"the hater only, is tormented, whilft the hated enjoys "repofe and tranquillity." We are not compelled to love and esteem those who injure us; but we should turn our hatred into pity or contempt for them. If a man offends me, why should I punish myself for his fault ? It is punishing ourselves to think too seriously of an affront, and to make it our constant study how we shall be revenged, when it may, perhaps, never be in our power.

Ms. I cannot but admire the faying of an old philofopher. "When I have an injury done me, I never "fet the becon on fire, nor am I troubled. I confider "who did it; if my kinfman, he did it ignorantly; if

my friend, he did it against his will; if my enemy, it " is no more than I expected. I even put a fair con"ftruction upon every thing which happens to me." Were this doctrine more frequently adopted, it would Save much vexation and uneafinefs.

Gent. You are right, Mifs, beyond all contradiction; but nothing is more difficult than to bring people, young folks in particular, to think and act properly. Contempt of an injury is often a more fevere punishment on the person who injures us, than fhewing the highest mark of our revenge. Good people, stand not in fear of hatred; but there are none who do not feel fome grief and mortification on being despised. Great men are diftinguished by the generous manner in which they treat their enemies, when they have them in their power. Cefar, after having conquered his, pardoned them. Titus, fhewed mercy to the confpirators,

who

who had combined to take away his life and empire. And the fame may be faid of fome of our English kings. At the fame time that history prefents us with amiable characters, it gives us convincing proofs, that many a heart has been fubdued by hatred and revenge.

Mifs. I apprehend, Sir, religion and virtue, will not permit us to hate any one, and though the heart may be naturally prone to harbour in it hatred and revenge, yet it should be kept in fubjection. I know not whether these paffions do not arife, in fome degree, from pride. It is but a few days fince, that I was led into reflections of this nature, from an event which fills me with horror. Lucinda and Dorothea where twin-fifters, and fo much like each other, when they grew up, that

was difficult for any one, not intimately acquainted with them, to know the one from the other, when afunder, Their parents dreffed them alike; gave them the fame education, and neither had the least reason to complain of any partiality, either in indulgencies or corrections.

It should seem as though nature took delight in fporting with her own works, and fpoiling by one fault, the beauty of the whole. Though they were both alike in their external form, they differed widely in the difpofition of their minds. Lucinda, was chearful, affable, and good-natured, and poffeffed all thofe internal accomplishments, which fet off beauty in its greatest luftre. Dorothea, was gloomy, proud, and ill-natured, and fo fond of her charms, as to look upon the rest of her fex with contempt. It is not therefore to be wondered

dered at, that her bofom was the feat of hatred and revenge. As they grew up, they ingroffed the attention of all the gentry in the neighbourhood, from whom they received frequent invitations. The behaviour of Lu

"My

you

cinda, procured her the esteem and friendship of all the approached, whilft that of Dorothea, gave only uneafinefs and difguft. Lucinda, perceiving her reputation daily increased, while that of her sister diminished, fhe grew uneafy for the confequences, and being one day alone with her fifter, fpoke to her thus," My dear Dorothea, it gives me great concern, to fee fall in of the opinion of the world. What little room has any us to be proud of external accomplishments, when we know not how foon we may be deprived of them. Neither time, accidents, nor diforders, can rob us of the beauties of the mind, or the good will of those whom we attach to us by prudence and discretion. Why will you give way to the warmth of your temper, and not endeavour to curb that which distorts ev'ry feature in your lovely face? Why, through a fond conceit of your felf, make those your enemies who would gladly be your best friends? My fifter cannot be infenfible, that I bear a part in, and feel much for the difgraces fhe brings on herself." Dorothea instead of improving from this tender and wife admonition, flew in a rage out of the room, faying, as fhe went, that fhe would be reproved by none but her elders, and that she knew not what right she had to fcrutinize her conduct. How amiablė and happy was the one, and how defpicable and unhap py the other!

A SECOND

A SECOND DIALOGUE

BETWEEN THE GENTLEMAN AND HIS

PUPIL.

Gent. You begin, Mifs, to reafon fo well upon the various paffions to which human nature is liable, that I will venture to ask your opinion of anger and rage.

Mifs. I am happy, Sir, in finding you do not confider thofe hours which you are so obliging as to pass with me, entirely thrown away. For my part, I cannot but confider anger and rage as a most dangerous enemy to a young lady. as it converts the most beautiful features, into those of difguft.

Gent. Undoubtedly, Mifs, it does, and a young lady fhould be particularly cautious in guarding against its fatal effects. When the mind is firm and courageous, it refifts the impetuofity of thofe emotions, which have no connection with the ferenity of the foul, of which tranquility is the most effential quality. Without tranquility of foul, the imagination is always agitated, and never fixes upon any thing good, wife, or durable. Anger changes (if I may be allowed the expreffion) the very effence of the mind; of which reafon and judgment conAtitute its nature; and this reafon and judgment vanishes in the excess of passion.

Miss. I always compare a perfon, Sir, who is not to be moved by anger, to a powerful monarch, who has an empire within himself. Reafon commands in chief, and poffeffes his throne and fceptre, All his paffions, like obedient subjects, obey him. Nothing is more capable of correcting this folly in men, than making them reflect on the forry figures thofe make, who fuffer themfelves to exceed the bounds of moderation. People who do not accustom themselves to check their anger from bursting into a flame, become infenfibly fo habituated to it, as to break out on the merest trifles. The lofs of a dog, a bird, or even a toothpick, deprive many people of their reafon for fome minutes.

I have heard it very juftly observed, that it would be impoffible for any one to give themselves up to pafSon, if in the height of their anger, they were made to view themselves in a glass. They would then be afhamed of themselves, and would judge of the state of their fouls by what they would fee in the deformity of their face.

Gent. It must be a fhocking fight indeed, and I think muft have its effect.

BETWEEN