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will consider that he has begun another day of life, to breathe with all other creatures in the same mass of air, vapours and clouds, which surround our globe; and of all the numberless animals that live by receiving momentary life, or rather momentary and new reprieves from death, at their nostrils, he only stands erect, conscious and contemplative of the benefaction.
A man who is not capable of philosophical reflections from his own education, will be as much pleased as with any other good news which he has not before heard. The agitations of the wind, and the falling of the rains, are what are absolutely necessary for his welfare and accommodation. This kind of reader will behold the light with a new joy, and a sort of reasonable rapture. He will be led from the appendages which attend and surround our globe, to the contemplation of the globe itself, the distribution of the earth and waters, the variety and quantity of all things provided for the uses of our world. Then will his contemplation, which was too diffused and general, be let down to particulars, to different soils and moulds, to the beds of minerals and stones, into caverns and volcanos, and then again to the tops of mountains, and then again to the fields and valleys.
When the author has acquainted his reader with the place of his abode; he informs him of his capacity to make him easy and happy in it by the gift of senses, by their ready organs, by shewing him the structure of those organs, the disposition of the ear for the receipt of sounds, of the nostril for smell, the tongue for taste, the nerves to avoid harms by our feeling, and the eye by our sight.
The whole work is concluded (as it is the sum of fifteen sermons in proof of the existence of the
Deity) with reflections which apply each distinct part of it to an end, for which the author may hope to be rewarded with an immortality much more to be desired, than that of remaining in eternal honour among all the sons of men.
THREE LETTERS, BY MR. JOHN HUGHES;
DESIGNED FOR THE GUARDIAN.
THERE are few men but are capable at some time or other, of making a right judgment of themselves; therefore having, as I think, caught myself in one of these wise fits, I am resolved to make use of it while it lasts, and lay my case before you. I was bred a mercer. I need not tell you that most of our profession are orators. I have, with some pains, attained to a great volubility of tongue, and am a perfect master in the art of shop rhetoric, which, with the help of a fair wig, a plausible bow, a gentle inclination of the head in proper parts of my discourse, and an easy motion of the hand, sets off all that I utter, and has helped me to thrive in the world very comfortably. By this means, Mr. Ironside, as I owe my prosperity to noise, I am grown an utter enemy to silence, and when I go among my plain honest neighbours, who
are not of any of the talking professions, I cannot help assuming a superiority over them, which, I find, has been a little resented. I have often resolved to confine my oratory to the verge of my shop, and to employ it only in setting off my silks and brocades, but long habits are not easily overcome, and the musical sound of my own voice has tempted me, as often, to break that resolution. Many of my acquaintance, I know, would take it kindly if I talked less, and if you would put me in a way to do it, I should be very glad to oblige them. You must know, that I am sometimes chairman of a club, where some of them complain that they have not their share of the discourse, and others (in raillery, I suppose) call me the fine speaker.' I have offered to pay double for my club, but that will not satisfy them. Besides, Mr. Guardian, I have heard that you moralists say, it is difficult for a man to talk much without offending against truth, innocence, or good manners; and how do I know, now I am serious, whether this unhappy talent may not, at some time or other, have misled me into falsehood, uncharitableness, or scandal? It is possible that the superfluity of my discourse may have fallen upon the reputation of some honest man, and have done him an irreparable injury. I may, in the torrent of my loquacity, have lessened real merit, or magnified little failings, beyond the allowance of charity, or humanity. I may have raised an unjust jealousy by a flower of speech, practised upon credulity by a smooth sentence, and, in the heat of an argument, I may have called a man knave by a shake of the head and shrug of the shoulders. To be plain, I have searched my heart, and find there is a great deal of vanity at the bottom of it. Therefore, Mr. Guardian, now I am in a proper disposition,
if you will be pleased to give me a lecture on this subject, and be so kind as to convince me that I am a coxcomb, you will do a very particular service to, Sir,
Your very humble servant.'.
TO NESTOR IRONSIDE, ESQ.,
Or, in his absence, to the Keeper of the Lion, at Button's coffee-house, Covent-garden.
If your lion had not less breeding than a bear, he would not have opened his throat against so genteel a diversion as masquerading, which has ever been looked upon, in all polite countries, as tending to no other end than to promote a better understanding between the sexes. But I shall take another opportunity, Mr. Ironside, to talk with you upon this subject. My present business is with the Lion; and since this savage has behaved himself so rudely, I do by these presents challenge him to meet me at the next masquerade, and desire you will give orders to Mr. Button to bring him thither, in all his terrors, where, in defence of the innocence of these midnight amusements, I intend to appear against him, in the habit of signior Nicolini, to try the merits of this cause by single combat. I am yours,
PR'YTHEE, stop your lion's mouth a kittle on the chapter of masquerading. I have pursued a dear creature several of these gay nights
through three or four as odd changes as any in Ovid's Metamorphoses, and she has promised, at the next, in the habit of a gypsy, to tell me finally my fortune. Be dumb till then, and afterwards say what you please.
Your humble servant,
END OF VOLUME EIGHTEEN.
.J. M'CREERY, Printer,