DCCCCIII.

I have ever thought that the wise men in all ages have not much differed in their opinions of religion; I mean as it is grounded on human reason: for reason, as far as it is right, must be the same in all men; and truth being but one, they must consequently think in the same train.-Dryden.

DCCCCIV.

Good den, sir Richard,-God-a-mercy; fellow;-
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:
For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
'Tis too respective and too sociable,

For your conversion. Now your traveller,-
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess;
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise
My picked man of countries.-My dear sir,
(Thus leaning on mine elbow, I begin,)
I shall beseech you-That is question now:
And then comes answer like an ABC-book:-
O sir, says answer, at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir:-
No sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours:
And so, ere answer knows what question would,
(Saving in dialogue of compliment,

And talking of the Alps, and Apennines,

The Pyrenean, and the river Po,)

It draws towards supper, in conclusion so.

Now this is worshipful society.

DCCCCV.

Shakspeare.

The great winding sheets that bury all things in oblivion are two; deluges and earthquakes. As for conflagrations and great droughts, they do not merely dispeople, but destroy. Phaeton's car went but a day; and the three years' drought, in the time of Elias, was but particular, and left people alive. As for the great burnings by lightnings, which are often in the West Indies, they are but narrow; but in the other two destructions, by deluge and earthquake, it is farther to be noted, that

the remnant of people which happen to be reserved, are commonly ignorant and mountainous people, that can give no account of the time past; so that the oblivion is all one, as if none had been left.-Lord Bacon.

DCCCCVI..

The English, in general, seem fonder of gaining the esteem than the love of those they converse with: this gives a formality to their amusements: their gayest conversations have something too wise for innocent relaxation; though in company you are seldom disgusted with the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rapture by those strokes of vivacity which give instant, though not permanent, pleasure.-Goldsmith.

DCCCCVII.

The mere philosopher is a character which is commonly but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives remote from communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie between those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books, company, and business; preserving in conversation, that discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy which are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more useful than compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw not too much from life, require no deep application or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,

science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement

entertaining.-Hume.

DCCCCVIII.

Thee, sweet grasshopper, we call
Happiest of insects all,

Who from spray to spray canst skip,
And the dew of morning sip.
Little sips inspire to sing,

Then thou art happy as a king.
All whatever thou canst see,
Herbs and flowers belong to thee;
All the various seasons yield,
All the produce of the field.
Thou, quite innocent of harm,
Lov'st the farmer, and the farm.
Singing sweet when summer's near,
Thou to all mankind art dear;
Dear to all the tuneful Nine,
Seated round the throne divine;
Dear to Phœbus, god of day;
He inspires thy mighty lay;
And with voice melodious blest,
And in vivid colours drest,
Thou from spoil of time art free;
Age can never injure thee.
Wisest daughter of the earth!
Fond of song, and full of mirth;
Free from flesh, exempt from pains,
No blood riots in thy veins.

To the blest I equal thee,

Little demi-deity.

From the Greek of Anacreon.

DCCCCIX,

The same enthusiasm, that dignifies a butterfly or a medal to the virtuoso and the antiquary, may convert controversy into quixotism; and present, to the deluded imagination of the theological knight-errant, a barber's basin, as Mambrino's helmet. The real value of any doctrine can only be determined by its influence on the

conduet of man, with respect to himself, to his fellow creatures, or to God.-Percival.

DCCCCX.

Critics and witlings can no more judge of what they do not understand, than a man that is born blind can have any true idea of colours. I have always observed that your empty vessels sound loudest: I value their lashes as little as the sea did those of Xerxes, when he whipped it. The utmost favour a man can expect from them is that which Polyphemus promised Ulysses, that he would devour him the last: they think to subdue a writer as Cæsar did his enemy with a veni, vidi, vici.—Swift.

DCCCCXI.

War pleads its antiquity from all ages; it has always clogged the world with widows and orphans, drained families of heirs, and destroyed brothers in the same battle. Young Soyecour! How do I mourn thy fall, the loss of thy virtue and modesty, of thy ripening genius, sagacious, lofty and social! I must bewail that untimely death, which removed thee to thy magnanimous brother, and snatched thee from a court where thou hadst only time to show thyself: Oh misfortune, ever deplorable and yet common! For men in all ages have agreed to destroy, plunder, and butcher one another for a tract of land, or a parcel of houses, or an empty punctilio: which, to accomplish with the greater certainty and despatch, they have invented curious rules and engines of destruction, which they call the art of war; the practice of which is rewarded with the highest honours, and most splendid reputation; thus every age improves in the art of desolation. The injustice of the first men was the primary occasion of wars, an origin suitable to such a monstrous practice, and hence also tyranny; for could they have been content with their own, and not violated their neighbours' property, the world would have enjoyed uninterrupted repose and liberty.-Bruyere.

DCCCCXII.

He that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his

happiness to the winds; but he that endeavours after it by false merit, has to fear not only the violence of the storm, but the leaks of his vessel. Though he should happen to keep above water for a time, by the help of a soft breeze, and a calm sea, at the first gust he must inevitably founder, with this melancholy reflection, that if he would have been content with his natural station, he might have escaped his calamity.—Johnson.

DCCCCXIII.

Hard is the task, and bold th' advent'rous flight,
Of him, who dares in praise of beauty write;
For when to that high theme our thoughts ascend
'Tis to detract, too poorly to commend.

And he, who praising beauty, does no wrong,
May boast to be successful in his song.
But when the fair themselves approve his lays,
And one accepts, and one vouchsafes to praise,
His wide ambition knows no farther bound,
Nor can his Muse with brighter fame be crown'd.
Congreve.

DCCCCXIV.

A man of wit may extremely affect one for the present, but if he has not discretion, his merit soon vanishes away: while a wise man that has not so great a stock of wit, shall nevertheless give you a far greater and more lasting satisfaction. Just so it is in a picture that is smartly touched, but not well studied; one may call it a witty picture, though the painter in the mean time may be in danger of being called a fool.-Steele.

DCCCCXV.

They are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, to be seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.Shakspeare.

The treasures of the deep are not so precious
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man