with unforeseen miseries. Those pleasures may cut short our nealth and life.

He who is accustomed to turn aside from the world, and commune with himself in retirement, will, sometimes at least, hear. the truths which the multitude do not tell him. A more sound instructor will lift his voice, and awaken within the heart those latent suggestions, which the world had overpowered and suppressed. Amusement often becomes the business, instead of the relaxation, of young persons: it is then highly pernicious.

He that waits for an opportunity to do much at once, may breathe, out his life in idle wishes; and regret, in the last hour, his useless intentions and barren zeal.

The spirit of true religion breathes mildness and affability. It gives 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, sharpens the temper, dejects the spirit, and teaches men to fit themselves for another world, by neglecting the concerns of this.

Reveal_none of the secrets of thy friend. Be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in danger. Abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his prejudice.

Man, always prosperous, would be giddy and insolent; always afflicted, would be sullen or despondent. Hopes and fears, joy and sorrow, are, therefore, so blended in his life, as both to give room for worldly pursuits, and to recall, from time to time, the admonitions of conscience.

SECTION IV.

TIME once past never returns: the moment which is lost, is Jost for ever.

There is nothing on earth so stable, as to assure us of undisturbed rest; nor so powerful, as to afford us constant protection.

The house of feasting too often becomes an avenue to the house of mourning. Short, to the licentious, is the interval between them. It is of great importance to us, to form a proper estimate of human life; without either loading it with imaginary evils, or expecting from it greater advantages than it is able to yield.

Among all our corrupt passions, there is a strong and intimate connexion. When any one of them is adopted into our family, it seldom quits us until it has fathered upon 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 will bear.

Many men mistake the love, for the practice, of virtue; and are not so much good men, as the friends of goodness.

Genuine virtue has a language that speaks to every heart throughout the world. It is a language which is understood by all. In every region, every climate, the homage paid to it is the same. In no one sentiment were ever mankind more generally agreed.

The appearances of our security are frequently deceitful. When our sky seems most settled and serene, in some unobserved quarter gathers the little black cloud in which the tempest ferments, and prepares to discharge itself on our bead.

جل عدي

The man of true fortitude may be compared to the castle built on a rock, which defies the attacks of surrounding waters: the man of a feeble and timorous spirit, to a hut placed on the shore, which every wind shakes, and every wave overflows.

Nothing is so inconsistent with self-possession, as violent 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 mischiefs which it occasions without, it generally brings on the passionate and revengeful man, greater misery than he can bring on the 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 difficulties 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 judging of ourselves, we ought to be exact and severe.

Let him who desires to see others happy, make haste to give while his gift can be enjoyed; and remember, that every moment of delay, takes away something from the value of his benefaction. And let him who proposes his own happiness reflect, that while he forms his purpose, the day rolls on, and "the night cometh, when no man can work."

To sensual persons, hardly any thing is what it appears to be; and what flatters most, is always farthest from reality. There are voices which sing around them, but whose strains allure to ruin. There is a banquet spread, where poison is in every dish. There is a couch which invites them to repose, but to slumber upon it, is

death.

If we would judge whether a man is really happy, it is not solely to his houses and lands, to his equipage and retinue, we are to look. Uuless we could see farther, and discern what joy, or what bitterness, his heart feels, we can pronounce little concerning him.

The book is well written; and I have perused it with pleasure and profit. It shows, first, that true devotion is rational and well founded; next, that it is of the highest importance to every other part of religion and virtue; and, lastly, that it is most conducive to our happiness.

There is certainly no greater felicity, than to be able to look back on a life usefully and virtuously employed; to trace our own progress in existence, by such tokens as excite neither shame nor sorrow. It ought therefore to be the care of those who wish to pass their last hours with comfort, to lay up such a treasure of pleasing ideas, as shall support the expenses of that time, which is to depend wholly upon the fund already acquired.

SECTION V.

WHAT avails the show of external liberty, to one who has lost the government of himself?

He that cannot live well to-day, (says Martial,) will be less qualified to live well to-morrow.

C

Can we esteem that man prosperous, who is raised to a situation which flatters his passions, but which corrupts his principles, disorders his temper, and finally oversets his virtue?

What misery does the vicious man secretly endure! Adversity! how blunt are all the arrows of thy quiver, in comparison with those of guilt!

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 strangely are the opinions of men altered, by a change in heir condition!

How many have had reason to be thankful, for being disappointed in designs which they earnestly pursued, but which, if successfully accomplished, they have afterwards seen would have occasioned their ruin!

What are the actions which afford in the remembrance a rational satisfaction? Are they the pursuits of sensual pleasure, the riots of jollity, or the displays of show and vanity? No: I appeal to your hearts, my friends, if what you recollect with most pleasure, are not the innocent, the virtuous, the honourable parts of your past life.

The present employment of time should frequently be an object of thought. About what are we now busied? What is the ultimate scope of our present pursuits and cares? Can we justify them to ourselves? Are they likely to produce any thing that will survive the moment, and bring forth some fruit for futurity?

Is it not strange, (says an ingenious writer,) that some persons should be so delicate as not to bear a disagreeable picture in the house, and yet, by their behaviour, force every face they see about them, to wear the gloom of uneasiness and discontent?

If we are now in health, peace, and safety; without any particular or uncommon evils to afflict our condition; what more can we reasonably look for in this vain and uncertain world? How little can the greatest prosperity add to such a state? Will any future situation ever make us happy, if now, with so few causes of grief, we imagine ourselves miserable? The evil lies in the state of our mind, not in our condition of fortune; and by no alteration of circumstances is it likely to be remedied.

When the love of unwarrantable pleasures, and of vicious companions, is allowed to amuse young persons, to engross their time, and to stir up their passions; the day of ruin,-let them take heed, and beware! the day of irrecoverable ruin begins to draw nigh. Fortune is squandered; health is broken; friends are offended, affronted, estranged; aged parents, perhaps, sent afflicted and mourning to the dust.

On whom does time hang so heavily, as on the slothful and lazy? To whom are the hours so lingering? Who are so often devoured with spleen, and obliged to fly to every expedient, which can help them to get rid of themselves? Instead of producing tranquillity, udolence produces a fretful restlessness of mind; gives rise to cravings which are never satisfied; nourishes a sickly, effeminate delicacy, which sours and corrupts every pleasure.

SECTION VI.

WE have seen the husbandman scattering his seed upon the furrowed ground! It springs up, is gathered into 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 gratitue of those whom he obliges, by the approbation of his own mind, and by the favour of Heaven.

Temperance, by fortifying the mind and body, leads to happiness; intemperance, by enervating them, ends generally in misery. Title and ancestry render a good man more illustrious; but an il one, more contemptible. Vice is infamous, though in a prince and virtue honourable, though in a peasant.

An elevated genius, employed in little things, appears (to use the simile of Longinus) like the sun in his evening declination: he remits his splendour, but retains his magnitude; and pleases more, though he dazzles less.

If envious people were to ask themselves, whether they would exchange their entire situations with the persons envied, (I mean their minds, passions, notions, as well as their persons, fortunes, and dignities,)—I presume the self-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 yourselves not only as sensitive, but as rational beings; not only as rational, but social; not only as social, but immortal.

Art thou poor?-Show thyself active and industrious, peaceable and contented. Art thou wealthy?-Show thyself beneficent and charitable, condescending and humane.

Though religion removes not all the evils of life, though it pro. mises no continuance of undisturbed prosperity, (which indeed it were not salutary for man always to enjoy,) yet, if it mitigates the evils which necessarily belong to our state, it may justly be said to give "rest to them who labour and are heavy laden."

What a smiling aspect does the love of parents and children, of brothers and sisters, of friends and relations, give to every surrounding object, and every returning day! With what a lustre does it gild even the small habitation, where this placid intercourse dwells! where such scenes of heartfelt satisfaction succeed unin terruptedly to one another!

How many clear marks of benevolent intention appear every where around us! What a profusion of beauty and ornament, is poured forth on the face of nature! What a magnificent spectacle presented to the view of man! What supply contrived for his wants! What a variety of objects set before him, to gratify his senses, to employ his understanding, to entertain his imagination. to cheer and gladden his heart!

The hope of future happiness, is a perpetual source of consolation to good men, Under trouble, it soothes their minds; amidst temptation, it supports their virtue, and, in their dying moments,

enables them to say, "O death! where is thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory?”

SECTION VII.

AGESILAUS, king of Sparta, being asked "What things he thought most proper for boys to learn," answered, "Those which they ought to practise when they come to be men.' A wiser than Agesilaus, has inculcated the same sentiment: "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from t."

An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto, that "time was his estate." An estate indeed which will produce nothing without cultivation; but which will always abundantly repay the labours of industry, and satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie waste by negligence, to be overrun with noxious plants, or laid out for show rather than use.

When Aristotle was asked, "What a man could gain by telling a falsehood," he replied, "Not to be credited when he speaks the truth."

L'Estrange, in his Fables, tells us that a number of frolicsome boys were one day watching frogs, at the side of a pond; and that, as any of them put their heads above the water, they pelted them down again with stones. One of the frogs, appealing to the humanity of the boys, 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, always retained at his table, in his most prosperous days, the same frugality to which he had been accustomed in early life. He was frequently reproached by the courtiers, for his simplicity; but he used to reply to them, in the words of an ancient philosopher: "If the guests are men of sense, there is sufficient for them; if they are not, I can very well dispense with their company."

Socrates, though primarily attentive to the culture 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 care which he 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." "I am distressed for thee, my brother Jorrathan," 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, was wounded by a musket ball, which broke the bone of his thigh. He was carried about a mile and a half, to the camp; and being faint with the loss of blood, and probably parched with thirst through the heat of the 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 carried by him, looked up to it with wistful eyes. The gallant 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, demanded of a pirate whom he had taken,