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What each should fly is seldom known;
We, unprovided, are undone.

'I HAVE for several years had under my care the government and education of young ladies; which trust I have endeavoured to discharge with due Love was the mother of poetry, and still produces, regard to their several capacities and fortunes. I among the most ignorant and barbarous, a thousand have left nothing undone to imprint in every one imaginary distresses and poetical complaints. It of them an humble courteous mind, accompanied makes a footman talk like Oroondates, and conwith a graceful becoming mien, and have made verts a brutal rustic into a gentle swain. The most them pretty much acquainted with the household ordinary plebeian or mechanic in love bleeds and part of family affairs; but still I find there is some-pines away with a certain elegance and tender. thing very much wanting in the air of my ladies, ness of sentiments, which this passion naturally in. different from what I observe in those that are spires.

esteemed your fine-bred women. Now, sir, I must These inward languishings of a mind infected own to you, I never suffered my girls to learn to with softness, have given birth to a phrase which dance; but since I have read your discourse of is made use of by all the melting tribe, from the dancing, where you have described the beauty and highest to the lowest, I mean that of dying for spirit there is in a regular motion, I own myself love.'

your convert, and resolve for the future to give Romances, which owe their very being to this my young ladies that accomplishment. But upon passion, are full of these metaphorical deaths. imparting my design to their parents, I have been Heroes and heroines, knights, squires, and damsels, made very uneasy for some time, because several are all of them in a dying condition. There is the of them have declared, that if I did not make use same kind of mortality in our modern tragedies, of the master they recommended, they would take where every one gasps, faints, bleeds, and dies away their children. There was Colonel Jumper's Many of the poets, to describe the execution which lady, a colonel of the train-bands, that has a great is done by this passion, represent the fair sex as interest in her parish; she recommends Mr. Trott* basilisks that destroy with their eyes; but I think for the prettiest master in town; that no man Mr. Cowley has, with great justness of thought, teaches a jig like him; that she has seen him rise compared a beautiful woman to a porcupine, that six or seven capers together with the greatest ease sends an arrow from every part. imaginable; and that his scholars twist themselves I have often thought, that there is no way so more ways than the scholars of any master in town: effectual for the cure of this general infirmity, as a besides, there is Madam Prim, an alderman's lady, man's reflecting upon the motives that produce it. recommends a master of her own name, but she When the passion proceeds from the sense of any declares he is not of their family, yet a very extra- virtue or perfection in the person beloved, I would ordinary man in his way; for besides a very soft by no means discourage it; but if a man considers air he has in dancing, he gives them a particular that all his heavy complaints of wounds and deaths behaviour at a tea-table, and in presenting their rise from some little affectations of coquetry, which snuff-box; teaches to twirl, slip, or flirt a fan, are improved into charms by his own fond imagi and how to place patches to the best advantage, nation, the very laying before himself the cause of either for fat or lean, long or oval faces: for my his distemper, may be sufficient to effect the cure lady says, there is more in these things than the of it.

world imagines. But I must confess, the major It is in this view that I have looked over the part of those I am concerned with leave it to me. several bundles of letters which I have received I desire, therefore, according to the inclosed di- from dying people, and composed out of them the rection, you would send your correspondent who following bill of mortality, which I shall lay before has writ to you on that subject to my house. If my reader without any further preface, as hoping proper application this way can give innocence that it may be useful to him in discovering those new charms, and make virtue legible in the coun- several places where there is most danger, and tenance, I shall spare no charge to make my scho. those fatal arts which are made use of destroy the lars, in their very features and limbs, bear witness heedless and unwary. how careful I have been in the other parts of their education.

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Lysander, slain at a puppet-show on the third of September.

Thyrsis, shot from a casement at Piccadilly. T. S. wounded by Zelinda's scarlet stocking, as she was stepping out of a coach.

Will Simple, smitten at the opera by the glance

* See the concluding letters of No. 296; No. 308, let. 4; No. of an eye that was aimed at one who stood by him. 314, let. 2; and No. 316, let. 1.

Tho. Vainlove, lost his life at a ball.

Tim. Tattle, killed by the tap of a fan on his left shoulder by Coquetilla, as he was talking care. lessly with her in a bow-window.

Sir Simon Softly murdered at the playhouse in Drury Lane by a frown.

Philander, mortally wounded by Cleora, as she was adjusting her tucker.

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W. W. killed by an unknown hand, that was



playing with the glove off upon the side of the Composed of several passages of Isaiah the prophet,

front box in Drury Lane.

Sir Christopher Crazy, Bart. hurt by the brush
of a whalebone petticoat.

Sylvius, shot through the sticks of a fan at St.
James's church.

Damon, struck through the heart by a diamond

Thomas Trusty, Francis Goosequill, William
Meanwell, Edward Callow, Esqrs. standing in a
row, fell all four at the same time, by an ogle of
the Widow Trapland.

Tom Rattle, chancing to tread upon a lady's tail
as he came out of the playhouse, she turned full
upon him, and laid him dead upon the spot.
Dick Tastewell, slain by a blush from the
queen's box in the third act of the Trip to the


Samuel Felt, haberdasher, wounded in his walks to Islington, by Mrs. Susanna Cross-stitch, as the was clambering over a stile.

R. F., T. W., S. I., M. P., &c. put to death in the last birth-day massacre.

Roger Blinko, cut off in the twenty-first year of his age by a white-wash.

Musidorus, slain by an arrow that flew out of dimple in Belinda's left cheek.


Ned Courtly, presenting Flavia with her glove (which she had dropped on purpose), she received it, and took away his life with a curtsy.

John Gosselin, having received a slight hurt from a pair of blue eyes, as he was making his escape, was dispatched by a smile.

Strephon, killed by Clarinda as she looked down into the pit.

Charles Careless shot flying by a girl of fifteen, who unexpectedly popped her head upon him out of a coach.

Josiah Wither, aged threescore-and-three, sent to his long home by Elizabeth Jetwell, spinster. Jack Freelove, murdered by Melissa in her hair.

William Wiseacre, Gent. drowned in a flood of tears by Moll Common.

John Pleadwell, Esq. of the Middle Temple, barrister at law, assassinated in his chambers, the 6th instant, by Kitty Sly, who pretended to come to him for his advice.

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Written in imitation of Virgil's Pollio.

YE nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heav'nly themes sublimer strains belong.

The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,

The dreams of Pindus, and th' Aonian maids,
Delight no more-O thou my voice inspire,
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!

Rapt into future times, the bard begun,
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
A virgin shall conceive, a virgin bear a son!
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
Th' ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic Dove.
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning justice lift aloft her scale;

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-rob'd Innocence from heav'n descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn!
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance;
See spicy clouds from lowly Sharon rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
A God! a God! the vocal hills reply,
Prepare the way! a God, a God, appears:

The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.

Lo earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys, rise!
with heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way!
Hear him, ye deaf! and all the blind, behold;
The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards foretold
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day.
'Tis He th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear:

The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting like the bounding roe;
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear,
From every face He wipes off every tear:

In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pastures and the purest air,
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms:
Mankind shall thus his guardian care engage,
The promis'd father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes;
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more:
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er,
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-liv'd sire begun ;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same band that sow'd, shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise,
And stats amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear:
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn:

To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed,
And od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed.

Isa. xi. 1.

xlv. 8.

XXV. 4.

ix. 7.

XXXV. 2.

xl, 3, 4.

xlii. 18. XXXV. 5, 6.

XXV. 8.

xl. 11.!

ix. 6. ii. 4.

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The lambs with wolves shall grace the verdant mead, xi. 6, 7, 8.
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet:
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
Pleas'd the green lustre of the scales survey,

The crested basilisk, and speckled snake;

Isa. Ix. 1.

lx. 4.

And with their forky tongue and pointless sting shall play.
Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes!
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters yet unborn
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!

Ix. 3.

1x. 6.

See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Saban springs !
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,

And seeds of gold in Õphir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee with a flood of day!
xix. 20. No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn,
But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts: The Light Himself shall shine
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
Ji. 6. and The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd His word, His saving power remains;
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns.

liv. 10.


No 379. THURSDAY, MAY 15, 1712.

Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter.

PERS. Sat. i. ver. 27.

Science is not science till reveal'd.

the world those secrets in learning which he had before communicated to him in private lectures; concluding, that he had rather excel the rest of mankind in knowledge than in power.

Louisa de Padilla, a lady of great learning, and Countess of Aranda, was in like manner angry with the famous Gratian, upon his publishing his trea tise of the Discreto, wherein she fancied that he had laid open those maxims to common readers, which ought only to have been reserved for the knowledge of the great.

These objections are thought by many of so much weight, that they often defend the above-mentioned authors, by affirming they have affected such an obscurity in their style and manner of writing, that, though every one may read their works, there will be but very few who can comprehend their meaning.

Persius, the Latin satirist, affected obscurity for another reason; with which, however, Mr. Cowley is so offended, that, writing to one of his friends, 'You,' says he, tell me, that you do not know whether Persius be a good poet or no, because you cannot understand him; for which very reason I affirm that he is not so.

However, this art of writing unintelligibly has I HAVE often wondered at that ill-natured position of the moderns, who, observing the general incli been very much improved, and followed by several which has been sometimes maintained in the schools, nation of mankind to dive into a secret, and the and is comprised in an old Latin verse, namely, that reputation many have acquired by concealing their A man's knowledge is worth nothing, if he com- meaning under obscure terms and phrases, resolve, municates what he knows to any one besides.' that they may be still more abstruse, to write withThere is certainly no more sensible pleasure to a out any meaning at all. This art, as it is at pregood-natured man, than if he can by any means sent practised by many eminent authors, consists in gratify or inform the mind of another. I might throwing so many words at a venture into different add, that this virtue, naturally carries its own re-periods, and leaving the curious reader to find the ward along with it, since it is almost impossible it meaning of them. should be exercised without the improvement of the person who practises it. The reading of books, to signify several things, expressed a man, who conThe Egyptians, who made use of hieroglyphics and the daily occurrences of life, are continually fined his knowledge and discoveries altogether furnishing us with matter for thought and reflec. within himself, by the figure of a dark lantern tion. It is extremely natural for us to desire to closed on all sides, which, though it was illumi see such our thoughts put into the dress of words, nated within, afforded no manner of light or ad without which indeed we can scarce have a clear vantage to such as stood by it. For my own part, and distinct idea of them ourselves. When they as I shall from time to time communicate to the are thus clothed in expressions, nothing so truly public whatever discoveries I happen to make, I shows us whether they are just or false, as those should much rather be compared to an ordinary effects which they produce in the minds of others. lamp, which consumes and wastes itself for the beI am apt to flatter myself that, in the course of nefit of every passenger. these my speculations, I have treated of several subjects, and laid down many such rules for the conduct of a man's life, which my readers were either wholly ignorant of before, or which at least those few who were acquainted with them, looked upon as so many secrets they have found out for the conduct of themselves, but were resolved never A certain person having occasion to dig some. to have made public. what deep in the ground, where this philosopher I am the more confirmed in this opinion from my lay interred, met with a small door, having a wall having received several letters, wherein I am cen- on each side of it. His curiosity, and the hopes of sured for having prostituted learning to the em. finding some hidden treasure, soon prompted him braces of the vulgar, and made her, as one of my to force open the door. He was immediately sur correspondents phrases it, a common strumpet. Iprised by a sudden blaze of light, and discovered am charged by another with laying open the ar- a very fair vault. At the upper end of it was a cana or secrets of prudence, to the eyes of every statue of a man in armour sitting by a table, and reader. leaning on his left arm. He held a truncheon in The narrow spirit which appears in the letters his right hand, and had a lamp burning before him. of these my correspondents is the less surprising, The man had no sooner set one foot within the as it has shown itself in all ages: there is still ex-vault, than the statue erected itself from its leantant an epistle written by Alexander the Great to his tutor Aristotle, upon that philosopher's publishing some part of his writings; in which the prince complains of his having made known to all

I shall conclude this paper with the story of Rosicrusius's sepulchre. I suppose I need not inform my readers that this man was the author of the Rosicrusian sect, and that his disciples still pretend to new discoveries which they are never to communicate to the rest of mankind.†

See No. 293, note; and No. 409.

+ See Pope's works, by Warburton, vol. i. Notes on "The

Rape of the Lock," canto 1.

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April 28, 1712.

a learning wik ing posture, stood bolt upright, and, upon the fel-f in prive low's advancing another step, lifted up the trun-Youn observations on persons that have behaved rather excel cheon in his right hand. The man still ventured a themselves irreverently at church, I doubt not, third step, when the statue with a furious blow have had a good effect on some that have read broke the lamp into a thousand pieces, and left his them; but there is another fault which has hitherto guest in a sudden darkness. escaped your notice, I mean of such persons as are Upon the report of this adventure, the country very zealous and punctual to perform an ejaculapeople soon came with lights to the sepulchre, and tion that is only preparatory to the service of the discovered that the statue, which was made of church, and yet neglect to join in the service itself. brass, was nothing more than a piece of clock. There is an instance of this in a friend of Will work; that the floor of the vault was all loose, and Honeycomb's, who sits opposite to me. He seldom underlaid with several springs, which upon any comes in till the prayers are about half over; and man's entering, naturally produced that which had when he has entered his seat (instead of joining happened.' with the congregation) he devoutly holds his hat Rosicrusius, say his disciples, made use of this before his face for three or four moments, then method, to show the world that he had re-invented the ever-burning lamps of the ancients, though he was resolved no one should reap any advantage from the discovery.

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bows to all his acquaintance, sits down, takes a pinch of snuff (if it be evening service, perhaps a nap), and spends the remaining time in surveying the congregation. Now, sir, what I would desire is, that you would animadvert a little on this gentleman's practice. In my opinion, this gentleman's devotion, cap in hand, is only a compliance to the custom of the place, and goes no further than a little ecclesiastical good-breeding. If you will not pretend to tell us the motives that bring such triflers to solemn assemblies, yet let me desire that you will give this letter a place in your paper, and I shall remain,


'Your obliged humble servant,


'J. s.'t

May the 5th.

THE character you have in the world of being the ladies' philosopher, and the pretty advice I have seen you give to others in your papers, make THE conversation at a club, of which I am a me address myself to you in this abrupt manner, member, last night falling upon vanity and the ealer and to desire your opinion what in this age a wo-desire of being admired, put me in mind of relating man may call a lover. I have had lately a gentle-how agreeably I was entertained at my own door of her man that I thought made pretensions to me, inso-last Thursday by a clean fresh-coloured girl, under much that most of my friends took notice of it, and the most elegant and the best-furnished milk-pail I thought we were really married; which I did not had ever observed. I was glad of such an opportake much pains to undeceive them, and especially tunity of seeing the behaviour of a coquette in low young gentlewoman of my particular acquaint- life, and how she received the extraordinary noance which was then in the country. She coming tice that was taken of her; which I found had to town, and seeing our intimacy so great, she affected every muscle of her face in the same gave herself the liberty of taking me to task con- manner as it does the feature of a first-rate toast cerning it: I ingenuously told her we were not at a play, or in an assembly. This hint of mine married, but I did not know what might be the made the discourse turn upon the sense of pleaevent. She soon got acquainted with the gentle-sure; which ended in a general resolution, that the man, and was pleased to take upon her to examine milk-maid enjoys her vanity as exquisitely as the him about it. Now, whether a new face had made woman of quality. I think it would not be an a greater conquest than the old, I will leave you improper subject for you to examine this frailty, to judge: but I am informed that he utterly denied and trace it to all conditions of life; which is reall pretensions to courtship, but withal professed a commended to you as an occasion of obliging many sincere friendship for me: but, whether marriages of your readers, among the rest, are proposed by way of friendship or not, is what I desire to know, and what I may really call a lover. There are so many who talk in a language fit only for that character, and yet guard themselves against speaking in direct terms to the point, COMING last week into a coffee-house not far from that it is impossible to distinguish between court- the Exchange with my basket under my arm, a ship and conversation. I hope you will do me Jew of considerable note, as I am informed, takes justice both upon my lover and my friend, if they half a dozen oranges of me, and at the same time provoke me further. In the mean time I carry it slides a guinea into my hand; I made him a curtsy, with so equal a behaviour, that the nymph and the and went my way. He followed me, and, finding swain too are mightily at a loss: each believes I, I was going about my business, he came up with who know them both well, think myself revenged me, and told me plainly, that he gave me the in their love to one another, which creates an irre-guinea with no other intent but to purchase my concilable jealousy. If all comes right again, you person for an hour. "Did you so, sir?" says I; shall hear further from,

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you gave it me then to make me wicked; I will are looked upon as the greatest philosophers among keep it to make me honest. However, not to be in the heathens, as well as among those who have been the least ungrateful, I promise you I will lay it deservedly esteemed as saints and holy men among out in a couple of rings, and wear them for your Christians. sake." I am so just, sir, besides, as to give every If we consider cheerfulness in three lights, with body that asks how I came by my rings this ac- regard to ourselves, to those we converse with, and count of my benefactor; but, to save me the trou-to the great Author of our being, it will not a little ble of telling my tale over and over again, I hum-recommend itself on each of these accounts. The bly beg the favour of you to tell it once for all, man who is possessed of this excellent frame of and you will extremely oblige,


'Your humble servant,


'St. Bride's, May 15, 1712.

mind, is not only easy in his thoughts, but a perfect master of all the powers and faculties of his soul. His imagination is always clear, and his judgment undisturbed; his temper is even and unruffled, whether in action or in solitude. He comes Tis a great deal of pleasure to me, and I dare with a relish to all those goods which nature has say will be no less satisfaction to you, that have provided for him, tastes all the pleasures of the an opportunity of informing you, that the gentle-creation which are poured about him, and does not men and others of the parish of St. Bride, have feel the full weight of those accidental evils which raised a charity-school of fifty girls, as before of may befal him.

fifty boys. You were so kind to recommend the If we consider him in relation to the persons boys to the charitable world, and the other sex whom he converses with, it naturally produces love hope you will do them the same favour in Friday's and good-will towards him. A cheerful mind is Spectator, for Sunday next, when they are to ap- not only disposed to be affable and obliging, but pear with their humble airs at the parish church of St. Bride. Sir, the mention of this may possibly be serviceable to the children; and sure no one will omit a good action attended with no expense.


'I am, SIR,

"Your very humble servant,


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Be calm, my Delius, and serene,
However fortune change the scene.
In thy most dejected state,

Sink not underneath the weight;

Nor yet, when happy days begin,

And the full tide comes rolling in,
Let a fierce, unruly joy,

The settled quiet of thy mind destroy.

raises the same good-humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself pleased he does not know why, with the cheerfulness of his companion. It is like a sudden sunshine that awakens a secret delight in the mind, without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own cord, and naturally flows out into friendship and benevolence towards the person who has so kindly an effect upon it.

When I consider this cheerful state of mind in its third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a constant habitual gratitude to the great Author of nature. An inward cheerfulness is an implicit praise and thanksgiving to Providence under all its dispensations. It is a kind of acquiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a secret ap probation of the Divine Will in his conduct to wards man.


There are but two things which, in my opinion, can reasonably deprive us of this cheerfulness of heart. The first of these is the sense of guilt. A man who lives in a state of vice and impenitence, can have no title to that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of the soul, and the I HAVE always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. ness in an ill man deserves a harder name than natural effect of virtue and innocence. Cheerful The latter I consider as an act, the former as an language can furnish us with, and is many degrees habit of the mind. Mirth is short and transient, beyond what we commonly call folly or madness cheerfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the greatest transport of mirth who are preme Being, and consequently of a future state, Atheism, by which I mean a disbelief of a Stsubject to the greatest depressions of melancholy. under whatsoever titles it shelters itself, may On the contrary, cheerfulness, though it does not wise very reasonably deprive a man of this cheer give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents fulness of temper. There is something so particu us from falling into any depths of sorrow. Mirth larly gloomy and offensive to human nature in the is like a flash of lightning, that breaks through a prospect of non-existence, that I cannot but wo gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment; cheer- der, with many excellent writers, how it is possible fulness keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, for a man to outlive the expectation of it. For and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity. Men of austere principles look upon mirth as little to be doubted, that it is almost the only truth my own part, I think the being of a God is so too wanton and dissolute for a state of probation, we are sure of, and such a truth as we meet with and as filled with a certain triumph and insolence in every object, in every occurrence, and in every of heart that is inconsistent with a life which is thought. If we look into the characters of this every moment obnoxious to the greatest dangers. tribe of infidels, we generally find they are made Writers of this complexion have observed, that the up of pride, spleen, and cavil. It is indeed no Sacred Person who was the great pattern of per- wonder, that men who are uneasy to themselves, fection, was never seen to laugh. Cheerfulness of mind is not liable to any of these it possible for a man to be otherwise than uneasy should be so to the rest of the world; and how is exceptions; it is of a serious and composed na-in himself, who is in danger every moment of losing ture; it does not throw the mind into a condition his entire existence, and dropping into nothing! improper for the present state of humanity, and is very conspicuous in the characters of those who pretence to cheerfulness, and would act very un The vicious man and atheist have therefore no

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