fon to fuggeft them, rather than receive them. By the manner in which you now tell me that you employ your time, I flatter myself, that you have that fund: that is the fund which will make you rich indeed. I do not, therefore, mean to give you a critical effay upon the use and abuse of time; I will only give you fome hints, with regard to the ufe of one particular period of that long time which, I hope, you have before you; I mean the next two years. Remember then, that whatever knowledge you do not folidly lay the foundation of before you are eighteen, you will never be master of while you breathe. Knowledge is a comfortable and neceffary retreat and fhelter for us in an advanced

age; and if we do not plant it while young, it will give us no shade when we grow old. I neither require nor expect from you great application to books, after you are once thrown out into the great world. I know it is impoffible; and it may even, in fome cafes, be improper: this, therefore, is your time, and your only time, for unwearied and uninterrupted application. If you should fometimes think it a little laboriqus, confider, that labour is the unavoidable fatigue of a neceffary journey. The more hours a day you travel, the fooner you will be at your journey's end. The fooner you are qualified for your liberty, the fooner you fhall have it; and your manumiffion will entirely depend upon the manner in which you employ the intermediate time. I think I offer you a very good bargain, when I promise you, upon my word, that, if you will do every thing that I would have you do, till you are eighteen, I will do every thing that you would have me do, ever afterwards.

Lord Chesterfield.

§ 17. On a lazy and trifling Difpofition.

There are two forts of understandings; one of which hinders a man from ever being confiderable, and the other commonly makes him ridiculous; I mean the lazy mind, and the trifling frivolous mind. Yours, I hope, is neither. The lazy mind will not take the trouble of going to the bottom of any thing; but, difcouraged by the first difficulties (and every thing worth knowing or having is attended with fome) ftops fhort, contents itfelf with eafy, and, confequently, fuperficial knowledge, and, prefers a great degree of ignorance, to a fmall degree of trouble. Thefe people either think, or reprefent, moft things as

impoffible; whereas few things are so to industry and activity. But difficulties feem to them impoffibilities, or at least they pretend to think them fo, by way of excufe for their laziness. An hour's attention to the fame object is too laborio us for them; they take every thing in the light in which it at firft prefents itself, never confider it in all its different views; and, in fhort, never think it thorough. The confequence of this is, that when they come to speak upon these fubjects before people who have confidered them with attention, they only difcover their own ignorance and laziness, and lay themselves open to answers that put them in confufion.

Do not then be difcouraged by the first difficulties, but contra audentior ito: and refolve to go to the bottom of all those things, which every gentleman ought to know well. Those arts or sciences, which are peculiar to certain profeffions, need not be deeply known by those who are not intended for thofe profeffions. As, for inftance, fortification and navigation; of both which, a fuperficial and general knowledge, fuch as the common courfe of converfation, with a very little enquiry on your part, will give you, is fuficient. Though, by the way, a little more knowledge of fortification may be of forne ufe to you; as the events of war, in fieges, make many of the terms of that science occur frequently in common converfations; and one would be forry to fay, like the Marquis de Mafcarille, in Moliere's Précieufes Ridicules, when he hears of ane demie Lune: Ma foi, c'étoit bien une Lune toute entiere. But thofe things which every gentleman, independently of profeffion, fhould know, he ought to know well, and dive into all the depths of them. Such are languages, hiftory, and geography, ancient and modern; philofophy, rational logic, rhetoric; and for you particularly, the conftitutions, and the civil and military ftate of every country in Europe. This, I confefs, is a pretty large circle of knowledge, attended with fome difficulties, and requiring fome trouble, which, however, an active and induftrious mind will overcome, and be amply repaid.

The trifling and frivolous mind is always bufied, but to little purpofe; it takes little objects for great ones, and throws away upon trifles that time and attention which only important things deferve. Knickknacks, butterflies, fhells, infects, &c. are the objects of their most serious researches.

They

They contemplate the dress, not the characters, of the company they keep. They attend more to the decorations of a play, than to the fenfe of it; and to the ceremonies of a court, more than to its politics. Such an employment of time is an abfolute lofs of it. Lord Chesterfield's Letters.

§ 18. The bad Effects of Indolence.

No other difpofition, or turn of mind, fo totally unfits a man for all the focial offices of life, as Indolence. An idle man is a mere blank in the creation: he seems made for no end, and lives to no purpose. He cannot engage himself in any employment or profeffion, because he will never have diligence enough to follow it: he can fucceed in no undertaking, for he will never pursue it; he must be a bad husband, father, and relation, for he will not take the least pains to preserve his wife, children, and family, from starving; and he must be a worthless friend, for he would not draw his hand from his bofom, though to prevent the deftruction of the univerfe. If he is born poor, he will remain fo all his life, which he will probably end in a ditch, or at the gallows if he embarks in trade, he will be a bankrupt; and if he is a perfon of fortune, his stewards will acquire immenfe eftates, and he hunfelf perhaps will die in the Fleet.

It should be confidered, that nature did not bring us into the world in a state of perfection, but has left us in a capacity of improvement; which should feem to intimate, that we should labour to render our, felves excellent. Very few are fuch abfolute idiots, as not to be able to become at least decent, if not eminent, in their several stations, by unwearied and keen application: nor are there any poffeffed of fuch tranfcendent genius and abilities, as to render all pains and diligence unneceffary. Perfeverance will overcome difficulties, which at first appear infuperable; and it is amazing to confider, how great and numerous obftacles may be removed by a continual attention to any particular point. I will not mention here, the trite example of Demofthenes, who got over the greatest natural impediments to oratory, but content myself with a more modern and familiar inftance. Being at Sadler's Wells a few nights ago, I could not but admire the furprifing feats of activity there exhibited; and at the fame time reflected, what incredible pains and labour it must

have coft the performers to arrive at the art of writhing their bodies into fuch various and unnatural contortions. But I was most taken with the ingenious artist, who, after fixing two bells to each foot, the fame number to each hand, and with great propriety placing a cap and bells on his head, played feveral tunes, and went through as regular triple peals and bobmajors, as the boys of Chrift-church Hofpital; all which he effected by the due jerking of his arms and legs, and nodding his head backward and forward. If this artist had taken equal pains to employ his head in another way, he might perhaps have been as deep a proficient in numbers as Jedediah Buxton, or at least a tolerable modern rhymer, of which he is now no bad emblem and if our fine ladies would use equal diligence, they might fashion their minds as fuccefsfully, as Madam Catharina diftorts her body.

There is not in the world a more useless, idle animal, than he who contents himself with being merely a gentleman. He has an eftate, therefore he will not endeavour to acquire knowledge: he is not to labour in any vocation, therefore he will do nothing. But the misfortune is, that there is no fuch thing in nature as a negative virtue, and that abfolute idleness is impracticable. He, who does no good, will certainly do mifchief; and the mind, if it is not ftored with useful knowledge, will neceffarily become a magazine of nonfenfe and trifles. Wherefore a gentleman, though he is not obliged to rife to open his shop, or work at his trade, fhould always find fome ways of employing his time to advantage. If he makes no advances in wisdom, he will become more and more a flave to folly; and he that does nothing, because he has nothing to do, will become vicious and abandoned, or, at best, ridiculous and contemptible.

I do not know a more melancholy ob ject, than a man of an honeft heart, and fine natural abilities, whofe good qualities are thus deftroyed by indolence. Such a perfon is a conftant plague to all his friends and acquaintance, with all the means in his power of adding to their happiness; and fuffers himself to take rank among the loweft characters, when he might render himself confpicuous among the higheft. Nobody is more univerfally beloved and more univerfally avoided, than my friend Careless. He is an humane man, who never did a beneficent action; and a man

of

of unfhaken integrity, on whom it is impoffible to depend. With the best head, and the best heart, he regulates his conduct in the most abfurd manner, and frequently injures his friends; for whoever neglects to do justice to himself, muft inevitably wrong thofe with whom he is connected; and it is by no means a true maxim, that an idle man hurts nobody but himself.

Virtue then is not to be confidered in the light of mere innocence, or abstaining from harm; but as the exertion of our faculties in doing good: as Titus, when he had let a day flip undistinguished by fome act of virtue, cried out, I have loft a day. If we regard our time in this light, how many days fhall we look back upon as irretrievably loft! and to how narrow a compass would fuch a method of calculation frequently reduce the longest life! If we were to number our days, according as we have applied them to virtue, it would occafion ftrange revolutions in the manner of reckoning the ages of men. We fhould fee fome few arrived to a good old age in the prime of their youth, and meet with feveral young fellows of fourscore,

Agreeable to this way of thinking, I remember to have met with the epitaph of an aged man four years old; dating his existence from the time of his reformation from evil courfes. The infcriptions on moft tomb-stones commemorate no acts of virtue performed by the perfons who lie under them, but only record, that they were born one day, and died another. But I would fain have those people, whose lives have been ufelefs, rendered of fome fervice after their deaths, by affording leffons of inftruction and morality to those they leave behind them. Wherefore I could wifh, that, in every parish, several acres were marked out for a new and fpacious burying-ground: in which every perfon, whofe remains are there depofited, "should have a small stone laid over them, reckoning their age, according to the manner in which they have improved or abufed the time allotted them in their lives. In fuch circumstances, the plate on a coffin might be the highest panegyric which the deceafed could receive; and a little fquare ftone infcribed with Ob. Ann. Eta. 80, would be a nobler eulogium, than all the lapidary adulation of modern epitaphs. Connoilleur.

$ 19. The innocent Pleafures of Childhood.

As it is ufual with me to draw a fecret unenvied pleasure from a thousand incidents overlooked by other men, I threw myself into a fhort tranfport, forgetting my age, and fancying myself a school-boy.

This imagination was ftrongly favoured by the prefence of fo many young boys, in whofe looks were legible the fprightly paffions of that age, which raised in me a fort of sympathy. Warm blood thrilled through every vein; the faded memory of thofe enjoyments that once gave me pleasure, put on more lively colours, and a thousand gay amusements filled my mind.

The

It was not without regret, that I was forfaken by this waking dream. cheapness of puerile delights, the guiltless joy they leave upon the mind, the blooming hopes that lift up the foul in the afcent of life, the pleasure that attends the gradual opening of the imagination, and the dawn of reafon, made me think most men found that stage the most agreeable part of their journey.

When men come to riper years, the innocent diverfions which exalted the spirits, and produced health of body, indolence of mind, and refreshing flumbers, are too of ten exchanged for criminal delights, which fill the foul with anguifh, and the body with difeafe. The grateful employment of admiring and raising themselves to an imitation of the polite ftile, beautiful images, and noble fentiments of ancient authors, is abandoned for law-latin, the lucubrations of our paltry news-mongers, and that fwarm of vile pamphlets which corrupt our tafte, and infeft the public. The ideas of virtue which the characters of heroes had imprinted on their minds, infenfibly wear out, and they come to be influenced by the nearer examples of a degenerate age.

In the morning of life, when the foul firft makes her entrance into the world, all things look fresh and gay; their novelty furprises, and every little glitter or gaudy colour tranfports the stranger. But by degrees the fenfe grows callous, and we lofe that exquifite relifh of trifles, by the time our minds fhould be fuppofed ripe for rational entertainments. I cannot make this reflection without being touched with a commiferation of that fpecies called beaus, the happiness of thofe men neceffarily ter

minating

minating with their childhood, who, from a want of knowing other purfuits, continue a fondnefs for the delights of that age, after the relish of them is decayed. Providence hath with a bountiful hand prepared a variety of pleafures for the various ftages of life. It behoves us not to be wanting to ourselves in forwarding the intention of nature, by the culture of our minds, and a due preparation of each faculty for the enjoyment of thofe objects it is capable of being affected with.

As our parts open and difplay by gentle degrees, we rife from the gratifications of fenfe, to relish thofe of the mind. In the fcale of pleasure, the loweft are fenfual delights, which are fucceeded by the more enlarged views and gay portraitures of a lively imagination; and thefe give way to the fublimer pleafures of reason, which discover the caufes and defigns, the frame, connection, and fymmetry of things, and fill the mind with the contemplation of intellectual beauty, order, and truth.

Hence I regard our public fchools and univerfities, not only as nurseries of men for the service of the church and ftate, but also as places defigned to teach mankind the most refined luxury, to raife the mind to its due perfection, and give it a tafte for those entertainments which afford the highest tranfport, without the groffness or remorfe that attend vulgar enjoyments.

In thofe bleffed retreats men enjoy the fweets of folitude, and yet converfe with the greatest genii that have appeared in every age; wander through the delightful mazes of every art and fcience, and as they gradually enlarge their sphere of knowledge, at once rejoice in their prefent poffeffions, and are animated by the boundless profpect of future difcoveries. There, a generous emulation, a noble thirst of fame, a love of truth and honourable regards, reign in minds as yet untainted from the world. There, the ftock, of learning tranfmitted down from the ancients, is preferved, and receives a daily increase; and it is thence propagated by men, who having finished their ftudies, go into the world, and fpread that general knowledge and good tatte throughout the land, which is fo diftant from the barbarifm of its ancient inhabitants, or the fierce genius of its invaders. And as it is evident that our literature is owing to the schools and univerfities; fo it cannot be

denied, that these are owing to our religion.

It was chiefly, if not altogether, upon religious confiderations that princes, as well as private persons, have erected colleges, and affigned liberal endowments to ftudents and profeffors. Upon the fame account they meet with encouragement and protection from all christian states, as being efteemed a neceffary means to have the facred oracles and primitive traditions of christianity preferved and understood. Anď it is well known, that after a long night of ignorance and fuperftition, the reformation of the church and that of learning began together, and made proportionable advances, the latter having been the effect of the former, which of course engaged men in the ftudy of the learned languages and of antiquity. Guardian.

§ 20. On Chearfulness.

I have always preferred chearfulness to mirth. The latter I confider as an act, the former as a habit of the mind. Mirth is fhort and tranfient, chearfulness fixed and permanent. Thofe are often raised into the greateft tranfports of mirth, who are fubject to the greatest depressions of melancholy on the contrary, chearfulness, though it does not give the mind such an exquifite gladnefs, prevents us from falling into any depths of forrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning, that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a mo ment; chearfulness keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual ferenity.

Men of auftere principles look upon mirth as too wanton and diffolute for a ftate of probation, and as filled with a certain triumph and infolence of heart that is inconfiftent with a life which is every moment obnoxious to the greateft dangers. Writers of this complexion have obferved, that the facred Person who was the great pattern of perfection, was never seen to laugh.

Chearfulness of mind is not liable to any of thefe exceptions; it is of a ferious and compofed nature; it does not throw the mind into a condition improper for the prefent ftate of humanity, and is very confpicuous in the characters of those who are looked upon as the greatest philofophers among the heathens, as well as among thofe who have been defervedly esteemed as faints and holy men among Christians.

If we confider chearfulness in three lights, with regard to ourselves, to thofe we converfe with, and to the great Author of our being, it will not a little recommend itself on each of these accounts. The man who is poffeffed of this excellent frame of mind, is not only eafy in his thoughts, but a perfect mafter of all the powers and faculties of the foul: his imagination is always clear, and his judgment' undisturbed; his temper is even and unruffled, whether in action or folitude. He comes with a relish to all thofe goods which nature has provided for him, taftes all the pleasures of the creation which are poured about him, and does not feel the full weight of those accidental evils which may befal him.

If we confider him in relation to the perfons whom he converfes with, it naturally produces love and good-will towards him. A chearful mind is not only difpofed to be affable and obliging, but raises the fame good-humour in those who come within its influence. A man finds himself pleased, he does not know why, with the chearfulness of his companion: it is like a fudden sunshine, that awakens a fecret delight in the mind, without her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its own accord, and naturally flows out into friendship and benevolence towards the perfon who has fo kindly an effect upon it.

When I confider this chearful state of mind in its third relation, I cannot but look upon it as a conftant habitual gratitude to the great Author of nature. An inward chearfulness is an implicit praife and thankfgiving to Providence under all its difpenfations. It is a kind of acquiefcence in the state wherein we are placed, and a fecret approbation of the divine will in his conduct towards man.

There are but two things, which, in my opinion, can reasonably deprive us of this chearfulness of heart. The firft of these is the fenfe of guilt. A man who lives in a state of vice and impenitence, can have no title to that evenness and tranquillity of mind which is the health of the foul, and the natural effect of virtue and innocence. Chearfulness in an ill man deferves a harder name than language can furnish us with, and is many degrees beyond what we commonly call folly or madness.

Atheism, by which I mean a difbelief of a Supreme Being, and confequently of a future ftate, under whatsoever title it fhelters itself, may likewife very reasonably deprive a man of this chearfulness of tem

per.

There is fomething fo particularly gloomy and offenfive to human nature in the profpect of non-existence, that I cannot but wonder, with many excellent writers, how it is poffible for a man to outlive the expectation of it. For my own part, I think the being of a God is fo little to be doubted, that it is almost the only truth we are fure of, and such a truth as we meet with in every object, in every occurrence, and in every thought. If we look into the characters of this tribe of infidels, we generally find they are made up of pride, fpleen, and cavil: it is indeed no wonder, that men, who are uneasy to themselves, fhould be fo to the rest of the world; and how is it poffible for a man to be otherwife than uneafy in himself, who is in danger every moment of lofing his entire cxiftence, and dropping into nothing?

The vicious man and Atheist have therefore no pretence to chearfulness, and would act very unreasonably, fhould they endeavour after it. It is impoffible for any one to live in good-humour, and enjoy his prefent existence, who is apprehenfive either of torment or of annihilation; of being miferable, or of not being at all.

After having mentioned these two great principles, which are deftructive of chearfulness in their own nature, as well as in right reafon, I cannot think of any other that ought to banish this happy temper from a virtuous mind. Pain and fickness, fhame and reproach, poverty and old-age, nay death itself, confidering the fhortnefs of their duration, and the advantage we may reap from them, do not deferve the name of evils. A good inind may bear up under them with fortitude, with indolence, and with chearfulness of heart. The toffing of a tempeft does not difcompofe him, which he is fure will bring him to a joyful harbour.

A man, who ufes his beft endeavours to live according to the dictates of virtue and right reafon, has two perpetual fources of chearfulness, in the confideration of his own nature, and of that Being on whom he has a dependence. If he looks into himself, he cannot but rejoice in that exiftence, which is fo lately beftowed upon. him, and which, after millions of ages, will be ftill new, and ftill in its beginning. How many felf-congratulations naturally arife in the mind, when it reflects on this its entrance into eternity, when it takes a view of thofe improveable faculties, which