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that a single gràin or párticle of this sand should be anníhilated every thousand years; supposing that you had it in your power to be happy all the while this prodígious mass of sand was consuming by this slow méthod, until there was not a gràin of it left, on condition you were to be míserable for ever áfter; or, that you were to be happy for ever after, on condìtion you would be míserable until the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated, at the rate of óne sànd in a thousand years; which of these two cases would you make your choice?" In all such sentences, though there is a continual recurrence to the rising inflection on each negative, concessive, or suspended clause, the reader must observe a continual return also to the low monotone, or, which is the same thing in effect, to a low grade of harmonic inflection, in order to maintain the consistency of the respective rules. The following Extracts exemplify Principle Third. The principal inflections only are marked :—


When I am in a sèrious húmour, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the pláce, and the ùse to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who líe in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of mélancholy, or ràther thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole afternoòn in the churchyárd, the cloísters, and the church; amúsing myself with the tómbstones and inscriptions which I met with in those several regions of the dèad. Most of them recorded nothing else of the bùried person, but that he was born upon one day and díed upon another; the whole history of his life being comprehended in these twò círcumstances, that are cómmon to all mankind. I could not but look upon those registers of exístence, whether of bràss or márble, as a kind of sàtire upon the departed persons, who had left no other memórial of themselves, than that they were bórn, and that they died.

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a gràve; and saw in évery shòvelful of it that was

thrown up, the fragment of a bòne or skúll, intermixed with a kind of fresh mòuldering éarth, that, sòme time or other, had a place in the composition of a húman bòdy. Upon thís, I began to consider with myself, what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together, under the pavement of that áncient cathedral, how men and women, friends and énemies, prièsts and soldiers, mònks and prébendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in the same cómmon màss; how beaúty, strength, and yoúth, with old àge, wèakness, and defórmity, lay undistinguished in the same promíscuous heap of màtter.

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mortality as it were in the lúmp, I examined it more partìcularly by the accounts which I found on several of the mónuments which are raised in every quarter of that áncient fàbric. Some of them were covered with such extravagant épitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with thēm, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excèssively módest, that they deliver the character of the person departed in Gréek or Hèbrew; and by thát means are not understood once in a twèlvemonth. In the poétical quarter, I found there were poets who had no mónuments, and mónuments which had no pòets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the church with many of those uninhabited mónuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plàins of Blénheim, or in the bosom of the ocean.

I could not but be very much delighted with several módern ēpitaphs, which are written with great èlegance of expression and justness of thought, and which therefore do honour to the living as well as to the dèad. As a foreigner is very apt to conceive an idea of the ígnorance or políteness of a nation from the turn of their public monuments and inscríptions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of learning and génius, before they are put into execution. Sir Cloudsley Shòvel's monument has very often given me great offènce. Instead of the brave rough English ádmiral, which was the distinguishing character of that pláin gallant mán, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau dressed in a lòng périwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions under a cánopy of stàte. The inscríption is answerable to the monument; for, instead of celebrating the many remark

able actions he had performed in the sèrvice of his coúntry, it acquaints,us only with the manner of his death, in which it was impossible for him to reap àny honour. The Dutch, whom we are apt to despise for want of génius, show an infinitely greater taste in their buildings and works of this nature, than we meet with in those of our own coùntry. The monuments of their admirals, which have been erected at the pùblic expénse, represent them like themsèlves, and are adorned with ròstral crówns, and nàval órnaments, with beautiful festoons of sea-weed, shells, and còral.

I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in tìmorous mínds and gloòmy imaginations; but for my own part, though I am àlways sérious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and sólemn scenes, with the same pléasure as in her most gáy and delightful ones. By these means, I can impròve myself with objects which others consider with tèrror. When I look upon the tombs of the greát, every emotion of envy dies ìn me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes oùt; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compàssion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who depósed them; when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men who divided the world with their contests and dispútes; I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, fáctions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dátes of the tombs, of sòme that died yesterday, and sòme six hundred years ago; I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contémporaries, and make our appearance together.-Spectator.


Truth and integrity have all the advantages of appearance, and many more. If the show of any thing be good for any thing, I am sure the reality is better; for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is not, but because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pretends to? For to counterfeit and dissemble is to put on the appearance of some real excellency. Now,

the best way for a man to seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem to be. Besides, it is often as troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality as to have it; and if a man have it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to want it, and then all his labour to seem to have it is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion.

It is hard to personate and act a part long; for where truth is not at the bottom, nature will always be endeavouring to return, and will betray herself at one time or other. Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed; and then his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction; for truth is convincing, and carries its own light and evidence along with it; and will not only commend us to every man's conscience, but, which is much more, to God, who searcheth our hearts. So that, upon all accounts, sincerity is true wisdom. Particularly as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. It is much the plainer and easier, much the safer and more secure way of dealing in the world; it hath less of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard, in it; it is the shortest and nearest way to our end, carrying us thither in a straight line; and will hold out, and last longest. The arts of deceit and cunning continually grow weaker, and less effectual and serviceable to those that practise them; whereas integrity gains strength by use; and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the greater service it does him, by confirming his reputation, and encourag ing those with whom he hath to do to repose the greatest confidence in him, which is an unspeakable advantage in business and the affairs of life.

A dissembler must always be upon his guard, and watch himself carefully that he do not contradict his own pretensions; for he acts an unnatural part, and therefore must put a continual force and restraint upon himself; whereas he that acts sincerely hath the easiest task in the world; because he follows nature, and so is put to no trouble and care about his words and actions; he needs not invent any pretences beforehand, nor make excuses afterwards, for any thing he hath said or done.

But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. A hypocrite hath so many things to attend to as makes his life a very perplexed

and intricate thing. A liar hath need of a good memory, lest he contradict at one time what he said at another. But truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing to help it out; it is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is ready to drop out before we are aware; whereas a lie is troublesome, and one trick needs a great many more to make it good.

Add to all this, that sincerity is the most compendious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy despatch of business. It creates confidence in those we have to deal with, saves the labour of many inquiries, and brings things to an issue in a few words. It is like travelling a plain beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end than by-ways, in which men often lose themselves. In a word, whatever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over; but the inconvenience of it is perpetual, because it brings a man under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion, so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, nor trusted when perhaps he means honestly. When a man has once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, nothing will then serve his turn, neither truth nor falsehood.

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to converse more with mankind— never more need their good opinion or good word, it were then no great matter (as far as respects the affairs of this world) if he spent his reputation all at once, and ventured it at one throw. But if he be to continue in the world, and would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is in it, let him make use of sincerity in all his words and actions; for nothing but this will hold out to the end. All other arts will fail; but truth and integrity will carry a man through, and bear him out to the last.-Tillotson.



RULE.-The Question formed by an interrogative word, called the question direct or definite, takes the high monotone

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