their respective attributes and perfections. Thofe who are acquainted with the works of the Greek and Latin poets which are ftill extant, will, upon reflection, find this obfervation fo true, that I fhall not enlarge upen it. One would wonder that more of our Christian poets have not turned their thoughts this way, especially if we confider, that our idea of the Supreme Being, is not only infinitely more great and noble than could poffibly enter into the heart of a heathen, but filled with every thing that can raise the imagination, and give an opportunity of the fublimest thoughts and conceptions. Plutarch tells us of a heathen who was finging an hymn to Diana, in which he celebrated her for her delight in human facrifices, and other inftances of cruelty and revenge; upon which a poet who was prefent at this piece of devotion, and feems to have had a truer idea of the divine nature, told the votary, by way of reproof, that in recompence for his hymn, he heartily wished he might have a daughter of the fame temper with the goddefs he celebrated. It was indeed impoffible to write the praifes of one of thofe falfe deities, according to the Pagan creed, without a mixture of impertinence and abfurdity. The Jews, who before the time of Chriftianity were the only people who had the knowledge of the true God, have fet the Chriftian world an example how they cught to employ this divine talent, of which I am fpeaking. As that nation produced men of great genius, without confidering them as infpired writers, they have tranfmitted to us many hymns and divine odes, which excel thofe that are delivered down to us by the ancient Greeks and Romans, in the poetry as mach as in the fubject to which it is confecrated. This, I think, might be easily fhewn, if there were occafion for it. Spectator. 108. Religion the Foundation of Content: an Allegory. Omar, the hermit of the mountain Aubukabis, which rifes on the eaft of Mecca, and overlooks the city, found one evening a man fitting penfive and alone, within a few paces of his cell. Omar regarded him with attention, and perceived that his looks were wild and haggard, and that his body was feeble and emaciated: the man allo feemed to gaze ftedfaftly on Omar; but fuch was the abftraction of his mind, that his eye did not immediately take cognizance of its object. In the moment of recollection he started as from a dream, he covered his face in confufion, and bowed himself to the ground, "Son of affliction," faid Omar, "who art thou, and what is thy diftrefs?" "My name." replied the ftranger, "is Haffan, and I am a native of this city: the Angel of adverfity has laid his hand upon me, and the wretch whom thine eye compaffionates, thou canst not deliver." "To deliver thee," said Omar, "belongs to Him only, from whom we fhould receive with humility both good and evil: yet hide not thy life from me; for the burthen which I cannot remove, I may at least enable thee to fuftain." Haffan fixed his eyes upon the ground, and remained fome time filent; then fetching a deep figh, he looked up at the hermit, and thus complied with his requeft. It is now fix years fince our mighty lord the Caliph Almalic, whofe memory be bleffed, firft came privately to worship in the temple of the holy city. The bleffing which he petitioned of the prophet, as the prophet's vicegerent, he was diligent to difpenfe: in the intervals of his devotion, therefore, he went about the city relieving diftrefs and restraining oppreffion: the widow fmiled under his protection, and the weakness of age and infancy was fuftained by his bounty. I, who dreaded no evil but fick nefs, and expected no good beyond the reward of my labour, was finging at my work, when Álmalic entered my dwelling. He looked round with a fmile of complacency; perceiving that though it was mean it was neat, and though I was poor I appeared to be con tent. As his habit was that of a pilgrim, I hastened to receive him with such hof pitality as was in my power; and my chearfulness was rather increased than reftrained by his prefence. After he had accepted fome coffee, he afked me many queftions; and though by my answers I always endeavoured to excite him to mirth, yet I perceived that he grew thoughtful, and eyed me with a placid but fixed attention. I fufpected that he had fome knowledge of me, and therefore enquired his country and his name. "Hailan," faid he, "I have raised thy curiofity, and it fhall be fatisfied; he who now talks with thee, is Almalic, the fovereign of the faithful, whofe feat is the throne of Me Ꮐ dina, length impaired by the inquietude of my mind; I fold all my moveables for fubfiftence; and referved only a mattrafs, upon which I fometimes lay from one night to another. dina, and whofe commiflion is from above." These words ftruck me dumb with aftonishment, though I had fome doubt of their truth: but Almalic, throwing back his garment, difcovered the peculiarity of his veft, and put the royal fignet upon his In the firft moon of the following year, finger. I then started up, and was about the Caliph came again to Mecca, with the to proftrate myself before him, but he pre- fame fecrecy, and for the fame purposes. vented me: "Haffan," faid he, "forbear: He was willing once more to fee the man, thou art greater than I, and from thee I whom he confidered as deriving felicity have at once derived humility and wif- from himself. But he found me, not fingdom." I answered, "Mock not thy fer- ing at my work, ruddy with health, vivid vant, who is but as a worm before thee: with chearfulness; but pale and dejected, life and death are in thy hand, and hap. fitting on the ground, and chewing opium, pinefs and mifery are the daughters of which contributed to fubftitute the phanthy will." "Haffan," he replied, "I can toms of imagination for the realities of no otherwife give life or happinefs, than greatness. He entered with a kind of by not taking them away: thou art thy- joyful impatience in his countenance, felf beyond the reach of my bounty, and which, the moment he beheld me, was poffeffed of felicity which I can neither changed to a mixture of wonder and pity. communicate nor obtain. My influence I had often wished for another opportunity over others, fills my bofom with perpetual to addrefs the Caliph; yet I was confelicitude and anxiety; and yet my in- founded at his prefence, and, throwing fluence over others extends only to their myself at his feet, I laid my hand upon vices, whether I would reward or punish. my head, and was fpeechless. "Haflan," By the bow-ftring, I can reprefs violence faid he, "what can't thou have loft, whofe and fraud; and by the delegation of wealth was the labour of thine own hand; power, I can transfer the infatiable wishes and what can have made thee fad, the of avarice and ambition from one object fpring of whofe joy was in thy own bofom? to another: but with respect to virtue, I What evil hath befallen thee? Speak, am impotent; if I cquld reward it, I would and if I can remove it, thou art happy." reward it in thee. Thou art content, and I haft therefore neither avarice nor ambition: to exalt thee, would deftroy the fimplicity of thy life, and diminish that happiness which I have no power either to encrease or to continue." He then rofe up, and commanding me not to disclose his feeret, departed. As foon as I recovered from the confufon and aftonishment in which the Caliph left me, I began to regret that my behaviour had intercepted his bounty; and accufed that chearfulness of folly, which was the concomitant of poverty and labour. I now repined at the obfcurity of my ftation, which my former infenfibility had perpetuated: I neglected my labour, because I defpifed the reward; I fpent the day in idleness, forming romantic projects to recover the advantages which I had left: and at night, instead of lofing myfelf in that fweet and refreshing fleep, from which I used to rife with new health, chearfulness, and vigour, I dreamt of fplendid habits and a numerous retinue, of gardens, palaces, eunuchs, and women, and waked only to regret the illufions that had vanished. My health was at was now encouraged to look up, and I replied, "Let my Lord forgive the prefumption of his fervant, who rather than utter a falfehood, would be dumb for ever. I am become wretched by the lofs of that which I never poffefied: thou haft raifed wishes, which indeed I am not worthy thou fhouldft fatisfy; but why fhould it be thought, that he who was happy in obfcurity and indigence, would not have been rendered more happy by eminence and wealth?" When I had finished this fpeech, Almalic flood fome moments in fufpenfe, and I continued proftrate before him. "Haffan," faid he, "I perceive, not with indignation but regret, that I miftook thy character; I now difcover avarice and ambition in thy heart, which lay torpid only because their objects were too remote to roufe them. I cannot therefore invest thee with authority, because I would not fubject my people to oppreflion; and becaufe I would not be compelled to punish thee for crimes which I first enabled thee to commit. But as I have taken from thee that which I cannot reftore, I will at least gratify the wishes that I excited, left thy thy heart accufe me of injuftice, and thou continue ftill a ftranger to thyfelf. Arife, therefore, and follow me."-I fprung from the ground as it were with the wings of an eagle; I kiffed the hem of his garment in an ecftafy of gratitude and joy; and when I went out of my house, my heart leaped as if I had escaped from the den of a lion. I followed Almalic to the caravansera in which he lodged: and after he had fulfilled his vows, he took me with him to Medina. He gave me an apartment in the feraglio; I was attended by his own fervants; my provifions were fent from his own table; I received every week a fum from his treafury, which exceeded the most romantic of my expectations. But I foon difcovered, that no dainty was fo tafteful, as the food to which labour procured an appetite; no flumbers fo feet, as thofe which wearinefs invited; and no time fo well enjoyed, as that in which diligence is expecting its reward. I remembered thefe enjoyments with regret; and while I was fighing in the midft of fuperfluities, which though they encambered life, yet I could not give up, they were fuddenly taken away. Almalic, in the midft of the glory of his kingdom, and in the full vigour of his fe, expired fuddenly in the bath: fuch to knoweft was the deftiny which the Almighty had written upon his head. His fon Aububekir, who fucceeded to the throne, was incenfed against me, by fne who regarded me at once with contempt and envy; he fuddenly withdrew my perfion, and commanded that I fhould be expelled the palace; a command which Ey enemies executed with fo much rigour, that within twelve hours I found myfelf in the ftreets of Medina, indigent and friendles, expofed to hunger and derifion, with the habits of luxury, and all the fenfity of pride. O! let not thy heart dee me, thou whom experience has not tight, that it is mifery to lose that which is not happines to poffefs. O! that me this leffon had not been written on Letablets of Providence! I have traVelled from Medina to Mecca; but I can By from mvielf. How different are tites in which I have been placed! he remembrance of both is bitter! for Plures of neither can return.-Hafaring thus ended his ftory, fmote his ards together; and looking upward, tent into tears. Omar, having waited till this agony was paft, went to him, and taking him by the hand, "My fon," faid he, "more is yet in thy power than Almalic could give, or Aububekir take away. The leffon of thy life the prophet has in mercy appointed me to explain. "Thou waft once content with poverty and labour, only because they were become habitual, and cafe and affluence were placed beyond thy hope; for when ease and affluence approached thee, thou waft content with poverty and labour no more. That which then became the object, was alfo the bound of thy hope; and he, whofe utmoft hope is difappointed, must inevitably be wretched. If thy fupreme defire had been the delights of Paradife, and thou hadft believed that by the tenor of thy life thefe delights had been fecured, as more could not have been given thee, thou wouldst not have regretted that lefs was not offered. The content which was once enjoyed, was but the lethargy of foul; and the diftrefs which is now fuffered, will but quicken it to action. Depart, therefore, and be thankful for all things; put thy truft in Him, who alone can gratify the wish of reafon, and fatisfy thy foul with good; fix thy hope upon that portion, in comparison of which the world is as the drop of the bucket, and the duft of the balance. Return, my fon, to thy labour; thy food fhall be again tafteful, and thy reft fhall be fweet; to thy content also will be added ftability, when it depends not upon that which is poffeffed upon earth, but upon that which is expected in Heaven." Haffan, upon whofe mind the Angel of inftruction impreffed the counsel of Omar, haftened to proftrate himself in the temple of the Prophet. Peace dawned upon his mind like the radiance of the morning: he returned to his labour with chearfulness; his devotion became fervent and habitual; and the latter days of Haffan were happier than the firft. Adventurer. 109. Bad company-meaning of the phrase -different clofes of bad company-ill chojen company-what is meant by keeping bad company-the danger of it, from our aptness to imitate and catch the manners of others-from the great power and force of custom-from cur bad inclinations. "Evil communication," fays the text, "corrupts good manners." The aftertion is general, and no doubt all people fuffer from fach communication; but above all, the minds of youth will fuifer; which are yet unformed, unprincipled, unfurnished; and ready to receive any impreffion. But before we confider the danger of keeping bad company, let us firft fee the meaning of the phrafe. In the phrafe of the world, good company means fashionable people. Their ftations in life, not their morals, are confidered: and he, who affociates with fuch, though they fet him the example of breaking every commandment of the decalogue, is ftill faid to keep good company.I fhould wish you to fix another meaning to the expreffion; and to confider vice in the fame deteftable light, in whatever company it is found; nay, to confider all company in which it is found, be their ftation what it will, as bad company. The three following claffes will perhaps include the greateft part of thofe, who deferve this appellation. In the first, I should rank all who endeavour to destroy the principles of Chrif tianity-who jeft upon Scripture-talk blafphemy—and treat revelation with contempt. A fecond clafs of bad company are thofe, who have a tendency to deftroy in us the principles of common honesty and integrity. Under this head we may rank gamefters of every denomination; and the low and infamous characters of every profeffion. A third class of bad company, and fuch as are commonly moft dangerous to youth, includes the long catalogue of men of pleasure. In whatever way they follow the call of appetite, they have equally a tendency to corrupt the purity of the mind. Befides these three claffes, whom we may call bad company, there are others who come under the denomination of illchofen company: trifling, infipid characters of every kind; who follow no bufinefs -are led by no ideas of improvementbut spend their time in diffipation and folly -whofe higheft praise it is, that they are only not vicious.With none of thefe, a ferious man would with his fon to keep company. It may be afked what is meant by keeping bad company? The world abounds with characters of this kind: they meet us in every place; and if we keep company at all, it is impoffible to avoid keeping company with fuch perfons. It is true, if we were determined never to have any commerce with bad men, we muft, as the apostle remarks, "altogether go out of the world." By keeping bad company, therefore, is not meant a casual intercourse with them, on occafion of bu finefs, or as they accidentally fall in our way; but having an inclination to confort with them-complying with that inclination-feeking their company, when we might avoid it-entering into their parties and making them the companions of our choice. Mixing with them occafionally, cannot be avoided. The danger of keeping bad company, arifes principally from our aptnefs to imitate and catch the manners and fentiments of others-from the power of cuftomfrom our own bad inclinations-and from the pains taken by the bad to corrupt us *. In our earliest youth, the contagion of manners is obfervable. In the boy, yet incapable of having any thing inftilled into him, we easily discover from his first actions, and rude attempts at language, the kind of perfons with whom he has been brought up: we fee the early fpring of a civilized education, or the first wild shoots of rufticity. As he enters farther into life, his behaviour, manners, and conversation, all take their caft from the company he keeps. Obferve the peafant, and the man of edu cation; the difference is ftriking. And yet God hath bestowed equal talents on each. The only difference is, they have been thrown into different fcenes of life; and have had commerce with perfons of different stations. Nor are manners and behaviour more eafily caught, than opinions, and prin ciples. In childhood and youth, we na turally adopt the fentiments of thofe about us. And as we advance in life, how few of us think for ourselves? How many of us are fatisfied with taking our opinions at fecond hand? The great power and force of cuftom forms another argument against keeping bad company. However feriously dif pofed we may be; and however shocked at the first approaches of vice; this fhocking appearance goes off, upon an intimacy with it. Cuftom will foon render the mot difguitful thing familiar. And this is indeed a kind provifion of nature, to render labour, and toil, and danger, which are the lot of man, more eafy to him. The raw * See this fubject treated more at large in an anonymous pamphlet, on the employment of time. foldier, foldier, who trembles at the first encounter, becomes a hardy veteran in a few campaigns. Habit renders danger familiar, and of courfe indifferent to him. But habit, which is intended for our good, may, like other kind appointments of nature, be converted into a mifchief. The well-difpofed youth, entering first into had company, is fhocked at what he hears, and what he fees. The good principles, which he had imbibed, ring in his ears an alarming leffon against the wickedness of Eis companions. But, alas! this fenfibility is but of a day's continuunce. The next jovial meeting makes the horrid pic ture of yesterday more eafily endured. Virtue is foon thought a fevere rule; the gospel, an inconvenient refraint: a few pangs of confcience now and then interrupt his pleafures; and whifper to him, that he once had better thoughts: but even these by degrees die away; and he who at firft was fhocked even at the appearance of vice, is formed by custom into a profligate leader of vicious pleasures-perhaps into an abandoned tempter to vice.-So carefully thould we oppofe the first approaches of fin! fo vigilant fhould we be against fo infidious an enemy! Our own bad inclinations form another argument against bad company. We have many pathons and appetites to govern; fo many bad propenfities of different kinds to watch, that, amidit fuch a variety of enemies within, we ought at least to be on Our guard against those without. The breast even of a good man is reprefented in fcripture, and experienced in fact, to be in a ftate of warfare. His vicious inclinations are continually drawing him one way; while his virtue is making efforts another. And if the fcriptures reprefent this as the cafe even of a good man, whofe paffions, it may be imagined, are become in fome degree cool, and temperate, and who has made fome progrefs in a virtuous courfe; what may we fuppofe to be the danger of a raw unexperienced youth, whofe paffions and appetites are violent and feducing, and whofe mind is in a still lefs confirmed state? It is his part furely to keep out of the way of temptation; and to give his bad inclinations as little room as poffible to acquire new ftrength.. Gilpin. 110. Ridicule one of the chief arts of corruption-bad company injures our characters, as well as manners-prefumption the forerunner of ruin the advantages of good company equal to the difadvantages of bad -cautions in forming intimacies. Thefe arguments against keeping bad company, will fill receive additional ftrength, if we confider farther, the great pains taken by the bad to corrupt others. It is a very true, but lamentable fact, in the hiftory of human nature, that bad inen take more pains to corrupt their own species, than virtuous men do to reform them. Hence thofe fpecious arts, that show of friendship, that appearance of difinterestednefs, with which the profligate feducer endeavours to lure the unwary youth; and at the fame time, yielding to his inclinations, feems to follow rather than to lead him. Many are the arts of these corrupters; but their principal art is ridicule. By this they endeavour to laugh out of countenance all the better principles of their wavering profelyte; and make him think contemptibly of thofe, whom he formerly refpected; by this they ftifle the ingenuous bluth, and finally deftroy all fenfe of fhame. Their caufe is below argument. They aim not therefore at reafoning. Raillery is the weapon they employ; and who is there, that hath the fteadinefs to hear perfons and things, whatever reverence he may have had for them, the fubject of continual ridicule, without lofing that reverence by degrees? Having thus confidered what principally makes bad company dangerous, I shall juft add, that even were your morals in no danger from fuch intercourfe, your charafters would infallibly fuffer. The world will always judge of you by your companions: and nobody will fuppofe, that a youth of virtuous principles himself, can poffibly form a connection with a profligate. In reply to the danger fuppofed to arife from bad company, perhaps the youth may fay, he is fo firm in his own opinions, fo fteady in his principles, that he thinks himfelf fecure; and need not reftrain himself from the most unreserved conversation. Alas! this fecurity is the very brink of the precipice: nor hath vice in her whole train a more dangerous enemy to you, than prefumption. Caution, ever awake to danger, is a guard against it. But fecurity lays every guard aileep." Let him who thinketh he ftandeth," faith the apostle, "take heed, left he fall." Even an apoftle himself did fall, by thinking that he food fecure. Though I fhould die with thee," G 3 |