Sivut kuvina

5. He is a man of great learning, and good sense, who has applied himself, from his earliest youth, to the noblest and most elevated studies : but all the maxims of fortitude which he has received from books, or advanced himself, he now absolutely rejects;s and every other virtue of his heart gives place to all a parent's tenderness.

6. We shall excuse, we shall even approve his sorrow, when we consider what he has lost. IIe has lost a daughter who resembled him in his manners, as well as his person; and exactly copied out all her father. If his friend Marcellinus shall ihink proper to write to him, upon the subject of so reasonable a grief, let me remind him not to use the rougher arguments of consolation, and such as seem to carry a sort of reproofh with them; but those of kind and sympathizing humanity.

7. Time will render him more open to the dictates of reason; för as a fresh wound shrinks back from the hand of the surgeon, but by degrees submits to, and even requires the means of its cure; so a mind, under the first impressions of a misfortune, shuns and rejects all arguments of consolation; but at length, if applied with tenderness, calmly and willingly acquiesces in them. Farewell.


to taste

SECTION IV. a Pre-copt, pré-sépt, a rule, mandate of Neptune and Thoosa. Ő Pru-den-tial, pro3-den'-shål, eligible i Suc-ceud, såk-seed', to follow, progon principles of prudenco

per c Sa-vour, så'-vůr, a scent, odour, taste, j Ho-ri-zon, hd-ri'-zôn, the line that ter

minates the view d Per-tid-jous-ness, pêr-fid' yůs-nės, k. Guide, gylde, a direction, instruction, treachery, brench of faith

to direct, instruct e In-dis-cre-tion, in-dis-krësh'-ån, im i In-stinct, in'-stinkt, the power which prudence

determines the will of brutes Ś Ped-an-try, pėd'-lan-tre, awkward in Mimick, niin-mik, a ludicrous imostentation of learning,

itation, imitate & Com-mu-ni-ty; kům niú-né-lé, then Super-sede, sů-per-sede', to make body politick, society

von de Polypheus, polé-le-ition, king it thenie, skema, a plan, design, pro

all the Ciclos in Scily, and Suni ject

On Discrciion. 1. I HAVE often thought, is the minds of men were laid open,,,

ve should see but lule dift: rence between that of a wisis man, and that of a fool. There are infinite reveries, nuinberless extravagances, and a succession of vanities, which pass through both. The great differunce is, that the first knows how to pick and çull his


thoughts for conversation, by suppressing some, and communicating others; whereas the other lets them all indifferently fly out in words. This sort of discretion, however, has no place in private conversation between intizate friends.

2. On such occasions, the wisest men very often talk like the weakest; for indeed talking with a friend is nothing else than thinking aloud. Tully has therefore very justly exposed a precept, a delivered by some ancient wri

Tha a man should live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend, and with his friend, in such a manner, that, if he became his enemy, it should not be in his power to hurt him.

3. The first part of this rule, which regards our behaviour towards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as very prudential ;' but the latter part of it, which regards our behaviour towards a friend, savourse more of cunning than of discretion : and would cut a man oft from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of conversation with a bosom friend.

4. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, the world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousnessa of the friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him. Discretion does not only show itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action ; and is like an under-agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

5. There are many more shining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none so useful as discretion. It is this, indeed, which gives a value to all the rest; which sets them at work in their proper times and places; and turns them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errours, and active to his own prejudice.

6. Discretion does not only make a man the master of his own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds out the talents of those he converses with ; and knows how to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divisions of men, we may observe, that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives measures to society.

7. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is

like Polyphemush in the fable, strong and blind; endued with an irresistible force, which, for want of sight, is of no use to him. Though a man has all other perfections, yet if he wants discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the world; on the contrary, if he has this single talent in perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do what he pleases in this particular station of life.

8. At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us; and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them ; cunning has only private selfish aims; and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed...

9. Discretion has large and extended views; and like a well-formedeye, commands a whole borizon;j cunning is a kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance. Discretion, the more it is discosercu, gives a greater authority to the person who posSesses ii: cunning, when it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man incapable of bringing about even those crents which he might have done, had he passed oriy for a plain man.

10. Discretion is the perfection of reason ; and a guides to us in all the duties of life: cunning is a kind of in

tinct, that only looks out after our immediate interest and welfare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good understandings : cunning is often to be met with in brutes themselves; and in persons wio are but the fewest removes from thein. In short, cunning is only the mimicm of discretion; and it may pass upon weak men, in the same manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity, for wisdom.

11. The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, makes him look forward into suturity, and consider what will be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as what it is at present. He knows that the misery or happiness which is reserved for him in another world, loses nothing of its reality, by being placed at so great a distance from him. The objects do not appear little to him because they are remote.

12. He considers, that those pleasures and pains which lie hid in eternity, approach nearer to him every mo.


ment; and will be present with him in their full weight and measure, as much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this very instant. For this reason, he is careful to secure to himself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and the ultimate design of his being

13. He caries his thoughts to the end of every action; and considers the most distant as well as the most immediate effects of it. He supersedes" every little prospect of fiain and advantage which offers itself here, if he does not gnd it consistent with his views of an hereafter. In a word his hopes are full of immortality ; his schemes are large and glorious; and his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest, and how to pursue it by proper methods.


SECTION V. 8 Accoun-ta-blo, ak-ksån'-ta-bl, re-lj Ex-pul-sion, éks-pål-shing the act of

sponsible, of whom an account may expelling be required

k Re-iniss, ril-mis', slack, clothful, ide Vol-un-tu-ry, volo-in-tå-ré, acting byl Un-re-strain-cd, in-re-stran'd', luose, choice

not limited Ć O-rig.i-nal-ly, 6-rid'-ja-nål-le, prima-m In-ces-rant, 1n-sës'-sânt, continua!

rily, at first, as the first anthor 1. Per-ma-nent, pêr'-má nênt, durable, e Te cep-tion, ré-sen'-shún, the act of lasting receiving, remission

lo De-visc, de-vize', to contrive, to grant e Su-pinc, saplus, lying with the face uppards, indolent

p Per-pe-trate, pér“-;&-trate, to commit f Re-lax-a-tion, ré-láks-i'-shin, a re a crire

mission from basiness or study 12 Mis-ap-pli-ca-tion, mis-ep-pila-k! Rove, rovo, to rairble, to wandor s!!!), a wrong applica'inn

En-tire, én-itre', whole, undivided 1 In-tel-lec-tu-al, in-těl-lek’-tshu-a!, rei Pros-ti-tute, pros'-te-tate, to dispose of lating to the mind

upon wicked terms, a hireling Is I-dc-al, 1-déal, mcutal, intellectual

hy will

On the government of our thoughts. 1. A MULTITUDE of cases occur, in which we are no less accountabler for what we think, than for what we do. As, first, when the introduction of any train of thought depends upon ourselves, and is our voluntary act, by turning our attention towards such objects, awakening such passions, or engaging in such employments, as we know must give a peculiar determination to our thoughts. Next, when thoughts, by whatever accident they may have been originallye suggested, are indulged with deliberation and complacency.

2. Though the mind has been passive in their reception,d and, therefore, free from blame ; yet, if it be active in their continuance, the guilt becomes its own. They

may have intruded at first, like unbidden guests; but if when entered, they are made welcome, and kindly entertained, the case is the same as if they had been invited from the beginning.

3. If we are thus accountable to God for thoughts either voluntarily introduced, or deliberately indulged, we are no less so, in the last place, for those which find admittance into our hearts from supine negligence, from total relaxations of attention, from allowing our imagination to roves with entirer licence, “ like the eyes of the fool, towards the end of the earth."

4. Our minds are, in this case, thrown open to folly and vanity. They are prostituted to every evil thing wliich pleases to take possession. The consequences must all be charged to our account; and in vain we plead excuse from human infirmity. Hence it appears, that the great ohject at which we are to aim in governing our thoughts, is, to take the most effectual measures for preventing the introduction of such as are sinful; and for hastening their expulsion,ü if they shall have introduced themselves without consent of the will.

5. But when we descend into our breasts, and examine how far we have studied to keep this object in view, who can tell,“ how oft he hath offended ?" Inno article of religion or morals are men more culpably remiss,k than in the (inrestrained indulgence they give to fancy; and that too, for tlie most part, without remorse. Since the time that reason began to exert her powers, thought, during our waking hours, has been active in every breast, without a moment's suspension or pause,

6. The current of ideas has been always flowing. The wheels of the spiritual engine have circulated with perpetual motion. Let me ask, what has been the fruit of This incessantm activity, with the greater part of mankind ? Of the innumerable hours that have been employed in thought, how few are marked with any permanenta or useful effect? How many have either passed away in idle dreams ; or have been abandoned to anxious discontented musings, to unsocial and malignant passions, or to irregular and criminal desires ?

7. Had I power to lay open that storehouse of iniquity which the hearts of too many conceal; could I draw out and read to them a list of all the imagirations they have devised, and all the passions they have indulged in secret; what a picture of men should I present to them

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