tory, are possessed by him to their full extent; and if he be a stranger to the refined pleasures of the wealthy, he is unacquainted also with the desire of them, and by consequence, feels no want. His plain meal satisfies his appetite, witha relish, probably, higher than that of the rich man, who sits down to his luxurious banquet. His sleep is more sound; his health more firm; he knows not what spleen, languor and listlessness are. His accustomed employments or labors are not more oppressive to him, than the labor of attendance on courts and the great, the labors of dress, the fatigue of amusements, the very weight of idleness, frequently are to the rich. In the mean time, all the beauty of the face of nature, all the enjoyments of domestic society, all the gaiety and cheerfulness of an easy mind, are as open to him as to those of the highest rank. The splendor of retinue, the sound of titles, the appearances of high respect, are indeed soothing for a short time, to the great. But, become fa miliar, they are soon forgotten. Custom effaces their im pression. They sink into the rank of those ordinary things which daily recur, without raising any sensation of joy.-Let us cease, therefore, from looking up with discontent and envy to those whom birth or fortune has placed above us. Let us adjust the balance of happiness fairly. When we think of the enjoyments we want, we should think also of the troubles from which we are free. If we allow their just value to the comforts we possess, we shall find reason to rest satisfied, with a very moderate, though not an opulent and splendid condition of fortune. Often, did we know the whole, we should be inclined to pity the state of those whom we now envy.

BLAIR

SECTION VI.

Moderation in our wishes recommended.

THE active mind of man seldom or never rests satisfied with its present condition, how prosperous soever. Origin ally formed for a wider range of objects, for a higher sphere of enjoyments, it finds isself, in every situation of fortune, straitened and confined. Sensible of deficiency in its state, it is ever sending forth the fond desire, the aspiring wish, after something beyond what is enjoyed at present. Hence, that restlessness which prevails so generally among mankind. Hence, that disgust of pleasures which they have.

tried; that passion for novelty that ambition of rising to some degree of eminence or felicity, of which they have formed to themselves an indistinct idea. All which may

be considered as indications of a certain native, original greatness in the human soul, swelling beyond the limits of its present condition; and pointing to the higher objects for which it was made. Happy, if these latent remains of our primitive state, served to direct our wishes towards their proper destination, and to lead us into the path of true bliss!

But in this dark and bewildered state, the aspiring tendency of our nature unfortunately takes an opposite direc tion, and feeds a very misplaced ambition. The flattering appearances which here present themselves to sense; the distinctions which fortune confers; the advantages and plea. sures which we imagine the world to be capable of bestowing, fill up the ultimate wish of most men. These are the objects which engross their solitary musings, and stimulate their active labors; which warm the breasts of the young, animate the industry of the middle aged, and often keep alive the passions of the old, until the very close of life.

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Assuredly, there is nothing unlawful in our wishing to be freed from whatever is disagreeable, and to obtain a fuller enjoyment of the comforts of life. But when these wishes are not tempered by reason, they are in danger of precipi tating us into much extravagance and folly. Desires and wishes are the first springs of action. When they become exorbitant, the whole character is likely to be tainted. If we suffer our fancy to create to itself worlds of ideal happiness, we shall discompose the peace and order of our minds, and foment many hurtful passions. Here, then, let moderation begin its reign; by bringing within reasonable bounds the wishes that we form. As soon as they become extravagant, let us check them, by proper reflections, on the fallacious nature of those objects, which the world hangs out to allure desire.

You have strayed, my friends, from the road which conducts to felicity; you have dishonored the native dignity of your souls, in allowing your wishes to terminate on nothing higher than worldly ideas of greatness or happiness. Your imagination roves in a land of shadows. Unreal forms deceive you. It is no more than a phantom, an illusion of happiness, which attracts your fond admiration; nay an il fusion

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Lusion of happiness, which often conceals much real misery.

Do you imagine, that all are happy, who have attained to those summits of distinction, towards which your wishes aspire? Alas! how frequently has experience shown, that where roses were supposed to bloom, nothing but briers and thorns grew! Reputation, beauty, riches, grandeur, nay, royalty itself, would, many a time, have been gladly exchanged by the possessors, for that more quiet and humble station, with which you are now dissatisfied. With all that is splendid and shining in the world, it is decreed that there should mix many deep shades of woe. On the elevated situations of fortune, the great calamities of life chiefly fall. There, the storm spends its violence, and there, the thunder breaks; while, safe and unhurt, the inhabitant of the vale remains below. Retreat, then, from those vain and pernicious excursions of extravagant desire. Satisfy yourselves with what is rational and attainable. Train your minds to moderate views of human life, and human happiness. Remember, and admire, the wisdom of Agur's petition: "Remove far from me vanity and lies. Give me neither poverty nor riches. Feed me with food convenient for me: lest I be full, and deny thee; and say, who is the Lord or lest I be poor, and steal; and take the name of my God in vain.”

BLAIR

LESSON XL.

ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES.

SECTION I.

Happiness is founded in rectitude of conduct.

ALL

LL men pursue good, and would be happy, if they knew how not happy for minutes and miserable for hours; but happy, if possible, through every part of their existence. Either, therefore, there is a good of this steady, durable kind, or there is not. If not, then all good must be transient and uncertain, and if so, an object of the lowest value, which can little deserve our attention or inquiry. But if there be a better good, such a good as we are seeking;

like every other thing, it must be derived from some cause; and that cause must either be external, internal, or mixed; in as much as, except these three, there is no other possible. Now a steady, durable good, cannot be derived from an external cause; since all derived from externals must fluctuate as they fluctuate. By the same rule, it cannot be deriv ed from a mixture of the two, because the part which is external, will proportionably destroy its essence. What then remains but the cause internal? the very cause which we have supposed, when we place the sovereign good in mind, ...in rectitude of conduct.

SECTION II.

Virtue man's highest interest.

HARRIS:

I FIND myself existing upon a little spot, surrounded every way by an immense unknown expansion. Where am I? What sort of place do I inhabit? Is it exactly accommodated in every instance to my convenience? Is there no excess of cold, none of heat, to offend me ? Am I never annoyed by animals, either of my own, or a different kind? Is every thing subservient to me, as though I had ordered all myself? No; nothing like it; the farthest from it possible. The world appears not, then, originally made for the private convenience of me alone? It does not. But is it not possible so to accommodate it by my own particular industry? If to accommodate man and beast, heaven and earth, if this be beyond me, it is not possible. What conse quence then follows; or can there be any other than this: If I seek an interest of my own detached from that of others, I seek an interest which is chimerical, and which can never have existence.

How then must I determine? Have I no interest at all? If I have not, I am stationed here to no purpose But why no interest? Can I be contented with none but one separate and detached? Is a social interest, joined with others, such an absurdity as not to be admitted? The hee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding animals, are sufficient to convince me, that the thing is somewhere at least possible. How, then, am I assured that it is not equally true of man? Admit it; and what follows? If so, then honor and justice: are my interest; then the whole train of moral virtues are my interest; without some portion of which, not even thieves can maintain society. Buts

But, farther still; I stop not here; I pursue this social interest as far as I can trace my several relations. I pass from my own stock, my own neighborhood, my own nation, to the whole race of mankind as dispersed throughout the earth. Am I not related to them all, by the mutual aids of commerce, by the general intercourse of arts and letters, by that common nature of which we all participate !

Again: I must have food and clothing. Without a proper genial warmth, I instantly perish. Am I not relat ed, in this view, to the very earth itself? to the distant sun, from whose beams I derive vigor to that stupendous course and order of the infinite host of heaven, by which the times and seasons ever uniformly pass on? Were this order once confounded, I could not probably survive a moment; so absolutely do I depend on this common general welfare. What then have I to do, but to enlarge virtue into piety? Not only honor and justice, and what I owe to man, is my interest, but gratitude also, acquiescence, resig nation, adoration, and all I owe to this great polity, and its great Governor our common Parent.

SECTION III.

On the immortality of the soul.

HARRIS

I was yesterday walking alone, in one of my friend's woods; and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was runsing 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 reasonable 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, particu. larly, 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 uneasiness which follows 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.

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