In all systems whatsoever, whether of religion, government, morals, &c. perfection is the object always proposed, though possibly unattainable; hitherto, at least, certainly unattained. However, those who aim carefully at the mark tself will unquestionably come nearer it than those who, from despair, negligence, or indoElence, leave to chance the work of skill. This maxim holds equally true in common life; those who aim at perfection will come infinitely nearer it, than those desponding, or indolent spirits, who foolishly say to themselves, Nobody is perfect; perfection is unattainable; to attempt it is chimerical; I shall do as well as others; why then should I give myself trouble to be what I never can, and what, according to the common course of things, I need not be,—perfect? I am very sure that I need not point out to you the weakness and the folly of this reasoning, if it deserves the name of reasoning. It would discourage, and put a stop to the exertion of any one of our faculties. On the con trary, a man of sense and spirit says to himself, Though the point of perfection may (considering the imperfection of our nature) be unattainable, my care, my endeavours, my attention, shall not be wanting to get as near it as I can; I will approach it every day; possibly I may arrive at it at last; at least, (what I am sure is in my own power,) I will not be distanced. THE FOLLY OF PERSECUTION. Punishment will make sectaries and political writers considerable, when their own works would not; and if my friend Lucas had not been persecuted under lord Harrington's government, I believe he would have been, long before this, only a good apothecary, instead of a scurvy politician. I remember, at the latter end of queen Anne's reign, hiere was a great number of fanatics, who said they had, and very possibly really thought they had, the gift of prophecy. They used to assemble in Moor-fields to exert that gift, and were attended by a vast number of idle and curious spectators. The then ministry, who loved a little persecution well enough, was, however, wise enough not to disturb these madmen, and only ordered one Powel, who was the master of a famous puppet-show, to make Punch turn prophet, which he did so well, that it soon put an end to the prophets and their prophecies. THE DANGER OF PLATONIC ATTACHMENT. I believe I may take it for granted, that every fine woman, who comes to town in January, comes heartily tired both of the country and of her husband. The happy pair have yawned at one another at least ever since Michaelmas, and the two indivisible halves, of man and wife, have been exceedingly burthensome to each other. The lady, who has had full leisure most minutely to consider her other moiety, has either positively or comparatively found out, that he is by no means a pretty man, and meditates indemnification to herself, either g by her return to the pretty man, or by enlisting done for the current service of the year. In these dispositions she opens the winter, but, at the same time, with firm and steadfast purpose of not transgressing the bounds, or even violating the appearances, of virtue. But, alas! The lover how frail are all our best resolves! =appears at first in the innocent form of value and esteem; his conversation is listened to with attention, and approved of: it grows frequent and particular; how can one help that? Where is the harm of being distinguished by the friendship of a man of sense and fashion? Can it be wondered at, that one converses more with him than with a thousand fools that would be always plaguing one? Besides, he says nothing one has reason to take ill, or that would justify one in not being civil to him. With these early and just distinctions in his favour, the pretty man proceeds, and gains the more ground, as his approaches are the less perceived or apprehended. He is admitted to the toilet, as an agreeable friend and companion where he improves the morning moments, which I take to be the mollia tempora, so propitious to tête-à-têtes: here the conversation insensibly grows more serious; particular applications are made of general topics; sentiments of love and constancy are discussed; the pretty man con fesses, and laments his unfortunate disposition to both, and wishes to heaven that he knew neither; the lady, not without some emotion, and an awkward smartness, tells him that she believes they will neither of them ever do him any great hurt. This unjust reproach extorts from him, what otherwise he could never have had the courage to have said, viz. "that that depends entirely upon her." Here it is out; the ice is broken. What is to be done? The lady now plainly perceives his meaning, which she never before suspected. She flattered herself that he had a friendship and value for her, but now she finds the contrary. She is sorry he has put it out of her power to have any longer that esteem for him, which she confesses she once had; but they must never meet any more, if that is to be the language. The lover, for now I may call him so, deprecates her wrath, bids her blame her own beauty, and his fate, but pity him, and, pressing her hand, which, it may be, in her anger, she forgets to pull away, faithfully promises never to holl that language more, if he can help it. Upon this solemn engagement he is forgiven, re-admitted, and, all danger is looked upon to be over. Short and fallacious security for, this point once gained, the besieger, if I may borrow some military metaphors, is most advantageously posted, is in garrison, and Here he can a situation to parley with the ernor, I therefore recommend to my country women, to be particularly upon their guard against the very man whose conquest they most wish for, and to be assured that the reasons which determine their choice are so many instances of their danger. Let them begin to reflect, as soon as ever they begin to find a particular pleasure in his conversation, and let them tremble when they first make him a graver courtesy than they do to other people. But if, when he approaches them, they pull up their gloves, adjust their tucker, and count the sticks of their fan, let them despair, for they are further gone than they imagine. And though they may, for a time, deceive themselves with a notion that it is his understanding only that engages their attention, they will find at last that man, like the serpent, when he has once got his head in, the rest will soon follow. Friendship and esteem are the bearded arrows of love, that enter with ease, but when torn out, leave the wound greater. |