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rejected with the utmost disdain. For nothing, surely, can be more inconsistent with a well-poised and manly spirit, than to decline engaging in any laudable action, or to be discouraged, from persevering in it, by an apprehension of the trouble and solicitude, with which it may probably be attended. Virtue her: self, indeed, ought to be totally renounced, if it be right to avoid every possible means that may be productive of upeasi. ness : for who, that is actuated by her principles, can observe the conduct of an opposite character, without being affected with some degree of secret dissatisfaction ? Are not the just, the brave, and the good, necessarily exposed to the disagreeable emotions of dislike and aversion, when they respectively meet with instances of fraud, of cowardice, or of villany? It is an essential property of every well-constituted mind, to be affected with pain, or pleasure, according to the nature of those moral appearances that present themselves to observation.

If sensibility, therefore, be not incompatible with true wiso dom, (and it surely is not, unless we suppose that philosophy deadens every finer feeling of our nature,) what just reason can be assigned, why the sympathetic sufferings which may result from friendship, should be a sufficient inducement for banishing that generous affection from the human breast ? Extinguish all emotions of the heart, and what difference 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! 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 his friend. Upon the whole, then, it inay fairly be concluded, that, as in the case of virtue, so in that of friendship, 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.

They who insist that “ utility is the first and prevailing motive, which induces mankind to enter into particular 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 received, as the affectionate zeal from which they flow, that gives them their best and most valuable recommendation. 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 observable, that none have been more distinguished in their friendships than those, whose power and opulence, but, above all, whose superior virtue, (a much firmer support,) have raised them above every necessity of having recourse to the assistance of others.

The true distinction then, in this question, is, that “ although friendship is certainly productive of utility, yet utility is not the primary motive of friendship.” Those selfish sensualists, therefore, wbo, lulled in the lap of luxury, presume to maintain the reverse, have surely no claim to attention ; as they are neither qualified by reflection, nor experience, to be competent judges of the subject.

Is there a man upon the face of the earth, 'who would deliberately accept of all the wealth, and all the affluence this world can bestow, if offered to him upon the severe terms of his being unconnected with a single mortal whom he could love, or by whom he should be beloved ? This would be to lead the wretched life of a detested tyrant, who, amidst perpetual suspicions and alarms, passes his miserable days á stranger to every tender sentiment; and utterly precluded from the heart-felt satisfactions of friendship.

Melmoth's translation of Cicero's Lælius.

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On the immortality of the soul. I was yesterday walking alone, in one of my friend's woods and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was running over, in my mind, the several arguments that establish 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 resonable creature. I considered those several proofs drawn,

First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particularly its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely necessary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost a demonstration.

Secondly, from its passions and sentiments ; as, particularly, from its love of existence ; its horror of annihilation ; and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue ; and that upeasiness which Allows 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.

But among these, 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 great weight with it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the soul, which is capable of immense perfections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing, almost as soon as it is created ? Are 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. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplishments ; were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements ; I could imagine she might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation. 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 abroad into the works of her Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her inquiries ?

Man, considered only in his present state, seems sent into the world merely to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a successor; and immediately quits his post to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in aniinals, which are formed for our use, and which can finish their business in a short life. The silk worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would. an infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable beings! Would he give us tałents that are not to be exerted ? capacities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wisdom which shines through all his works, in the formation

of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next ; and without believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ?

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumpbant consideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progress, which the soul makes towards the perfection of its na. ture, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength ; to consider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be still adding vir. tue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge ; carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition, which is Datural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes; and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of resemblance.'

Methinks this single consideration, of the progress of a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That cherub, which now appears as a god to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he himself now is : nay, when she shall look down upon that degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale of being ; but he knows that, how high soever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will, at length, mount up to it; and shine forth in the same degree of glory.

With what astonishment and veneration, may we look into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be ; nor will it ever enter into the heart of man, to conceive the glory that will be always in reserve for him. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of 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. selves in these perpetual approaches to him, who is the standard not only of perfection, but of happiness ? . ADDISON

H

CHAP. V.
DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.

SECTION 1.

The Seasons. Among the great blessings and wonders of the creation, may be classed the regularities of times and seasons. Immediately after the flood, the sacred promise was made to man, that seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, should continue to the very end of all things. Accord. ingly, in obedience to that promise, the rotation is constantly presenting us with some useful and agreeable alteration ; and all the pleasing noveltyof life arises from these natural changes: por are we less indebted to them for many of its solid comforts. 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 be 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 glories of the year. We glow as we contemplate ; we feel a propensity to adore, whilst we enjoy. In the time of seed-sowing, it is the season of confidence : the grain which the husbandman trusts to the bosom of the earth shall, haply, yield its seven-fold rewards. Spring presents us with a scene of lively expectation. That which was before sown, begins now to discover signs of successful vegetation. The labourer observes the change, and anticipates the harvest ; be watches 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 closes the scene upon his eye. Then cometh the harvest, when the large wish is satisfied, and the granaries of nature are loaded with the means of life, even to a luxury of abundance. The powers of language are unequal to the description of this 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 delightful. 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

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