loves your society, he makes you a shabby excuse for refusing, to your great inconvenience and disappointment. No such annoyance awaits the man who in his pecuniary arrangements depends upon self. Far indeed from withholding their own moneys from their own use, few are ill-natured enough to abstain from employing other people's, if they can get it.

A friend, it is said, should share his havings with his friend; but most men go further in their own case, and in standing their own friend rest not contented with doing things by half.

We often hear it urged as a matter of reproach that such a man denies himself nothing, and when can that be flung in the face of the warmest-hearted in the necessities of a friend? Nor is it an available objection that there are misers who do not act up to the spirit of this rule, but will even starve outright rather than bestow the smallest trifle on themselves; for however unfriendly such a part may appear, there can be no doubt that they act by their friend in the manner most congenial to his wishes, and that he would take the prodigality of an opposite course as extremely unkind.

Further, if it is the part of a true friend, as Horace supposes, to think and to speak well of the man to whom he is attached (notwithstanding all that has been said about the fastidiousness and importunity of conscience) there are few men who do not think and say much better of themselves than any other person, the dearest and the nearest, would venture to say for them. Well and wisely, then, did the late Lord Castlereagh fling it in the teeth of his opponents, that they turned their backs on themselves; for of all possible modes of tergiversation, this was the most desperate and reprehensible. For that reason we never could do away with the silly apology which twaddling blockheads delight to advance in behalf of any scamp they are inclined to defend, -that he is no man's enemy but his own. Not only is this species of self-abandonment a piece of the most unpardonable ingratitude, but it is an offence the most dangerous to society, for he that is not his own friend, is ipso facto incapacitated for being a friend to any other living soul.

One of the most agreeable parts of friendship we use the word after the world's fashion, as a counter) is the interchange of gifts; yet few people are so generous to others as to themselves. If any doubt the fact, let him apply to Hamlet, or to Storr and Mortimer, and they will tell him that for one guinea received which has been expended on others, they can count ten disposed for rings and brooches bestowed by the purchaser on his own dearly beloved self. This, too, we affirm in the face of the many cadeaux de nose which go to enrich these eminent tradesmen. For, with every allowance for a lover's feelings in such cases, we cannot but consider the presents bestowed on an affianced bride as overt acts of friendship of the donor made in his own behalf, first as means of captivating the lady's favour, next as the instruments of family pride and ostentation, and lastly, not unseldom as funds on which the giver may count as disposable hereafter in his own pressing necessities. We have heard of such things as false stones finding their way into a trousseau; but no one ever puts such a task on himself, or deals with Birmingham, in the conscious intention of self-deception.

There is not a better proof, then, of a man being on good terms with himself, than the frequency with which he presents himself with such

little gages d'amitié, as gold chains, and diamond rings, ornaments for his chimney, rich dressing-gowns, and the like; and from the dandy who pares a pine at Grainge's for his own solace, to the unfortunate Dando treating himself, son corps defendant, to oysters, there is no disputing this mark of disinterested self-love.

We shall not insult our readers by laying before them a multitude of popular declarations in favour of our notion, from "aide toi et Dieu t'aidera" of the French liberals, to the more homely 66 near is my shirt, but nearer my skin," of our English maxim-mongers. Many, indeed, are the shapes in which we are thus recommended to "take care of number one," as being the alpha and omega of worldly policy; and the importance of the truth inculcated, is the more strongly evidenced in these various mementos, because they are so very supererogatorybecause there seems to have never been any great apprehension that the greater part of mankind should stand in need of the injunction. Holy writ, indeed, may appear at first sight to have preached another doctrine in enjoining it as a duty to love our neighbour as ourselves; but a short consideration will determine, that the command is thus worded, only as indicating the highest degree of favour and affection with which we can treat our fellow-creatures; accordingly, the best commentators explain the text, by another proverb; "love your neighbour, but don't pull down your own hedge," i. e, love your neighbour like yourself indeed, but only after yourself.

The worst of it is, that in loving oneself, there should be so frequent a liability to fulfil the injunction "not wisely but too well." The greatest mistakes in life arise out of a misapplication of this rule. Can a man be said to be his own friend, who in the pursuit of a favourite indulgence neglects his own well-understood interests? He who passes a life of endless care, labour, and anxiety in the accumulation of wealth which he cannot hope to enjoy, is anything but his own friend, however selfish be his motive in such irrational conduct. The drunkard who ruins his health, and dissipates his wealth in vulgar debauchery, is by no means his own friend; and he who in a reckless pursuit of empty ambition wastes the fleeting hours of life, that he may be called by a high-sounding name, and take precedence of wiser and better men, is little better than his own worst enemy.

Political economy lays it down, that if every one took thought for himself, all would be well cared for: hence its great fundamental maxim of non-interference. But there are few, if any, economic truths, which are not equally applicable to private ethics. If every man had the wisdom to regard himself as his own best friend, the world would go on admirably without any governmental restraints.

In friendship to himself, the wise man will abstain from every action that does not conduce to his own well-being; but virtue itself proposes no other end than ut sit mens sana in corpore sano. The man who

would be his own friend, should wish to make everybody love him, should indulge in no vices that are injurious to his health, dangerous to his fortunes, or that in any way may conduce to that greatest of human miseries, unavailing repentance. In other words, he should never strive to procure a present gratification, which must bring with it a future annoyance.

The man who is indeed his own friend, will never trust his best in

terests in the keeping of others; but will strive with all his powers to think for himself. He will not suffer himself to be led by the nose, by the quackish professions of religion or politics, into fanatical extravagances and unmeasured likings or hates; but will take good care to have a sufficient reason for the faith within him. But above all, such a man will listen to the suggestions of his own sensations, and will pursue those pleasures that really please himself, instead of perpetually doing the things he dislikes, and committing sins which he has no mind to," for the miserable gratification of being in the fashion, or in the still more contemptible apprehension of what Mrs. Grundy will say. In one word, the wise and the good alone are their own friends; and as this self-friendship differs from those of the world, he, therefore, who is not in this sense his own" friend in need," need not count upon the continued friendship of the rest of the species.

fl.

INDECISION.

MANY an evil is not guarded against, many a good is lost, by want of decision. I think I can give examples enough of this in a brief history of the life of Mr. Anthony Skipgood, who died some time since, leaving a will of a very extraordinary nature, which shall be more particularly mentioned hereafter.

It is well known that character is very often displayed in the very earliest stages of existence. So it was with Tony Skipgood, when he lay in the wet nurse's arms. It was a matter of doubt for several hours after he was offered the first usual nourishment of babies, whether he would "take to it ;" after considerable trouble, however, the babe did in general, as babes are accustomed to do when hungry.

Little Tony was a fine child, and had good abilities, but he was very deliberative in putting them forth. Upon arriving at his fourth year his father took him to a toy shop, to purchase something as a birth-day present. He left him to select the article he best liked. Drums, trumpets, swords, whips, carts, coaches, and horses, were spread before his eyes; it was evident that he could not make up his mind to choose one. Tired at last of the boy's want of decision, his father, after purchasing a small work-box for a little niece, quitted the shop without a toy for Tony. When they got a few yards from the shop, disappointment appeared in the shape of tears rolling down poor Tony's cheeks, and his affectionate father returned, and at once solved the difficulty by making a selection for him. Tony at length was sent to school. Here he made progress at rather a slow rate, and at all boyish games he was always a lag behind.

His father being a commercial man, he was promoted to a stool in the counting-house. His summings-up were awful attempts in the eyes. of Mr. Mackie, the chief clerk, who though an admirer of caution, as all Scotchmen are, was greatly annoyed at the excessive display, as it appeared to him, of that valuable quality in the young gentleman, be

cause it consumed that more valuable article, time. Tony could never make up his mind that he was correct, and consequently he was always finding himself wrong, until some one decided for him. In the course of years, however, he became a useful assistant to his father, who at his death left him the business, and a very comfortable fortune.

A man who acts well under directions, and one who well directs himself, are persons who may possess very different qualities. Mr. Anthony Skipgood was no indifferent clerk, but he was a wretched merchant. Brokers wasted hours in attendance upon him before he could make up his mind to a sale or a purchase. Ships often lay under demurrage before he could complete their cargoes. Consideration began to invade his capital, and at length the protraction in completing a policy of insurance until the vessel and cargo to be insured had, by an accident in the river on her passage, sent some thousands of pounds out of his possession into that of father Thames, gave him such a distrust of his commercial skill, that, after three months pondering, he concluded his trading attempts, and betook himself to private life.

The habits engendered by a pursuit of several years, are not easily changed, and a considerable period is generally required to introduce others accommodated to new circumstances. Mr. Skipgood formed plans to fill up his time, now a heavy article on his hands; but his customary indecision caused none of them to be carried into execution, for many a year after his retirement from business. Sometimes he thought of turning farmer, as he had landed property-sometimes he conceived travelling abroad would be agreeable. Then he bent his inclinations upon a political life, and getting into parliament. Next he viewed the important and useful duties of a magistrate. But in the intervals of his projects to get through life without ennui, he went on in an even, listless course of existence, and found himself above forty years of age with his mind still undetermined as to what active occupation he should betake himself to. If he had lived for a century, the matter most probably would have remained in the same state, had not a friend, pitying his unhappy idleness, obtained his nomination as a justice of the peace, which office he at length, after vast hesitation, consented to undertake.

"

The senior justice of his quorum was a man who prided himself upon seeing very far beyond his nose," and consequently had a view of the extremity of a case before it had been half presented to him. This knowing gentleman therefore, by his astonishingly quick perception of things, and his rapid decisions, had very justly obtained the character of an active magistrate. If commitments could repress offences, the county would have had reason to thank him, but offences continued, and justice herself loudly complained that too heavy weights were thrown in her scale. Mr. Anthony Skipgood was, as may be imagined, like a rusty pivot to the balance. The active magistrate was constantly defeated by him in the make-weight he wished to throw in, and was often compelled to give a passionate jog to the beam, in order to make it preponderate his own way. This led to frequent public and private bickerings between the two, much to the discomfiture of Mr. Skipgood, whose good-nature and sense of justice felt outraged by the conduct of his senior. At length an event occurred which brought matters between these worthies to a perfect rupture.

A half-starved Irish haymaker was brought before Mr. Skipgood, charged with robbing an orchard of a dozen apples.

"Well, I believe," said the magistrate, after hearing the evidence, "I really think-yet I am of opinion-I cannot say the evidence is quite conclusive as to theft-strong suspicion-must I commit?-or, I think —I say I think—wouldn't our feelings warrant a little departure from severe measures? Prisoner, you are— -I say, I think your conduct very suspicious, and it is clear that you have committed a trespass, therefore it is my duty-at least under other circumstances it would have been my duty to have committed you to prison, but in consideration of your forlorn condition, and numerous family, and upon your promising not to be guilty of a like offence, you-you are discharged."

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Discharged!" roared a voice near the door, when in bustled the active magistrate. "Discharged!" cried graceful to the bench. under such decisions. there!"

he; "scandalous, scandalous, perfectly disWhat security can we have for our property Detain the vagabond, don't let him go,

"Sir," said Mr. Skipgood, "your interference is irregular and rude. The man is discharged, and no one can legally prevent his departure." Mr. Skipgood's disgust at the conduct of his coadjutor was so great, that he immediately resigned his seat on the bench, and once more became a mere killer of time; a dull sort of sport to a man who never could determine on the proper moment for pulling the trigger.

Our worthy friend at last appeared to have decided on a pursuit that would in all probability confer great happiness on him-enliven, variegate, and soothe existence. The game was on the wing-but there were a brace, both, in his eye, worthy of being brought down; but which to aim at, was the question. Miss Jemima Jones was handsome, five-and-twenty, but no fortune. Miss Emily Adams was not handsome, but domestic, pleasing, six or seven-and-twenty, and had some "expectations."

"Hang money!" thought Mr. Skipgood; "I have enough for the full enjoyment of life, and it is only the possession of an amiable, agreeable, and affectionate companion that I'desire."

He balanced in his thoughts the attractions of the young ladies for three years, without firmly making up his mind as to which he should pay his decided addresses.

At length he resolved to give himself no more than a fortnight for consideration. Fatal fortnight! Miss Jemima Jones sailed for the East India market-Miss Emily Adams became the curate's spouse, all within that little space of time! Mr. Skipgood neither beat his breast nor tore his hair, nor did he think of halters, horse-ponds, or pistols to relieve the real uneasiness he felt. However, it is certain that he became frequently abstracted and melancholy-avoided company, and abstained from much exercise. The consequence was, that he fell ill, but not so ill as to alarm either himself or his friends. medicine was of his own prescribing, and it would seem that he was a very indifferent doctor, for he became much worse, and at last he felt a little alarmed, The question then was, should he obtain medical advice? There were three practitioners in his vicinity, and their merits,

His