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IF the improvements of the mind, the advancements in the arts of utility and ornament, are produced by social intercourse, may we not say, that social intercourse offers men the greatest number of enjoyments? Do we derive no felicity from the fine arts, from knowledge, and from refinement of feelings? Is no pleasure felt while we listen to the strains of musick? while we read the majestick numbers of poetry, or while we gaze on the landscape, ornamented by the hand of cultivation? Who will say there are no pleasures in knowledge? Surely not he who has felt the influence of one ray of that profusion of science which beams on the mind of the philosopher, who has realized the force of moral truth, and enjoyed the luxury of mathematical demonstration.

II. Do we derive no felicity from refined feelings? Is there no delight in sociability, no charm in friendship, no rapture in love? Is there no blessedess in beneficence, when by a reciprocation of benefactions, the heart is warmed with gratitude, and dilated with benevolence? What solitary pleasures can compare with these? Can the gross fruition of the anchorite equal the refined felicity of conjugal intercourse? Can the wild savageness of natural liberty afford a delight like the sober, undisturbed satisfaction of civil freedom? Can the faith and devotion of the solitary, who "sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind," swell the soul with such exalted beatitude, as glows in the bosom of the Christian, who, illumined by the full blaze of revelation, looks beyond the mountain, beyond the lurid cloud, and, enraptured, beholds a God of boundless mercy, seated on the circuit of the heavens? No; even the happiness of a solitary angel must sink below the reach of computation, when once contrasted with the felicity of those en earth, who stand within the embrace of social intercourse, and feel their souls engaged by knowledge, refined by reason, illumined by revelation, warmed by devotion, and united by the ties of friendship and love. BURGES.

LESSON LXXIX.

HAPPY SOCIETY

WERE I to form a picture of a happy society, it would be a town consisting of a due mixture of hills, valleys, and streams of water. The land well fenced and cultivat ed; the roads and bridges in good repair; a decent inn, for the refreshment of travellers, and for public entertainThe inhabitants mostly husbandmen; their wives and daughters domestick manufacturers; a suitable proportion of handicraft workmen, and two or three traders ; a physician and lawyer, each of whom should have a farm for his support.

ments.

II. A clergyman of good understanding, of a candid disposition, and exemplary morals; not a metaphysical, not a polemick, but a serious and practical preacher. A schoolmaster, who should understand his business, and teach his pupils to govern themselves. A social library, annually increasing, and under good regulation. A club of sensible meri seeking mutual improvement. A decent musical society. No intriguing politician, horse jockey, gambler or sot; but all such characters treated with contempt. Such a situation may be considered as the most favourable to social happi ness of any which this world can afford. BELKNAP:

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OF all the vices, there is no one more criminal, more mean and more ridiculous, than lying. The end designed by it is very seldom accomplished, for lies are always found out, at one time or other; and yet there are persons, who give way to this vice, who are otherwise of good principles, and have not been illy educated. Lies generally proceed from vanity, cowardice, and a revengeful disposition, and sometimes from a mistaken notion of self-defence. He who tells a malicious lie, with a view of injuring the person he speaks of, may gratify his wish for a while, but will, in the end, find it recoil upon himself; for, as soon as he is detected (and detected he most certainly will be) he is de

spised for the infamous attempt, and whatever he may say hereafter of that person, will be considered as false, whether it be so or not.

II. If a man lies, shuffles, or equivocates, for in fact they are all alike, by way of excuse for any thing he has said or done, he aggravates the offence rather than lessens it ; for the person to whom the lie is told has a right to know the truth, or there would have been no occasion to have framed a falsehood. This person, of course, will think himself ill treated for being a second time affronted; for what can be a greater affront than an attempt to impose upon a man's understanding? besides, lying, in excuse for a fault, betrays fear, than which nothing is more dastardly, and unbecoming the character of a gentleman.

JII. There is nothing more manly, or more noble, if we have done wrong, than frankly to own it. It is the only way of meeting forgiveness. Indeed, confessing a fault and asking pardon, with great minds, is considered as a sufficient atonement. "I have been betrayed into an errour," or, "I have injured you, Sir, and am heartily a shamed of it, and sorry for it," has frequently disarmed the person injured, and where he would have been our ene my, has made him our friend. CHESTERFIELD.

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WHISTLING, humming a tune, drumming with the fingers, snapping your penknife, playing with the shovel and tongs, whipping your boots, making a noise with your feet, and such like, are all breaches of good manners, and indications of your contempt for the persons present. Besides, such noises are very offensive to delicate nerves; and ought not, therefore, to be indulged. Spitting on the floor, or carpet, is a nasty practice, and shocking in a man of education.

Keep yourself free likewise from odd tricks, or habits such as thrusting out your tongue continually, snapping your fingers, rubbing your hands, sighing aloud, an affected shivering of your whole body, gaping with a noise like a coun try fellow that had been sleeping in a hay loft, or indeed

With any noise; these are intimations of the manners of the mob, and are degrading to a gentleman.

II. Whispering in company is another act of ill-breeding: It seems to insinuate, either that the persons whom we would not wish to hear, are unworthy of our confidence, or it may lead them to suppose we are speaking improperly of them; on both accounts, therefore, abstain from it. One word only, as to swearing. Those who addict themselves to it, and interlard their discourse with oaths, can never be considered as gentlemen; they are generally people of low education, and are unwelcome in what is called good company. It is a vice that has no temptation to plead, but is, in every respect, as vulgar as it is wicked. CHESTERFIELD.

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AVOID telling stories in company, unless they are very short indeed, and very applicable to the subject you are upon; in this case relate them in as few words as possible ; without the least digression, and with some apology; as, that you hate the telling of stories, but the shortness of it induced you. And if your story has any wit in it, be particularly careful not to laugh at it yourself.

II. After you have begun your story, do not hold your hearers in a painful suspense by stopping to speak to your child, or to any one else, if you can help it. Nothing is more tiresome and disagreeable than a long tedious narrative; it betrays a gossiping disposition, and a great want of imagination; and nothing is more ridiculous than to express an approbation of your own story by a laugh. In relating any thing keep clear of repetitions, or very hacknied expressions, such as says he, or says she. Some people will use these so often, as to take off the hearer's attention to the story; as in an organ out of tune, one pipe shall perhaps, sound the whole time of playing, and confuse the piece, so

as not to be understood.

III. Digressions likewise should be guarded against. A story is always more agreeable without them. Of this kind are

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"the gentleman I am telling you of, is the son of Sir Thomas,who lives in Harley street; you must know him—his brother had a horse that won the sweepstakes at the last Newmarket meeting. Zounds! if you don't know him, you know nothing." Or, "He was an upright tall old gentleman, who wore his own long hair, don't you recollect him ?” All this is unnecessary; it is very tiresome and provoking, and would be an excuse for a man's behaviour, if he were to leave us in the midst of our narrative.

In relating any thing be particularly careful not to speak of yourself, if you can possibly avoid it. An impudent fellow lugs in himself upon all occasions, and is ever the hero of his own story. CHESTERFIELD.

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TO do the honours of a table gracefully, is one of the outlines of a well-bred man; and to carve well, is an article, little as it may seem, that is useful twice every day, and the doing of which ill is not only troublesome to one's self, but renders us disagreeable and ridiculous to others. We are always in pain for a man, who, instead of cutting up a fowl genteelly, is hacking for half an hour across a bone, greasing himself, and bespattering the company with the sauce. Use, with a little attention, is all that is necessary to acquit yourself in this particular.

II. To be well received, you must, also, pay some attention to your behaviour at table, where it is exceedingly rude to scratch any part of your body, to spit, or blow your nose, if you can possibly avoid it, to eat greedily, to lean your elbows on the table, to pick your teeth before the dishes are removed, or to leave the table before grace is said. Never pick your teeth with a fork; it is an abominable practice. CHESTERFIELD.

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AS no one can please in company, however graceful in his air, unless he be clean and neat in his person, this quali fication deserves consideration.

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