linked by an imperceptible chain to every indi- | vate interest. Another observation I shall draw vidual of the human race. The several great bodies which compose the solar system are kept from joining together at the common centre of gravity by the rectilinear motions the author of nature has impressed on each of them; which, concurring with the attractive principle, form their respective orbits round the sun; upon the ceasing of which motions, the general law of gravitation that is now thwarted, would show itself by drawing them all into one mass. After the same manner, in the parallel case of society, private passions and motions of the soul do often obstruct the operation of that benevolent uniting instinct implanted in human nature; which notwithstanding doth still exert, and will not fail to show itself when those obstructions are taken away. The mutual gravitation of bodies cannot be explained any other way than by resolving it into the immediate operation of God, who never ceases to dispose and actuate his creatures in a manner suitable to their respective beings. So neither can that reciprocal attraction in the minds of men be accounted for by any other cause. It is not the result of education, law, or fashion; but is a principle originally ingrafted in the very first formation of the soul by the author of our nature. And as the attractive power in bodies is the most universal principle which produceth innumerable effects, and is a key to explain the various phænomena of nature; so the corresponding social appetite in human souls is the great spring and source of moral actions. This it is that inclines each individual to an intercourse with his species, and models every one to that behaviour which best suits with the common well-being. Hence that sympathy in our nature, whereby we feel the pains and joys of our fellow-creatures. Hence that prevalent love in parents towards their children, which is neither founded on the merit of the object, nor yet on self-interest. It is this that makes us inquisitive concerning the affairs of distant nations, which can have no influence on our own. It is this that extends our care to future generations, and excites us to acts of beneficence towards those who are not yet in being, and consequently from whom we can expect no recompense. In a word, hence arises that diffusive sense of humanity so unaccountable to the selfish man who is untouched with it, and is indeed a sort of monster, or anomalous production. from the premises is, that it makes a signa. proof of the divinity of the Christian religion, that the main duty which it inculcates above all others is charity. Different maxims and precepts have distinguished the different sects of philosophy and religion; our Lord's peculiar precept is, 'Love thy neighbour as thyself. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.' I will not say, that what is a most shining proof of our religion, is not often a reproach to its professors: but this I think very plain, that whether we regard the analogy of nature, as it appears in the mutual attraction or gravitations of the mundane system, in the general frame and constitution of the human soul; or lastly, in the ends and aptnesses which are discoverable in all parts of the visible and intellectual world; we shall not doubt but the precept, which is the characteristic of our religion, came from the author of nature. Some of our modern free-thinkers would indeed insinuate the Christian morals to be defective, because, say they, there is no mention made in the gospel of the virtue of friendship. These sagacious men (if I may be allowed the use of that vulgar saying) cannot see the wood for trees.' That a religion, whereof the main drift is to inspire its professors with the most noble and disinterested spirit of love, charity, and beneficence, to all mankind; or, in other words, with a friendship to every individual man; should be taxed with the want of that very virtue, is surely a glaring evidence of the blindness and prejudice of its adversaries. AN agreeable young gentleman, that has a talent for poetry, and does me the favour to entertain me with his performances after my more serious studies, read me yesterday the following translation. In this town, where there are so many women of prostituted charms, I am very glad when I gain so much time of reflection from a youth of a gay turn, as is taken up in any composition, though the piece he writes is not foreign to that of his natural inclination. For it is a great step towards gaining upon the passions, that there is a delicacy in the choice of their object; and to turn the imaginations These thoughts do naturally suggest the fol- towards a bride, rather than a mistress, is getlowing particulars. First, that as social incli- ting a great way towards being in the interests nations are absolutely necessary to the well- of virtue. It is a hopeless manner of reclaimbeing of the world, it is the duty and interesting youth, which has been practised by some of each individual to cherish, and improve them to the benefit of mankind; the duty, because it is agreeable to the intention of the author, of our being, who aims at the common good of his creatures, and as an indication of his will, hath implanted the seeds of mutual benevolence in our souls; the interest, because the good of the whole is inseparable from that of the parts; in promoting, therefore, the common good, every one doth at the same time promote his own pri moralists, to declaim against pleasure in general. No; the way is, to show that the pleasurable course is that which is limited and governed by reason. In this case, virtue is upon equal terms with vice, and has, with all the same indulgences of desire, the advantage of safety in honour and reputation. I have, for this reason, often thought of exercising my pupils, of whom I have several of admirable talents, upon writing little poems, or epigrams, which in a volume would entitle, The Seeing Cupid. These compositions should be written on the little advances made towards a young lady of the strictest virtue, and all the circumstances alluded to in them, should have something that might please her mind in its purest innocence, as well as celebrate her person in its highest beauty. This work would instruct a woman to be a good wife, all the while it is a wooing her to be a bride. Imagination and reason should go hand in hand in a generous amour; for when it is otherwise, real discontent and aversion in marriage, succeed the groundless and wild promise of imagination in courtship. The Court of Venus from Claudian, being part In vain access by human feet is tried, On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide channels spread; To blast the myrtle shrubs, or nip the bloom, The mountain, when the summit once you gain, For by mild zephyrs fanned, the teeming soil These were the bribes, the price of heavenly charms; A sylvan scene, in solemn state displayed, Branches in branches twined, compose the grove Blue heavens above them smile; and all below, Along the grassy banks, in bright array, And tender, as the nymphs from whom they sprung; He, uncontrolled, thro' heaven extends his sway, And sudden storms of wrath, which soon decline Now from afar the palace seems to blaze, Here spices in parterres promiscuous blow, Not from Arabia's fields more odours flow, The wanton winds through groves of cassia play And steal the ripened fragrances away; Here with its load the wild amomum bends; There cinnamon, in rival sweets, contends; A rich perfume the ravished senses fills, While from the weeping tree the balm distils. At these delightful bowers arrives at last The god of love, a tedious journey past; Then shapes his way to reach the fronting gate, Doubles his majesty, and walks in state. It chanced, upon a radiant throne reclined, Venus her golden tresses did unbind : Proud to be thus employed, on either hand Th' Idalian sisters, ranged in order stand. Ambrosial essence one bestows in showers, And lavishly whole streams of nectar pours; With ivory combs another's dexterous care Or curls, or opens the dishevelled hair; A third, industrious with a nicer eye, Instructs the ringlets in what form to lie, Yet leaves some few, that, not so closely prest, Sport in the wind, and wanton from the rest: Sweet negligence! by artful study wrought, A graceful error, and a lovely fault, The judgment, of the glass is here unknown; Here mirrors are supplied by every stone. Where'er the goddess turns, her image falls, And a new Venus dances on the walls. Now while she did her spotless form survey, Pleased with Love's empire, and almighty sway, She spied her son, and, fired with eager joy, Sprung forwards, and embraced the fav'rite boy. IT is usually thought, with great justice, a very impertinent thing in a private man to intermeddle in matters which regard the state. But the memorial which is mentioned in the following letter is so daring, and so apparently designed for the most traitorous purpose imagina ble, that I do not care what misinterpretation I suffer, when I expose it to the resentment of all men who value their country, or have any regard to the honour, safety, or glory of their queen. It is certain there is not much danger in delaying the demolition of Dunkirk during the life of his present most Christian majesty, who is renowned for the most inviolable regard to treaties; but that pious prince is aged, and in case of his decease, now the power of France and Spain is in the same family, it is possible an ambitious successor (or his ministry in a king's minority) might dispute his being bound by the act of his predecessor in so weighty a particular. 'That the pretender sailed from thence to Scotland; and that it is the only port the French have until you come to Brest, for the whole length of St. George's channel, where any con| siderable naval armament can be made. 'That destroying the fortifications of Dunkirk is an inconsiderable advantage to England, in comparison to the advantage of destroying the mole, dikes, and harbour; it being the naval force from thence which only can hurt the British nation. 'That the British nation expect the immedi. ate demolition of Dunkirk. "That the Dutch, who suffered equally with us from those of Dunkirk, were probably induced to sign the treaty with France from this consideration, That the town and harbour of Dunkirk should be destroyed. That the situation of Dunkirk is such, as that it may always keep runners to observe all ships sailing on the Thames and Medway. That all the suggestions which the sieur Tugghe brings concerning the Dutch, are false and scandalous. 'That whether it may be advantageous to the trade of Holland or not, that Dunkirk should be demolished; it is necessary for the safety, honour, and liberty of England, that it should be so. 'MR. IRONSIDE,-You employ your important moments, methinks, a little too frivolously, when you consider so often little circumstances of dress and behaviour, and never make mention of matters wherein you and all your fellowsubjects in general are concerned. I give you now an opportunity, not only of manifesting your loyalty to your queen, but your affection to your country, if you treat an insolence done to them both with the disdain it deserves. The inclosed printed paper in French and English has been handed about the town, and given gratis to passengers in the streets at noon-day. You see the title of it is, "A most humble address, or memorial, presented to her majesty the queen of Great Britain, by the deputy of the magistrates of Dunkirk." The nauseous memorialist, with the most fulsome flattery, tells the queen of her thunder, and of wisdom and clemency adored by all the earth; at the same time that he attempts to undermine her power, and escape her wisdom, by beseeching her to do an act which will give a well-grounded jealousy to her people. What the sycophant desires is, That the mole and dikes of Dunkirk may be spared; and it seems the sieur Tugghe, for so the petitioner is called, was thunderstruck by the de- "That after the demolition, there can be no nunciation (which he says) "the lord viscount considerable preparation made at sea by the Bolingbroke made to him." That her majesty French on all the channel, but at Brest; and did not think to make any alteration in the that Great Britain being an island, which candreadful sentence she had pronounced against not be attacked but by a naval power, we may the town. Mr. Ironside, I think you would do esteem France effectually removed, by the dean act worthy your general humanity, if you molition, from Great Britain, as far as the diswould put the sieur Tugghe right in this mat-tance from Dunkirk to Brest. ter; and let him know, That her majesty has pronounced no sentence against the town, but his most Christian majesty has agreed that the town and harbour shall be demolished. 'That the British nation expect the immedi-peat again, That the British nation expects the ate demolition of it. 6 That the very common people know, that within three months after the signing of the peace, the works towards the sea, were to be demolished; and, within three months after it, the works towards the land. That the said peace was signed the last of March, O. S. 'That the parliament has been told from the queen, that the equivalent for it is in the hands of the French king. That the sieur Tugghe has the impudence to ask the queen to remit the most material part of the articles of peace between her majesty and his master. That the British nation received more damage in their trade from the port of Dunkirk, than from almost all the ports of France, either in the ocean, or in the Mediterranean. 'That fleets of above thirty sail have come together out of Dunkirk, during the late war, and taken ships of war as well as merchantmen. 'That when Dunkirk is demolished, the power of France, on that side, should it ever be turned against us, will be removed several hun. dred miles further off of Great Britain than it is at present. 'Pray, Mr. Ironside, repeat this last particular, and put it in a different letter, That the demolition of Dunkirk will remove France many hundred miles farther off from us; and then re demolition of Dunkirk. 'I demand of you, as you love and honour your queen and country, that you insert this letter, or speak to this purpose, your own way; for in this all parties must agree, that however bound in friendship one nation is with another, it is but prudent that in case of a rupture, they should be, if possible, upon equal terms. 'Be honest, old Nestor, and say all this; for whatever half-witted hot whigs may think, we all value our estates and liberties, and every true man of each party must think himself concerned that Dunkirk should be demolished. 'It lies upon all who have the honour to be in the ministry to hasten this matter, and not let the credulity of an honest, brave people be thus infamously abused in our open streets. 'I cannot go on for indignation; but pray God that our mercy to France may not expose us to the mercy of France. Your humble ser vant, · ENGLISH TORY.' : ANGER is so uneasy a guest in the heart, that he may be said to be born unhappy who is of a rough and choleric disposition. The moralists have defined it to be a desire of revenge for some injury offered.' Men of hot and heady tempers are eagerly desirous of vengeance, the very moment, they apprehend themselves injured; whereas the cool and sedate watch proper opportunities to return grief for grief to their enemy. By this means it often happens that the choleric inflict disproportioned punishments upon slight, and sometimes imaginary offences but the temperately revengeful have leisure to weigh the merits of the cause, and thereby either to smother their secret resent ments, or to seek proper and adequate reparations for the damages they have sustained. Weak minds are apt to speak well of the man of fury; because, when the storm is over, he is full of sorrow and repentance; but the truth is, he is apt to commit such ravages during his madness, that when he comes to himself, he becomes tame then, for the same reason that he ran wild before, only to give himself ease;' and is a friend only to himself in both extremities. Men of this unhappy make, more frequently than any others, expect that their friends should bear with their infirmities. Their friends should in return desire them to correct their infirmities. The common excuses, that they cannot help it, that it was soon over, that they harbour no malice in their hearts, are arguments for pardoning a bull or a mastiff; but shall never reconcile me to an intellectual savage. Why indeed should any one imagine, that persons independent upon him should venture into his society, who hath not yet so far subdued his boiling blood, but that he is ready to do something the next minute which he can never repair, and hath nothing to plead in his own behalf, but that he is apt to do mischief as fast as he can! Such a man may be feared, he may be pitied; he can never be loved. I would not hereby be so understood as if I meant to recommend slow and deliberate malice; I would only observe, that men of moderation are of a more amiable character than the rash and inconsiderate; but if they do not husband the talent that Heaven hath bestowed upon them, they are as much more odious than the choleric, as the devil is more horrible than a brute. It is hard to say which of the two, when injured, is more troublesome to himself, or more hurtful to his enemy; the one is boisterous and gentle by fits, dividing his life between guilt and repentance, now all tempest, again all sun shine. The other hath a smoother but more lasting anguish, lying under a perpetual gloom; the latter is a cowardly man, the former a ge nerous beast. If he may be held unfortunate who cannot be sure but that he may do some. thing the next minute which he shall lament during his life; what shall we think of him who hath a soul so infected that he can never be happy until he hath made another miserable! What wars may we imagine perpetually raging in his breast! What dark stratagems, unworthy designs, inhuman wishes, dreadful resolutions! A snake curled in many intricate mazes, ready to sting a traveller, and to hiss him in the pangs of death, is no unfit emblem of such an artful, unsearchable projector. Were I to choose an enemy, whether should I wish for one that would stab me suddenly, or one that would give me an Italian poison, subtle and lingering, yet as certainly fatal as the stroke of a stiletto? Let the reader determine the doubt in his own mind. There is yet a third sort of revenge, if it may be called a third, which is compounded of the other two: I mean the mistaken honour which hath too often a place in generous breasts. Mer of good education, though naturally choleric, restrain their wrath so far as to seek convenient times for vengeance. The single combat seems so generous a way of ending controversies, that until we have stricter laws, the number of wi dows and orphans, and I wish I could not say of wretched spirits, will be increased. Of all the medals which have been struck in honour of a neighbouring monarch, there is not one which can give him so true renown as that upon the success of his edicts for abolishing the im pious practice of duelling.' What inclined me at present to write upon this subject, was the sight of the following letters, which I can assure the reader to be genuine. They concern two noble names among us; but the crime of which the gentlemen are guilty bears too prevalently the name of honour, to need an apology to their relations for reviving the mention of their duel. But the dignity of wrath, and the cool and deliberate preparation (by passing different climes, and waiting convenient seasons) for murdering each other, when we consider them as moved by a sense of honour, must raise in the reader as much compassion as horror. * * * * * * * * 'A Monsieur Monsieur Sackville. 'I that am in France hear how much you attribute to yourself in this time, that I have given the world leave to ring your praises If you call to memory, whereas I gave you my hand last, I told you I reserved the heart for a truer reconciliation. Now be that noble and do him right that could recite the trials you gentleman my love once spoke you, and come dent your honour gives you the same courage owe your birth and country, were I not confito do me right, that it did to do me wrong. Be master of your own weapons and time; the place, wheresoever, I will wait on you. By doing this you shall shorten revenge, and clear the idle opinion the world hath of both our worths. - ED. BRUCE.' 'A Mons. Monsieur le Baron de Kinloss. 'As it shall be always far from me to seek a quarrel, so will I always be ready to meet with any that desire to make trial of my valour by so fair a course as you require. A witness ކ whereof yourself shall be, who, within a month, | following reflection will make it plain. That shall receive a strict account of time, place, and philosopher invented the forty-seventh proposiweapon, where you shall find me ready disposed tion of the first book of Euclid, which is the to give you honourable satisfaction by him that foundation of trigonometry, and consequently shall conduct you thither. In the mean time of navigation, upon which the commerce of be as secret of the appointment as it seems you Great Britain depends. are desirous of it. ED. SACKVILLE. As the greatest part of mankind are more affected by things which strike the senses, than by excellencies that are to be discerned by reason and thought, they form very erroneous judgments when they compare the one with the other. An eminent instance of this is, that vulgar notion, that men addicted to contemplation are less useful members of society than those of a different course of life. The business therefore of my present paper shall be to compare the distinct merits of the speculative and the active parts of mankind. The advantages arising from the labours of generals and politicians are confined to narrow tracts of the earth; and while they promote the interest of their own country, they lessen or obstruct that of other nations; whereas the light and knowledge that spring from speculation are not limited to any single spot, but equally diffused to the benefit of the whole globe. Be sides, for the most part, the renov renown only of men of action is transmitted to distant posterity, their great exploits either dying with themselves, or soon after them; whereas speculative men continue to deserve well of the world thousands of years after they have left it. Their merits are propagated with their fame, which is due to them, but a free gift to those whose beneficence has not outlived their persons. What benefit do we receive from the renowned deeds of Cæsar or Alexander, that we should make them the constant themes of our praise? while the name of Pythagoras is more sparingly celebrated, though it be to him that we are indebted for our trade and riches. This may seem strange to a vulgar reader, but the The mathematics are so useful and ornamental to human life, that the ingenious sir William Temple acknowledges, in some part of his writings, all those advantages which distinguish polite nations from barbarians to be derived from them. But as these sciences cultivate the exterior parts of life, there are others of a more excellent nature, that endue the heart with rudiments of virtue, and by opening our pros pects, and awakening our hopes, produce ge nerous emotions and sublime sentiments in the soul. The divine sages of antiquity, who, by transmitting down to us their speculations upon good and evil, upon Providence, and the dignity and duration of thinking beings, have imprinted an idea of moral excellence on the minds of men, are most eminent benefactors to human nature; and however overlooked in the loud and thoughtless applauses that are every day bestowed on the slaughterers and disturbers of mankind, yet they will never want the esteem and approbation of the wise and virtuous.' This apology in behalf of the speculative part of mankind, who make useful truth the end of their being, and its acquisition the business as well as entertainment of their lives, seems not improper, in order to rectify the mistake of those who measure merit by noise and outward appearance, and are too apt to depreciate and ridicule men of thought and retirement. The raillery and reproaches which are thrown on that species by those who abound in the animal life, would incline one to think the world not sufficiently convinced that whatsoever is good or excellent proceeds from reason and reflection. Even those who only regard truth as such, without communicating their thoughts, or applying them to practice, will seem worthy members of the commonwealth, if we compare the innocence and tranquillity with which they pass their lives, with the fraud and impertinence of other men. But the number of those who, by abstracted thoughts, become useless, is inconsiderable in respect of them who are hurtful to mankind by an active and restless disposition. As in the distribution of other things, so in this the wisdom of Providence appears, that men addicted to intellectual pursuits, bear a small proportion to those who rejoice in exerting the force and activity of their corporeal organs; for operations of the latter sort are limited to a narrow extent of time and place, whereas, those of the mind are permanent and universal. Plato and Euclid enjoy a sort of immortality upon earth, and at this day read lectures to the world. But if to inform the understanding, and re gulate the will, is the most lasting and diffusive benefit, there will not be found so useful and excellent an institution as that of the Christian |