren song ; 
 While she secm«, nodding o'er her charge, to drop 
 On headlong appetite the slackened reign, 
 And gives us up to licence, unrccall'd, 
 Unnnark'd — see, from behind her secret sta .d, 
 The sly informer minutes ev'ry fault, 
 And her dv^ad diary with horror fills, 
 t. Not the gross act alone employs her pen ; 
 She reconnoitres fancy's airy hand, 
 A watchful foe ' the formidable spv, 
 JJst'ning, o'erhears the whispers of our camp ; 
 Our dawning purposes of heart ex})!ore3, 
 And steals our embryos of iniquity. 
 'M* As all rapacious usurers conceal 
 
 Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs ,» ;* 
 Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats 
 Us spendthrifts of inestimable time ; 
 Unnoted, notes each moment misapply'd ; 
 In leaves more durable than leaves of brass. 
 Writes our whole history ; which death shall read 
 In ev'ry pale delinauent's private ear ; 
 And judj^ment p'iiiish; publish to more worlds 
 Than this ; and endless age in groans resound, touma 
 SECTION XVll. 
 On an infant, 
 * 1. To the dark and silent tomb, 
 
 Soon I hastenM from the womb: 
 Scarce the dawn of life began, 
 Ere I mejisur'd out my span* 
 $. I no smiling pleasures knew ; 
 1 no gay delights could view : 
 Joyless sojourner was 1, 
 Only jorri to weep and die. — 
 
 3. Ilappv infant, earlv bless'd ! 
 Rest, m peaceful slumber, rest; 
 Karly rescu'd from the cares, 
 Which incr-^ase with growing years* 
 
 4. No delights are worth thy stay, 
 Smiling as they seem, and gay ; 
 Short and sickly are they all, 
 Hardly tasted ere they pall. 
 
Chap. 6. r&OMlSCrODS ViZCKM. «8t 
 
 5. All our gaity is vain, 
 All our laughter is but pain ; 
 Lasting only, and divine, 
 
 la an innocence like thine. 
 
 SECTION XVllI. 
 The Cuckoo. 
 1. liAiLf beauteous sl:Mnji;er of the wood, 
 Attendant on the sming ! 
 Now heav'n repairs tny rural seat. 
 And woods Ihy welcome sing. 
 £. Soon as the daisy decks the green, 
 Thy certain vorce we hear ; 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path. 
 Or mark the rolhug year 1 
 8, Delightful visitant ! with thee 
 1 hail the time of flow'rs, 
 When heav'n is fiU'd with music sweet 
 Of birds among the bow'rs. 
 
 4. The school-boy, wand'ring in the wood> 
 
 To pull the fiow'rs so gay, 
 Starts, thy curious voice to hear, 
 And imitates thy lay. 
 
 5. Soon as the pea puts on the bloom. 
 
 Thou ily'st the vocal vale, 
 An annual guest in other lands, 
 Another spring to hail. 
 
 6. Sweet bird ! thy bowV is ever green. 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
 No winter in thy year ! 
 
 7. U could 1 fly, I'd fly with thee ; 
 
 We'd make, with social wing, 
 Our annual visit o'er the ^lobe, 
 
 Companions of the spnng. LO€aA 
 
 SECTION XIX. 
 Day, A pastoial in tUree parts* 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 i. Iw the barn tlie tenant coc k, 
 
 Close to Partlet perch'd on high, 
 Briskly crows, (the shepheid's clock I) 
 Jorund that the morning's ugh. 
 ^- Swiftly from the mountain's brow, 
 Shadows, nursM by night, retire } 
 A a 
 
t90 Ei^GLis^ Rkader. P%rt % 
 
 And the peeping sun-beam now 
 Paints with gold the village spire. 
 
 S. j'hilomel forsakes the thorn, 
 
 Plaintive where she prates at night; 
 And the lark to meet the morn, ^ 
 Soars beyond the shepherd's sight* 
 
 4. From the low-roof'd cottage rid^e, 
 
 See the ehatt'ring swallow sprm^ ; 
 Darting throu?;h the one-arch'a bridge, 
 
 Quick she (j.ips her dappled win^. 
 5v Now the pine tree's waving top 
 
 Gently greets the niorning gale : 
 Kidlin^s, now, begin to crop 
 
 Daisies on the dewy dale. 
 
 5, From the balmy swecls, uncloy'd, 
 
 (Restless till her task be done,) 
 Now the busy bee's employ 'd 
 
 Sipping dew before the sun. 
 %j Trickling through the crevic'd rock, 
 . Where the limpid stream distils, 
 Jweet refreshmenit waits the flock, 
 
 When 'tis sun-drove from the hills. 
 S, Colin's for the promised corn 
 
 (Ere the harvest hones are ripe) 
 Anxious; — whilst the huntsman's horn, 
 
 Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. 
 9. Sweet — O sweet, the warbling throng, 
 
 On the v/hite emblossom'd spray . 
 Natures universal song 
 
 Echoes to the rising day. 
 
 NOON. 
 
 !0. Fkrvid on the glitt'ring Aood, 
 
 |Vow the noontide radiance glows f 
 Drooping o'er its infant bud, 
 No< a dew-drop's left the roae. 
 II. Bv the brook the shepherd dines, 
 V'rom the fierce meridian heat, 
 •s?helterM by the branching j)ineii, 
 Pefide.nt o'er his grassy seat- 
 \t. Now the flook forsakes the glade, 
 
 Wh'^.re uncheck'd the sun -beams foil, 
 Bure to find a pleasing shaiifi 
 |5y the ivyd abhey wall. 
 
dUtp. e. I'lUOMIBCUOVa Fl£CK». S^l 
 
 IS. Echo, in her airy round, 
 
 O'er the river, rock, and hill, 
 Cannot catch a single sound, 
 Save the clack of yonder rnill. 
 
 14. Cattle court the zephyrs bland, 
 
 Where the streamlet wanders cool| 
 Or with languJd silence stand 
 Midway in the marshy pool, 
 
 15. But from mountain, dell, or stream, 
 
 Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs ; 
 Fearful lest the noontide beam 
 Scorch its soft, its silken wings. 
 
 16. Not a leaf has leave to stir, 
 
 Nature's lullM — serene-r- and stili! ^ 
 Quiet e'en tlie shepherd's cur, 
 Sleeping on the heath-clad hill. 
 
 17. Languid is the landscape round, "•" 
 
 Till the fresh descending show'r, 
 Grateful to the thirsty groundv 
 liaises ev'ry fainting llow'r. 
 
 18. Now the hill — the hedge — are groen. 
 
 Now the warblers' throats in tune ; 
 Biithsonie is the verdant scene, 
 iirighten'd by the beams of noon. 
 evp:ning. 
 19. 0*ER the heath the heifer strays 
 Free — (the furrow'd tasK .3 done ;) 
 Now the vilhige windows blaze, 
 15urnish'd by the setting sun. 
 £0. Now he sets behind the hill, 
 Sinking from a golden sky ; 
 Can the pencil's mimic skilf 
 Copy the refulgent dye ? 
 £1. Trudging as the ploughmen go, 
 
 (To the smoking hamlet bound,) 
 Giant-like their shadow^s grow 
 Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. 
 £2. Where the rising forest spreads 
 Shelter for the lordly dome .' 
 To their high-built airy beds, 
 See the rooks returning home ! 
 £3. As the lark, with vary'd tune, 
 Carol* t© the ev'ning loud | 
 
t9t KcfOLiSH Reader. Pari f 
 
 , Mark the mild resplendent moon, 
 
 Breaking through a parted cloud ! 
 
 £4. Now the hermit owlet peens 
 
 From the barn or tvvistea brake ; 
 And the blue mist slowly creeps, 
 Curling on the silver lake. 
 
 25. As the trout in speckled pride, 
 
 Playful from its bosom springs ; 
 To the banks a ruffled tide 
 Verges in successive rings, 
 
 26. Tripping through the silken grass 
 
 O'er the path-divided dale, 
 Mark the rose-complexion'd lasg 
 With her well-pois'd milking pail ! 
 
 27. Linnets with unnumbcr'd notes, 
 
 And the cuckoo bird with two, 
 Tuning sweet their mellow throats, 
 
 Bid the setting sun adieu. euNiYiNGUAM. 
 
 SECTION XX. 
 The order of nature. 
 1. See, thro' this air, this ocean, and this earth, 
 All matter quick, and bursting into birth. 
 Above, how high progressive life may go ! 
 Around, how wide ! how deep extend below : 
 Vast chain of being! wiiich from God began, 
 Nature ethereal, human; angel, man; 
 Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, 
 No glass can reach ; from infinite to thee, 
 From thee to nothing. — On superior powVs 
 Were we to press, inferior might on ours ; 
 Or in the full creation leave a void. 
 Where, one step broken, the great scale's deatroy'd 
 From nature's chain whatever link you strike. 
 Tenth or ten thousandth breaks the chain alike. 
 . And, if each system in gradation roll. 
 Alike essential to th' amazing whole, 
 The least confusion but in one, not all 
 That system only, but the w hole must fall. 
 Let earth, unbalanc'd from her orbit fly, 
 Planets and suns run lawless thro' the sky : 
 Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd, 
 Being on being wreck'd, and world on world ; 
 Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod^ 
 And nature tremble to the throne of Cod. 
 
All this dread order break — for nhom ? for ihee ? 
 Vile worm I Oh madness I nride ! impiety I 
 5. What if the foot, ordainxl tlie dust to trend, 
 Or hand, to toil, a.sj>ird to be the head ? 
 What if the head, the eye, ortar ri'pin'd 
 To serve mere engines to the rniinp; mind ? 
 Just as absurd for any part to claim 
 To be another, in this j»;en'ral frr.mo : 
 Just as absurd, to mourn the t.isks or pains, 
 That j^reat direetinji; mk\d of all ordains. 
 
 4. All are but parts of one stupendous whole. 
 Whose body nature is, and God tlie soul : 
 'I'hat chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same. 
 Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame; 
 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
 Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
 Lives thro' all lihj, extends thro' all extent, 
 
 . Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
 
 Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part9 
 As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
 As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourncs 
 As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: 
 To him, no high, no low, no great, no small; 
 lie fills, he bounds, connects and equals all. 
 
 5. Ceast! then, nor okdi:u imperfection name ; 
 Our proper bliss depends on what we blame, 
 Know tliy OAvn point: this kind, this due degree 
 i)f blindness, weakness, ll'Mv'n bestows on ttiee. 
 Submit. — In this or any other sphere. 
 
 Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear : 
 Safe in tiie hand of one disposing Pow r, 
 Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
 All nature is but art, unknown to thee; 
 All chance, dn-ection, which thou canst not »ce ; 
 All discord, harmony not understood ; 
 All lurtial evil, universal ^ood ; 
 And spite of l*ride, in ernng Reason's spite. 
 One truth is chjar, — whatever is, is right. rOPK 
 SECTION XXI. 
 Conjidenci in Divine prntectian, 
 1. [low are thy servants blest, O Lordi 
 How sun.' is their defence I 
 Eternal wisdom is their guide. 
 Their help Omnipotence. 
 A d S, 
 
M4 English Reader. Fart f 
 
 S. In foreign realms, and lands remote, 
 Supported by thy care. 
 Through burning climiis I passed Unhuttt 
 And breath'd id tainted air. 
 $. Thy mercy sweetened evVy soili 
 Made ev'ry region please ; 
 The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd. 
 And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas. 
 i. Think, O my soul, devoutly think, 
 How with aflrighted eyes, 
 Thou saw'st the wide extended deep 
 la all its horrors rise ! 
 
 5. Confusion dwelt in every face, 
 
 And fear in every heart:, 
 When waves on waves, and gulfs in gidfii, 
 O'ercame the pilot's art. 
 
 6. Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord, 
 
 Thy mercy set me t'nte ; 
 While in the confidence of pray'r 
 My soul took hold on thee* 
 f . For tho' in dreadful whirls we hung 
 High on the broken \< ave, 
 I knew thoii #ert not slow id hear,' 
 Nor impotent to save. 
 S. The storm was laid, the winds rctir'd, 
 Obedient to thy will ; 
 The sea that roar d at thy command, 
 At thy command was still. 
 0. In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths, 
 Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
 And praise thee for thy mercies past, 
 And humhl}^ hope for more. 
 10. My life, if thou Jft'eserve my life, 
 Thy sacrifice shall be; 
 And death, if death must be my doom, 
 
 iShall join my soul to thie. addisov* 
 
 SECTION XXll. 
 Hymn on a rtvittv of the seasons. 
 1. These, as they change, AJ?nighly Father ! thesBi 
 Are but the varied Gud. The rolling year 
 1» full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 
 Thy beauty waiks. f hy teiiderncss and love, 
 
Chap. 6. PROMISCUOUS PicclJ. t9) 
 
 Wide flush the ^elds; the soffuing air is balm ; 
 Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles, 
 And ev'ry sense, and ev'ry heart is joy. 
 1. Then comes Thy glory i-n the summer month?, 
 With light and heart refulgent. Then Thy sun 
 Shoots full perfection thro' the swelling year: 
 And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks , 
 And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
 hy brooks and groves, in holiow-whisp'ring gale*. 
 
 5. Thy bounty shines in autumn Unconftn'dj 
 And spfeaas a common feast for all that lives. 
 In winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and stoimf 
 Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolPd, 
 Alajestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing, 
 Hiding sublime, thou bidst the world adore ; 
 And humhlest nature with Thy northern blast. 
 
 4. Mysterious round . wnat skill, what force divine> 
 Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
 Yet so delighted mi«*d, with such kind art* 
 Huch beauty and beneficence combin'd ; 
 Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade, 
 And all so formin;; an harmonious whole. 
 That as they still succeed, thty ravish stiJl. 
 
 6. But tvand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gayte, 
 Man marks not 'J'hec, marks not the mighty hand. 
 That, eter busy, wheels tlie silent spheres ; 
 Works in the s.*cret deep ; i,l:oots, streaming, theuce 
 The fair profusion that o'o! (spreads the sprin^^ ; 
 Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
 Feeds ev'ry creature ; hurls I he tempest forth ; 
 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
 With transport touches all the springs of life* 
 
 6. Nature, attend .' join every living soul, 
 jieneath the spacious tenij;le of the sky : 
 in adoration join ! and, ardoit, raise 
 One general son* ' 
 
 Ve chief, for whom the whole creation smiles. 
 At once the head, the heaii:, and tongue of all, 
 Crown the great hymn ! 
 
 T. For me, when 1 forget the darling theme. 
 Whether the blossom blows, the sumuiei ray 
 Uussets the plain; inspiring, autumn gle^iins; 
 Or winter rises in the black'ning east ; 
 Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no moret 
 And dead to joy, lorget my heart to beat ! 
 
£86 EhOLisH RcADCB* Pari t. 
 
 t. Hhould fate command me to the farthest verge 
 Of the fjreen earth, to distaijt harbVous climes, 
 Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun 
 GiMs Indian mountains., or his :>etting beam 
 Flames on th' Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me } 
 Hince God is ever present, ever felt, 
 In the void waste as in the city full ; 
 And where hk vital breathes there must be joy, 
 
 9. WJien e'en at hist the solemn hour shall come, 
 And wing mj mystic ilight to future worlds, 
 1 cheerful will obey ; there, with new pow'rs, 
 Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 
 Where universal love not smiles around, 
 Hustaining all 5^on orbs, and all their suns ; 
 From seeming evil still educing good, 
 And better thence again, and better still, 
 in infinite progression. But 1 lose 
 Myself in uim, in light ineflable ! 
 Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise 
 
 THCUSOIV 
 
 SECTION XXIL 
 
 On solitude, 
 I. O ;,6m tudFm romantic maid ! 
 
 \\ h<'.ther bv nodding towers you tread, 
 
 '^^ haunt the desert's trackless gloom, 
 
 i >r hover o'er the yawning tomb. 
 
 Or climb the Andes' clifled side. 
 
 Or by the Nile's coy sourn* abide, 
 
 iji\ starting from your half-year's sleep. 
 
 From llechi view the thawing deep, 
 
 Or, at tlje purnle dawn of day, 
 
 Tadnior's marble wastes survey ; 
 You, recluse, again I woo. 
 And agnin your steps pursue. 
 5. rium'd conceit himself surveying, 
 
 I'oily with her shadow playing, 
 
 l'urs<3-proud elbowing insolence, 
 
 i>l(»ated empiric, Puil'*d pretence, 
 
 Noise that througli a trumpet speaks, 
 
 i.aii;^hi('r in loud peala that breaks. 
 
 i^jtrusitiu V, jih a (<ipling's face, 
 
 (ignorant c^f lime and place,) 
 
 Spark* of Hre dissen^5i^)n blowing, 
 
 !iiM-ril«\ rourt-b.-ead flattery bowing, 
 
 llestraint's stiff neck, i^rimace's leer. 
 
 i 
 
r&otfiscoous Pieces. 
 
 SJquint-ey'd censure's artful sneer. 
 Ambition's buskins, steepM in blood. 
 Fly thy presence, Solitude ! 
 
 5. Sajje reflection, bent with years. 
 Conscious virtue, void of feara, 
 Muffled silence, wood-nymph shy, 
 Mpditcition's piercing eye, 
 Halcyon peace on moss reclinM, 
 Retrospect that scans the mind, 
 lUpt earth-dazing revery, 
 Blushing artless modesty, 
 Health that snuffs the morning air, 
 Full-ey'd truth with bosom bare. 
 Inspiration, nature's child, 
 Seek the solitary wild. 
 
 #. When all nature's hush'd asleep. 
 Nor love, nor guilt, their vigils keep, 
 Soft you leave your cavern'd den, 
 And wander o'er the works of men : 
 But when Phosphor brings the dawn, 
 By her dappled coursers drawn, 
 Again you to the wild retreat, 
 And the early huntsman meet, 
 Wiierc, as you pensive pass ahmg, 
 You catch the oistant shepherd'^ son;? 
 Or brush from herbs the pearly dew. 
 Or the rising primrose view, 
 Devotion lends her heaven-])lum'd wingi, 
 Vou mount, and nature with you sin^s. 
 
 5. But when mid-dav fervours glow, 
 To upland airy shades you go, 
 Where never sun-burnt woodman came, 
 Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game: 
 And there, beneath an oak reclin d, 
 With drowsy waterfalls behind, 
 
 Vou sink to rest. 
 
 Till the tuneful bird of night, 
 
 From the neighb'ring poplar's height. 
 
 Wake you with her solemn strain. 
 
 And teach pleas d echo to complain. 
 
 6. With you roses brighter bloom. 
 Sweeter every sweet })erfume ; 
 Purer every rnqntajn Hows, 
 Stronger every wilding grows. 
 Let Iho^e toil for gold who pleas^f 
 
Or, for fame renounce their ease. 
 What is fume ? An empty bubble ; 
 (fold I a shinin*;, constant trouble. 
 lAtt them for their country bleed ! 
 What was Sidney's, Raleij;h's meed ? 
 Man's nut worth a moment's pain ; 
 Base, ung;raterul, fickle, vain. 
 7. Then let me, sequester'd fair, 
 To your sybil ^rOt repair; 
 On yon hanging clift' it stands^ 
 Scoop'd by nature's plastic hands, 
 IJosom'd in the g;loomy sliade 
 Of Cyprus not with aj^e decay'd ; 
 Where the owl still hooting sits, 
 Where tiie bat incessant Hits ; 
 There in loftier strains I'll sing 
 Whence the ehandn;; seasons spring; 
 Tell how storms ueform the skies, 
 Whence the ivaves subside and rise, 
 Trace tht* comet's blazing tail, 
 Weiji;h the planets in ii scale ; 
 iU^nil, j^reat God, before thy shrine 
 The bournlcss microcosm^fi fhin^'. 
 t. Since in each scheme of fife I've faif d. 
 And disappointment seems entail'd ; 
 Since all on earth 1 valued most, 
 tMy guide, my stay, my friend is lost ; 
 () Solitude, now {!;ive me rest, 
 And hush the tempest in my breast. 
 O pjcntly deign to j;uide my' feet 
 To your hermit-trodden seat ; 
 ^Vllere I may live at last my own. 
 Where 1 at last may die unknown. 
 9. I spoke : she turn'd her magic ray ; 
 And thus she said, or seem'd to say ; 
 Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find 
 in shades, a med'cine for a troubled mind ; 
 Wan j;rief will haunt you wheresoe'et* you go, 
 High in the breeze, and in the sti-eamlet (low. 
 There, pale inaction pines his life awayl 
 And .satiate mourns the quick return of day: 
 There, naked frenzy laughing wild ivith pain, 
 Or bares the blade, or phmges in the main ; 
 There, superstition broods o'er all her fear*, 
 A»d yells of demons in the zephyr hears. 
 
&Utp. 6* Peomiscuous Pikc£3. t9f 
 
 10.. ijut if Ji hermit you're resolv'd to dwell, 
 And bid to social lite a last farewell , 
 
 *Ti3 impious 
 
 God never made an independent man ; 
 Twouldjar the concord of hisgen'ral plan. 
 See every part of that stupendous whole, 
 ** Whose body nature is, and God the sou) ;* 
 To one great end tiie general good eonspire< 
 From matter, brute, to man< to seraph, fire. 
 
 11. Should man through nature solitary roam, 
 His will his sovereign,- every wliere his home, 
 What force would guard him from the lion's jaw ? 
 What swiftness winj^ him from the panther's paw I 
 Or sbouldi fate lead nim to somo safer shore, 
 Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar, 
 Where liberal nature all her cliarms bestows, 
 Sunc shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flowi. 
 Fool, dost thou think he'd revel on the store. 
 Absolve the care of J leaven, nor ask for more ? 
 Though waters flow'd, (low'rs bloom'd, and I'hcB&tu 
 
 shone, 
 He'd sigh, he'd inurmur, that he was alone. 
 For know, the Maker on the human breast 
 A sense of kindred, country, man, impress'd. 
 
 it, ' Though nature's wtu-ks the ruling mind declurflj. 
 And well deserve inquiry's serious care, 
 The God (whate'er misanthropy may say,) 
 Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray. 
 What boots it thee to lly from pole to pole ? 
 Hang o'er the sun, and with the planecs roll? 
 What boots through space's furthest bourns to roam I 
 If thou, O man, a stranger art at home. 
 Then know thyself, the liuman mind survey; 
 The use, the pleasure, will the toil repay. 
 
 18. Nor study only, practise what you know; 
 Vourlife, your knowledge, to mankind you ow*. 
 With Plato's olive wreath the bays entuine; 
 Those who in stiniy, should in practice shine. 
 Bay, does the learned lord of llagley's shade, 
 Cliarm man so much by mossy fountains laid, 
 As when arous'd he stems corruptions ccurse, 
 And shakes the senate with a Tully's force 1 
 When freedom gasp'd beneath a Cesar's i^tK^i^ 
 Then public virtue might to shades retreat : 
 But wnere she breathes, the least may useful be, 
 Aad freedom Britain, still belongs to tliee* 
 
90« £NGLIia RCADER. Pari %, 
 
 14. Though man's ungratefuKor though fortune frown ; 
 
 Is the reward of worth, a son^, or crown ? I 
 
 Nor yet unrecompens'd are vntue's pHins ; ' 
 
 (»ooa Allen lives, and bounteous iirunswick reignft. 
 
 On each condition disappointments wait, ) 
 
 Knterthe hut, and fcrce the guarded j^ate. 
 
 Nor dare repine tnough early friendship bleed : ; 
 
 From love, the world, and all its cares, he's Ireed. 
 
 \\\\i know, adversity's the child of God ; 
 
 Whom Heaven approves of most, must feel her rod. 
 \b. When smooth old Ocean, and each storm's asleep 
 
 Then ignorance may plough the wat'ry deep : 
 
 l^ut v.'hen the demons of the tempest rave, 
 
 Skill must conduct the vessel throup;h the wave. 
 
 Sidney, what good man envies net thy blow? 
 
 Wlio would not wish Anytus* for a foe? 
 
 Intrepid virtue; triumphs over fate : 
 
 Ttie good can never be unfortunate ; 
 
 And be this maxim graven in thy mind ; 
 
 The height of viitue is, to serve mankind. 
 16. l^at whf n old age has silver'd o'er thy head, 
 
 When memory fails, and all thy vigour's fled. 
 
 Then mayvSt thou seek the stillness of retreat, 
 , Then hear ahuif the human tempest beat; 
 
 Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave, 
 
 Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave. 
 
 * One of tlic aecuger* of Socralea. 
 
 FIN13. 
 
coNTsnrrs. 
 
 PART I. 
 PIECES IN PROSE. 
 
 CHAPTER r. ^ag». 
 
 Stlect Sentences and Paragrapht, - ■» • 2$ 
 CHAPTER U. 
 ' Narrative Pieces. 
 00e< ]« No rank or posseEsions can make the guilty mind happj, ; 44 
 
 2. Change of external condition oftcu adverse 10 virtue, »• - 45 
 
 3. Haman ; or the misery of pride, - - . - , 47 
 
 4. Lady Jane Gray, ------•••4!) 
 
 5. Ortogrul ; or the vanity of riches, - - - - • - 52 
 
 6. The hill of science, ------..,54 
 
 7. The journey of a day ; a picture of human life, - - - 5d 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Didactic Pieces. 
 
 BtcL 1. The Importance of a good education, - - - , - 61 
 
 2. On gratitude, -------,-.64 
 
 3. On forgivenofifl, -----. ,-_65 
 
 4. Motives to the practice of gentlonesg, - - - • • 67 
 
 5. A suspicious temper tJie Bource of miHcry \.o its posaessor, - - f)8 
 
 6. Comforts of religion, - - -*- - - - - 69 
 
 7. Diltidftnce of our abilities a mark of wisdom, - • - - "JO 
 
 8. On the importance of order in tiie distribution of our lime, • 71 
 
 9. Tlje dignity of virtue amidst corrupt examples, - - - - 74 
 
 10. The mortifications of vice greater than those of virtue, - - 75 
 
 11. On contentment, - - - -- - - - • -77 
 
 12. Rank and riches afford no ground for envy, - - - - 80 
 
 13. Patience under provocations our interest as well afl duly, - - 81 
 
 14. Moderation in our wishes recommended, - - - - fi3 
 I&. Omniscience and omnipresence of the iJeity, the source of coneo- 
 
 Utioo to good men, --86 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Argumentative Pieces. 
 
 8tc<. 1. Happiness is fotmdcd in rectitude of conduct, - - - 80 
 
 2. Virtue man's highest interest, - - - - - M 
 
 3. The injustice of an uncharitable spirit, - • - • 91 
 4- The misfortunes of men mostly chargeable on themiolrc*, - §3 
 5. On disinterested friendship, ----- - 90 
 
 6> Oa llio immortality of the soul, -------99 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Descriptive Pieces. 
 
 S««t 1. The seasons, ---------- 1(W 
 
 8. The cataract of Niagara, in Canada, North America, * - 104 
 
 3. Grotto of Antiparos, -------- IW 
 
 4. The grotto of Antiparos, continued, . . - - - i(J7 
 
 5. Earthquake at Catanea, _-..-.- 108 
 
 6. Creation, 109 
 
 7. Charity, 110 
 
 8. Pit)Bpority is redou^jled t© a good man, - - - - - 111 
 0, On tlie beauties of the Psalms, - - - - - -112 
 
 10. Cliaracter of Alfred, king of England^ - ... - 114 
 
 11. Character of dueen Eliiaboth, - - - - • - 115 
 
 12. Oo lli6 riavery of vice, - - - -• - - - 117 
 
 13. The man of iiit^f rity, -•-«»•-- 118 
 M G«nU««»8, - 119 
 
8Ctt ~ CONTENTS- 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Pathetic Pieces, 
 B«et. 1. Trial and execution of ihe Earl of Strafford, . . • . MS 
 ^ An eminent instanco of true fortitude of mind, • - • |24 
 
 3. The good man's comfort in affliction, - • • - » 125 
 
 4. The close of life, 7-IM 
 
 Jy. Exalted society, and the renewal of virtuotu connoetions, two 
 
 sources of future felicity, .„----•- 128 
 G. The clemency and amiable character of tho patriarch Joseph, ]29 
 
 7. AUamont, ----138 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Dialogues, 
 
 feet. 1. Pemocrltus and Heraclltus, --....- )35 
 
 2. Dionysius, Pythias, and Damon, .-..-- 137 
 
 3. Locke and Bayle, -----•. |40 
 
 CHAPTER Vni. 
 rublic Speeches. 
 tkicL 1. Cicero agfainstVerres, -----.-. I49 
 
 2. Speech of Adhcrbal to the Roman Senate, imploring their protec- 
 tion against Jugurtha, .----_- 1.5) 
 Jt The Aposilc Paul's noble dcWmre before Festus and Agrippa • 154 
 
 4. Lord Mansfield's speech in the House of Lords, 3770, on t4ie bill 
 
 for preventing tlie delays of justice, by claiming tho privilege 
 of parliament, --_--..- 155 
 
 fi. An address to young persons, ------- \Qi\ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Pro7niscuovs Pieces. 
 
 B^ct. 1. Earthquake at Calabria, in the year IG38, - - - - jfiu 
 
 t. Letter from Pliny to Geminius, ------ \qq 
 
 'A. Letter from Pliny to Marcellinus, on the death of an amiable young 
 
 woman, --------- . |70 
 
 4. On Discretion, ---------, 171 
 
 I 5. On the government of our thoughts, ----- I74 
 
 6. On the evils which How from unrestrained paesions, - • 178 
 
 7. On the proper statr of our temper, with respect to one tDOtherj 17R 
 ft. Excellence of ilio Holy Scriptures, ------ 130 
 
 9. Reflections occasioned by a review of the blessings, pronounce4 by 
 
 Christ on his disciples, in his sermon on the mount, - - 181 
 Vi. Schemes of life often illusory, ------ 182 
 
 11. The pleasures of virtuous sensibility, ----- 135 
 
 12. On the true honour of man, ------- 187 
 
 13. The influence of devotion on the happiness of life, - - - igj 
 J4. The planetary and terrestrial worlds comparatively considered, 191 
 15. On the power of ciistom, and the uses to which it may be applied, IM 
 Jft. The pleasures resulting from a proper use of our facultiea. - 198 
 
 17. Description of Candour, -------- lfl7 
 
 18. On the imperfection of that happiness which rests solely on world- 
 
 ly pleasures, --------- jgg 
 
 19. What are the real and solid enjoyments of human life, • - 209 
 
 20. Scale of beings, --. --,., fjOf 
 
 21. Trust In the care of Providence recommended, - - - - 207 
 
 22. Piety and gratitude enliven prosperity, - - - - 2WI 
 t3. Virtue, when deeply rooted, is not subject to the influence of fot- 
 
 tune, «.---.----Ji| 
 
 W, TUc speech of FabriciuB, a Roman ambassador, to kingPvrrhn*, 
 
 who attempted to bribe him to his interests, by the ofler of • 
 
 great sum of money, -- - - - - - - SIJ 
 
 S5. Cliarncter of James I. king of England, - - - - 2^4 
 
 26. CbarlM V. Emperor of Germany, reeigM his dominiooft, ftad 9» 
 
 tiros from the world, ------- 9IS 
 
 f7. The tarae subject contiiraod, •••<>. '^ KKl 
 
Cf>5TKJ«T8. 908 
 
 PART* '^I 
 PIECES IN POETRY. 
 
 CfMPTE.n r. 
 
 Select Sent:H:?s and Paragraphs 
 
 8iCt. 1 Short er.d easy pcntf rices, ....... 1^93 
 
 2. VcrRC* in which the lines are of 'lifTeront length, ... 2g4 
 
 9. Verses cuntaining <}xc'n.tiiaticn:s, intcriogations, and pareotlMSM, 233 
 
 4. Verses in various forms, - - - -_- - - . 227 
 
 6. Verses in winch 8<»urifl corrcRponds to iiignification, - - 22B 
 
 6w Paragraphs of greater kjiigih, -----_. 231 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 J\''arrat.ive Pieces. 
 
 8«ct. 1. The bears and the boos ------.. 233 
 
 2. Thenightingaio iiitd liie glow worm, ---... 334 
 
 8. Tho tnalt-- of virtue, .... - - ib. 
 
 4. The youth and tiic jdiiloKupher, ----.. 23fi 
 
 5. Discourse botwei-n Adam and Eve retiring to re«t, ... 237 
 0. Roligioij and death, - *^ 
 
 rif.M'TER ni. 
 
 Jhdactic Pieces. 
 
 Sect. 1. The vanity of wealth, 34« 
 
 5. Nothing formed in vain, ---.-... \\^ 
 
 8. On pride, 54.1 
 
 4. Cruelty to brutos censured. .----.. ^44 
 
 6. A paraphrase on tlie latter pari of the 6th chap, of MattJMSw, ♦ 245 
 
 6. The death of a good man a sir«ir.g incentive to virtuo, - - 240 
 
 7. Reflections on a future fi;ifc. fr<;ni a icview of vriater, - - ib. 
 8 Adam's ad viie to Eve, to avoid tenjjitation, - . - - <M7 
 0. On procrastination, . - - - . » o^g 
 
 10. Thatphiiofiophy, whicli bf«>pK at Bccondnry caufr.s,reprov(yi, - ^^ 
 
 11. indignant dCutiniCDlb on national prejudice and haired ; and on sla- 
 
 very, - ... - -980 
 
 ciiArTF.R rv. 
 
 Descriptive Pieces. 
 
 Boot]. The morning in summer, 2M 
 
 2, Hural souudb, as well us ru.-al sights, dchghtful, - - ih. 
 
 2. The Rose, 253 
 
 4. Care of birds for their yoiing, ---...- 2.M 
 6. Liberty and slavery contruhied, --._,. f^ 
 6. Charity. A iiiirup'hrase on the 13th chap, of the Plrst Epwtk lo 
 
 the Corinthians, ----...-- SS5 
 
 ? Picture of a good mun, - - • - • -- - ' ^S^ 
 
 f . Tho ploasurcB of retirement, ---.... sag 
 
 ©. Tko pleasure and benefit of an improved and well directed invagr- 
 
 nation, -.-------- j^o 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Pathetic Pieces. 
 
 5i}ct. 1. Tlie VTermil, - ZfH 
 
 5. Tho Beggar's Petition, 568 
 
 3. Unhappy close of life, --.-.... 203 
 
 4. Elegy to Pity, ii> 
 
 & Versos supposed to he written by Alexander Selkirk, duriag hif 
 
 reoli!ary abode in the island cf Juan Fernande«, - 5204 
 
 fi. Oratitude, ... *M 
 
 i. A man perishing in the unovf \ frona v^heiico refieetlont art raised 
 
 onthe miserioeof life, ..,..-. 9ff7 
 
 A moraing bynm r • • • * - • i^ 
 
•MrrsHTt. 
 
 CHAPTER Vh 
 Prt/miMe^it«U4 Pieces, 
 
 5. The Shepherd and t)io Philosopher, « . - - - JPJI 
 
 3. Thoroad to haj)|)iuess open to all moB, - - • -*- - S73 
 
 4. Th« j»odnes8 of Providenc«, - - - - . - 2T4 
 
 5. Tiw> Creator's works attest hia greutness, - , ." - 374 
 
 «. Address to the Deity, .- -ifc. 
 
 7. The panuit of Ijappineaa often ill directed - . . . 377 
 P. Thcfiro sJdo, -_-...-... fij% 
 
 9. Prori<Ieneo vindicated in tJic present state ©f xiMtn, - • 2W 
 
 JO. Sclfishneea reproved, ------.-- 2^ 
 
 11. Haman fpailty, -283 
 
 12. Ode to Peace, 283 
 
 13> Ode to Adversity, --------- i^b 
 
 34. The Creation required to praise its Author, .... 284 
 
 15. The universal prayer, -----.-. 288 
 
 Jf>. Conacieoce, ---.!2S8 
 
 17. Oq on infant, «---,.•„. ij,_ 
 
 la The Cuckoo, _.. * - ' - 289 
 
 IS. Day. A pastoral, in thro* parts, -«-•*- ib. 
 £0. The order of nature, ----••-..• 292 
 SI. Hymn composed during 8ickB«w, « - - 2 " t 2W 
 SS. Hymn on a review ©f ibe leasonsi * - • S - " • 21M 
 tt. On Solitude, - .- - :'• ^ ' ' r _»• 
 
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