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CONVERSATION of a COMPANY
EPHEMERÆ;

WITH THE SOLILOQUY OF ONE ADVANCED IN AGE.

TO MADAME BRILLIANT.

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You may remember, my dear friend, that

when we lately spent that happy day, in the delightful garden and sweet society of the Moulin Joly, I ftopt a little in one of our walks, and ftaid fome time behind the company. We had been fhewn numberlefs fkeletons of a kind of little fly, called an Ephemere, whofe fucceffive generations, we were told, were bred and expir ed within the day. I happened to see a living. company of them on a leaf, who appeared to be engaged in conversation. You know I underftand all the inferior animal tongues: my too great application to the ftudy of them, is the beft excufe I can give for the little progrefs I have made in your charming language. I liftened through curiofity to the discourse of these little creatures; but as they, in their natural vivacity, fpoke three or four together, I could make but little of their conversation. I found, however, by fome broken expreffions that I heard now and then, they were difputing warmly on the merit of two foreign musicians, the one a coufin, the other a mufcheto; in which dispute they spent their time, feemingly as regardless of the shortness of life as if they had been fure of living a month. Happy people, thought I, you live certainly under a wife, juft, and mild government, fince you have no public grievances to complain of, nor any fubject of contention, but

the perfections or imperfections of foreign mufic. I turned my head from them to an old greyheaded one, who was single on another leaf, and talking to himself. Being amufed with his foliloquy, I put it down in writing, in hopes it will likewife amufe her to whom I am so much indebted for the moft pleafing of all amusements, her delicious company, and heavenly harmony.

"It was,” says he, "the opinion of learned philofophers of our race, who lived and flourifhed long before my time, that this vaft world the Moulin Joly could not itself subfift more than eighteen hours: and I think there was fome foundation for that opinion; fince, by the apparent motion of the great luminary, that gives Life to all nature, and which in my time has evidently declined confiderably towards the ocean. at the end of our earth, it must then finish its course, be extinguifhed in the waters that furround us, and leave the world in cold and darkness, neceffarily producing universal death and deftruction. I have lived feven of those hours; a great age, being no less than 420 minutes of time. How very few of us continue so long! I have seen generations born, flourish, and expire. My present friends are the children and grand-children of the friends of my youth, who are now, alas, no more! And I must soon follow them; for, by the course of nature, though ftill in health, I cannot expect to live above seven or eight minutes longer. What now avails all my toil and labour, in amaffing honey-dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to enjoy! What the political fruggles I have been engaged in,

for the good of my compatriot inhabitants of this bush, or my philofophical studies, for the benefit of our race in general! for in politics (what can laws do without morals ?) our prefent race of Ephemera will in a courfe of minutes become corrupt, like thofe of other and older bufhes, and consequently as wretched: And in philofophy how fmall our progrefs! Alas! art is long and life is fhort! My friends would comfort me with the idea of a name, they fay, I fhall leave behind me; and they tell me I have lived long enough to nature and to glory. But what will fame be to an Ephemera who no longer exifts? and what will become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when the world itself, even the whole Moulin Joly, fhall come to its end, and be buried in univerfal ruin ?".

To me, after all my eager pursuits, no folid pleafures now remain, but the reflection of a long life spent in meaning well, the fenfible converfation of a few good lady Ephemera, and now and then a kind fmile and a tune from the ever amiable Brilliant.

B. FRANKLIN.

MORALS OF CHESS.

PLAYING

LAYING at chefs is the most ancient and most universal game known among men for its original is beyond the memory of hiftory, and it has, for numbeflefs ages, been the amusement of all the civilized nations of Afia, the Perfians, the Indians, and the Chinese. Europe has had it above a thousand years; the Spaniards have

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fpread it over their part of America, and it begins lately to make its appearance in these states. It is fo interesting in itself, as to not need the view of gain to induce engaging in it; and thence it is never played for money. Those, therefore, who have leisure for fuch diverfions, cannot find one that is more innocent; and the following piece, written with a view to correct (among a few young friends) fome little improprieties in the practice of it, fhews, at the fame time, that it may, in its effects on the mind, be not merely innocent, but advantageous, to the vanquished as well as the victor.

THE game of chefs is not merely an idle. amufement. Several valuable qualities of the mind, useful in the course of human life, are to be acquired or ftrengthened by it, fo as to become habits, ready on all occafions. For life is a kind of chefs, in which we have often points to gain, and competitors or adverfaries to contend with, and in which there is a vast variety of good and ill events, that are, in some degree, the effects of prudence or the want of it. By. playing at chefs, then, we may learn,

1. Forefight, which looks a little into futurity,) and confiders the consequences that may attend an action for it is continually occurring to the player," If I move this piece, what will be the advantage of my new fituation? What ufe can my adverfary make of it to annoy me? What other moves can I make to fupport it, and to defend myself from his attacks ?"

II. Circumfpection, which furveys the whole chefs-board, or scene of action, the relations of

the feveral pieces and fituations, the dangers they are respectively exposed to, the feveral poffibilities of their aiding each other, the probabilities that the adversary may take this or that move, and attack this or the other piece, and what different means can be used to avoid his stroke, or turn its confequences against him.

III. Caution, not to make our moves too haftily. This habit is best acquired by observing strictly the laws of the game, fuch as, "If you touch a piece, you must move it somewhere; if you fet it down you must let it stand ;" and it is therefore beft that these rules should be observed, as the game thereby becomes more the image of human life, and particularly of war; in which, if you have incautiously pr yourself into a bad and dangerous pofition, you cannot obtain your enemy's leave to withdraw your troops, and place them more securely, but you must abide all the confequences of your rafhness.

And lastly, we learn by chefs the habit of not being difcouraged by prefent bad appearances in the ftate of our affairs, the habit of hoping for a favourable change, and that of perfevering in the fearch of refources. The game is fo full of events, there is such a variety of turns in it, the fortune of it is fo fubject to fudden viciffitudes, and one fo frequently, after long contemplation, discovers the means of extricating oneself from a supposed infurmountable difficulty, that one is encouraged to continue the conteft to the last, in hopes of victory by our own skill, or at least of giving a ftale mate, by the negligence of our adversary. And whoever confiders, what in chefs he often

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