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our young gentry, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to utter waste, without the least tendency to usefulness.

When I meet with persons of such a worthless character as this, it brings to my mind some scraps of Horace,

Nos numerus sumus, et fruges consumere nati.
-Alcinoique Juventus
Cui pulchrum fuit in Medios dormire dies, &c.
PARAPHRASE.

There are a number of us creep
Into this world, to eat and sleep;
And know no reason why they're born
But merely to consume the corn,
Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish,
And leave behind an empty dish:
Tho' crows and ravens do the same,
Unlucky birds of hateful name;
Ravens or crows might fill their places,
And swallow corn and carcasses.
Then, if their tomb-stone when they die,
Ben't taught to flatter and to lie,
There's nothing better will be said,
Than that the've eat up all their bread,
Drank up all their drink and gone to bed.
There are other fragments of that heathen
poet, which occur on such occasions; one in
the first of his satires, the other in the last of
his epistles, which seem to represent life only
as a season of luxury.

-Exacto contentus tempore vitæ
Cedat uti conviva satur-

Lusisti satus, edisti satis atque bibisti ;
Tempus abire tibi.

Which may be thus put into English.

Life's but a feast; and when we die
Horace would say, if he were by,
Friend, thou hast eat and drank enough,
"Tis time now to be marching off:
Then like a well-fed guest depart,
With cheerful looks, and ease at heart,
Bid all your friends good night, and say,
You've done the business of the day.

DIALOGUE I.

Between Philocles and Horatio meeting accidentally in the fields, concerning Virtue and Pleasure. From the Pennsylvania Gazette, No. 84, June 23, 1730.

Philocles. My friend Horatio! I am very glad to see you; prithee how came such a man as you alone? and musing too? What misfortune in your pleasures has sent you to philosophy for relief.

I have oft observed in you an honest heart, and a mind strongly bent towards virtue. I wish, from my soul, I could assist you in acting steadily the part of a reasonable creature: for, if you would not think it a paradox, I should tell you I love you better than you do yourself.

Hor. A paradox indeed! better than I do myself! when I love my dear self so well, that I love every thing else for my own sake. Phil. He only loves himself well, who rightly and judiciously loves himself.

Hor. What do you mean by that, Philocles? You men of reason and virtue are always dealing in mysteries, though you laugh at them when the church makes them. I think he loves himself very well and very judiciously too; as you call it, who allows himself to do whatever he pleases.

Phil. What, though it be to the ruin and destruction of that very self which he loves so well! That man alone loves himself rightly, who procures the greatest possible good to himself through the whole of his existence; and so pursues pleasure as not to give for it more than it is worth.

Hor. That depends all upon opinion. Who shall judge what the pleasure is worth? Suppose a pleasing form of the fair kind strikes me so much, that I can enjoy nothing without the enjoyment of that one object. Or, that pleasure in general is so favourite a mistress, that I will take her as men do their wives, for better, for worse; minding no consequences, nor regarding what is to come. Why should I not do it?

Phil. Suppose, Horatio! that a friend of yours entered into the world, about two and twenty, with a healthful vigorous body, and a fair plentiful estate of about five hundred pounds a year; and yet, before he had reached thirty, should, by following his pleasures, and not, as you say, duly regarding consequences, have run out of his estate, and disabled his body to that degree, that he had neither the means nor capacity of enjoyment left; nor any thing else to do but wisely shoot himself through the head to be at rest: what would you say to this unfortunate man's conHoratio. You guess very right, my dear duct? Is it wrong by opinion or fancy only? Philocles: we pleasure-hunters are never Or is there really a right and wrong in the without them; and yet, so enchanting is the case? Is not one opinion of life and action game, we cannot quit the chace. How calm juster than another? Or one sort of conduct and undisturbed is your life, how from preferable to another? Or, does that miserapresent embarrassments and future cares; Ible son of pleasure appear as reasonable and know you love me, and look with compassion upon my conduct: show me then the path which leads up to that constant and invariable good, which I have heard you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully to

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lovely a being in your eyes, as a man, who by prudently and rightly gratifying his natural passions, had preserved his body in full health and his estate entire, and enjoyed both to a good old age, and then died with a thankfu! heart for the good things he had received, and with an entire submission to the will of Him who first called him into being. Say, Horatio! are these men equally wise and happy?

emal

And is every thing to be measured by mere, in truth, the kindest and most beautiful mistress
fancy and opinion, without considering whe-in the world.
ther that fancy or opinion be right?

Hor. Hardly so neither, I think; yet sure the wise and good Author of nature could never make us to plague us. He could never give us passions, on purpose to subdue and conquer them; nor produce this self of mine, or any other self, only that it may be denied; for, that is denying the works of the great Creator himself. Self-denial then, which is what I suppose you mean by prudence, seems to me not only absurd, but very dishonourable to that supreme wisdom and goodness which is supposed to make so ridiculous and contradictory a creature, that must be always fighting with himself in order to be at rest, and undergo voluntary hardships in order to be happy are we created sick, only to be commanded to be sound? Are we born under one law, our passions, and yet bound to another, that of reason? Answer me, Philocles, for I am warmly concerned for the honour of nature, the mother of us all.

Hor. Prithee, Philocles, do not wrap your self in allegory and metaphor: why do you teaze me thus? I long to be satisfied, what is this philosophical self-denial; the necessity and reason of it; I am impatient, and all on fire; explain, therefore, in your beautiful natural easy way of reasoning, what I am to understand by this grave lady of yours, with so forbidding downcast looks, and yet, so absolutely necessary to my pleasures, I stand ready to embrace her; for you know, pleasure I court under all shapes and forms.

Phil. Attend then, and you will see the reason of this philosophical self-denial. There can be no absolute perfection in any creature; because every creature is derived from some thing of a superior existence, and dependant on that source for its own existence: no created being can be all-wise, all-good, and allpowerful, because his powers and capacities are finite and limited: consequently whatever is created must, in its own nature, be subject to error, irregularity, excess, and imperfectness. All intelligent rational agents find in themselves a power of judging what kind of beings they are: what actions are proper to preserve them; and what consequences will generally attend them; what pleasures they are formed for, and to what degree their natures are capable of receiving them. All we have to do then, Horatio, is to consider, when we are surprised with a new object, and passionately desire to enjoy it, whether the gratifying that passion be consistent with the gratifying other passion and appetites equal, if not more necessary to us. And whether it consists with our happiness to-morrow, Hor. That is very true, at least it appears next week, or next year; for, as we all wish so to me; pray what have you to say, Philo- to live, we are obliged, by reason, to take as cles, in honour of nature or Providence; me- much care for our future, as our present hapthinks, I am in pain for her; How do you res-piness, and not build one upon the ruins of cue her! poor lady!

Phil. I find, Horatio, my two characters have frighted you; so that you decline the trial of what is good, by reason: and had rather make a bold attack upon Providence; the usual way of you gentlemen of fashion, who, when, by living in defiance of the eternal rules of reason, you have plunged yourselves into a thousand difficulties, endeavour to make yourselves easy, by throwing the burden upon nature; you are, Horatio, in a very miserable condition indeed; for you say, you cannot be happy if you control your passions; and you feel yourself miserable by an unrestrained gratification of them; so that here is evil, irremediable evil either way.

Phil. This, my dear Horatio, I have to say that what you find fault with and clamour against, as the most terrible evil in the world, self-denial, is really the greatest good, and the highest self-gratification. If indeed you use the word in the sense of some weak sour moralists, and much weaker divines; you will have just reason to laugh at it; but, if you take it, as understood by philosophers, and men of sense, you will presently see hel charms, and fly to her embraces, notwithstanding her demure looks, as absolutely necessary to produce even your own darling sole good, pleasure; for, self denial is never a duty, or a reasonable action, but as it is a natural means of procuring more pleasure than you can taste without it, so that this grave saint-like guide to happiness, as rough and dreadful as she has been made to appear, is

the other but, if through the strength and power of a present passion, and through want of attending to consequences, we have erred and exceeded the bounds which nature or reason have set us; we are then, for our own sakes, to refrain, or deny ourselves a present momentary pleasure, for a future, constant, and durable one; so that this philosophical self-denial is only refusing to do an action,

you strongly desire; because it is in

with your health, convenierice, or circumstances in the world; or, in other words, because it would cost you more than it was worth. You would lose by it, as a man of pleasure. Thus you see, Horatio, that self-denial is not only the most reasonable, but the most pleasant thing in the world.

Hor. We are just coming into town, so that we cannot pursue this argument any farther at present; you have said a great deal for na

ture, Providence and reason: happy are they who can follow such divine guides.

Phil. Horatio, good night: I wish you wise in your pleasures.

Hor. I wish, Philocles, I could be as wise in my pleasures, as you are pleasantly wise; your wisdom is agreeable; your virtue is amiable; and your philosophy the highest luxury. Adieu! thou enchanting reasoner.

DIALOGUE II.

Between Philocles and Horatio, concerning Virtue and Pleasure.-From the Pennsylvania Gazette, No. 86, July 9, 1730.

Philocles.-Dear Horatio, where hast thou been these three or four months? What new adventures have you fallen upon since I met you in these delightful all-inspiring fields, and wondered how such a pleasure-hunter as you could bear being alone?

Horatio. O Philocles! thou best of friends, because a friend to reason and virtue! I am very glad to see you: do not you remember, I told you then, that some misfortunes in my pleasures had sent me to philosophy for relief; but now I do assure you, I can, without a sigh, leave other pleasures for those of philosophy: I can hear the word reason mentioned, and virtue praised, without laughing. Do not I bid fair for conversion, think you?

Phil. Very fair, Horatio; for I remember the time when reason, virtue, and pleasure were the same thing with you when you counted nothing good but what pleased; nor any thing reasonable but what you gained by: when you made a jest of a mind, and the pleasures of reflection; and elegantly placed your sole happiness, like the rest of the animal creation, in the gratification of sense.

Hor. I did so; but in our last conversation, when walking upon the brow of this hill, and looking down on that broad rapid river, and yon widely extended, beautifully varied plain, you taught me another doctrine: you showed me, that self-denial, which above all things I abhorred, was really the greatest good, and the highest self-gratification, and absolutely necessary to produce even my own darling sole good, pleasure.

Phil. True: I told you, that self-denial was never a duty, but when it was a natural means of procuring more pleasure, than we could taste without it: that as we all strongly desire to live, and to live only to enjoy, we should take as much care about our future as our present happiness; and not build one upon the ruins of the other: that we should look to the end, and regard consequences: and if, through want of attention, we had erred, and exceeded the bounds which nature had set us, we were then obliged, for our own sakes, to refrain, or deny ourselves a present momentary pleasure, for a future, constant, and durable good.

Hor. You have shown, Philocles, that selfdenial, which weak or interested men have rendered the most forbidding, is really the most delightful and amiable, the most reasonable and pleasant thing in the world. In a word, if I understand you aright, self-denial is, in truth, self-recognizing, self-acknowledg ing, or self-owning. But now, my friend, you are to perform another promise; and, show me the path which leads up to that constant, durable, and invariable good, which I have heard you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully to possess. Is not this good of yours a mere chimera? Can any thing be constant in a world which is eternally changing! and which appears to exist by an everlasting revolution of one thing into another, and where every thing without us, and every thing within us, is in perpetual motion. What is this constant durable good, then, of yours? Prithee satisfy my soul, for I am all on fire, and impatient to enjoy her. Produce this eternal blooming goddess, with never fading charms; and see, whether I will not embrace her with as much eagerness and rapture as you.

Phil. You seem enthusiastically warm, Ho ratio; I will wait till you are cool enough to attend to the sober dispassionate voice of rea

son.

Hor. You mistake me, my dear Philocles, my warmth is not so great as to run away with my reason: it is only just raised enough to open my faculties, and fit them to receive those eternal truths, and that durable_good which you so triumphantly boast of. Begin then, I am prepared.

Phil. I will, I believe; Horatio, with all your scepticism about you, you will allow that good to be constant which is never absent from you, and that to be durable, which never ends but with your being.

Hor. Yes, go on.

Phil. That can never be the good of a creature, which when present, the creature may be miserable, and when absent, is certainly so.

Hor. I think not; but pray explain what you mean: for I am not much used to this abstract way of reasoning.

Phil. I mean, all the pleasures of sense. The good of man cannot consist in the mere pleasures of sense; because, when any one of those objects which you love is absent, or cannot be come at, you are certainly miserable: and if the faculty be impaired, though the object be present, you cannot enjoy it. So that this sensual good depends upon a thousand things without and within you, and all out of your power. Can this then be the good of man? Say, Horatio, what think you, is not this a chequered, fleeting, fantastical good? Can that, in any propriety of speech, be called the good of man, which even, while he is

tasting, he may be miserable; and which, consists in acting up to their chief faculty, or when he cannot taste, he is necessarily so? that faculty which distinguishes them from all Can that be our good, which costs us a great creatures of a different species. The chief deal of pains to obtain; which cloys in pos- faculty in man is his reason; and consequentsessing; for which we must wait the return ly, his chief good; or, that which may be justly of appetite, before we can enjoy again? Or, called his good consists not merely in action, is that our good which we can come at without but in reasonable action. By reasonable acdifficulty; which is heightened by possession; tions, we understand those actions, which are which never ends in weariness and disappoint-preservative of the human kind, and naturally ment; and which, the more we enjoy, the better qualified we are to enjoy on?

Hor. The latter, I think; but why do you torment me thus? Philocles, show me this good immediately.

tend to produce real and unmixed happiness; and these actions, by way of distinction, we call actions morally good.

Hor. You speak very clearly, Philocles; but, that no difficulty may remain upon your mind, pray tell me, what is the real difference between natural good and evil, and moral good and evil; for I know several people who use the terms without ideas.

Phil. That may be: the difference lies only

Hor. But may not a man, with a very good intention, do an evil action?

Phil. I have showed you what it is not; it is not sensual, but it is rational and moral good. It is doing all the good we can to others, by acts of humanity, friendship, generosity, and benevolence: this is that constant and durable good, which will afford content-in this, that natural good and evil, are pleasure ment and satisfaction always alike, without and pain: moral good and evil, are pleasure variation or diminution. I speak to your ex- or pain produced with intention and design. perience now, Horatio. Did you ever find For, it is the intention only that makes the yourself weary of relieving the miserable? agent morally good or bad. Or of raising the distressed into life or happiness? Or rather, do not you find the pleasure grow upon you by repetition; and that it is greater in reflection that in the act itself? Is there a pleasure upon earth to be compared with that which arises from the sense of making others happy? Can this pleasure ever be absent, or ever end but with your being? Does it not always accompany you? Doth not it lie down and rise with you, live as long as you live, give you consolation in the article of death, and remain with you in that gloomy hour, when all other things are going to forsake you, or you them?

Hor. How glowingly you paint, Philocles; methinks Horatio is amongst the enthusiasts. I feel the passion: I am enchantingly convinced; but I do not know why: overborn by something stronger than reason. Sure, some divinity speaks within me; but prithee, Philocles, give me coolly the cause, why this rational and moral good so infinitely excels the mere natural or sensual.

Phil. Yes; but then he errs in his judgment, though his design be good: if his error is invincible, or such as, all things considered, he could not help, he is inculpable; but, if it arose through want of diligence in forming his judgment about the nature of human actions, he is immoral and culpable.

Hor. I find, then, that in order to please ourselves rightly, or to do good to others morally, we should take great care of our opinions.

Phil. Nothing concerns you more; for, as the happiness or real good of men consists in right action; and right action cannot be produced without right opinion; it behoves us, above all things in this world, to take care that our own opinions of things be according to the nature of things. The foundation of all virtue and happiness is thinking rightly. He who sees an action is right, that is, naturally tending to good, and does it because of that tendency, he only is a moral man; and he alone is capable of that constant, durable, and invariable good, which has been the subject of this conversation.

Phil. I think, Horatio, that I have clearly shown you the difference between merely natural or sensual good, and rational or moral good. Natural or sensual pleasure continues no longer than the action itself; but this di- Hor. How, my dear philosophical guide, vine or moral pleasure continues when the ac-shall be able to know, and determine certainly, tion is over, and swells and grows upon your what is right and wrong in life? hand by reflection: the one is inconstant, unsatisfying, of short duration, and attended with numberless ills; the other is constant, yields full satisfaction, is durable, and no evils preceding, accompanying, or following it. But if you inquire farther into the cause of this difference, and would know why the moral pleasures are greater than the sensual; perhaps the reason is the same, as in all other creatures, that their happiness or chief good

Phil. As easily as you distinguish a circle from a square, or light from darkness. Look, Horatio, into the sacred book of nature; read your own nature, and view the relation which other men stand in to you, and you to them, and you will immediately see what constitutes human happiness, and consequently, what is right.

Hor. We are just coming into town, and can say no more at present. You are my good

I genius, Philocles, you have showed me what | by bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens is good; you have redeemed me from the life. "Sloth, like rust, consumes faster than slavery and misery of folly and vice; and made me a free and happy being.

Phil. Then am I the happiest man in the world; be you steady, Horatio, never depart from reason and virtue.

Hor. Sooner will I lose my existence. Good night, Philocles.

to

Phil. Adieu, dear Horatio.

POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC.

labour wears, while the used key is always bright," as poor Richard says. "But dost thou love life, then do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of," as poor Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep! forgetting, that "the sleeping fox catches no poultry, and that there will be sleeping enough in the grave," as poor Richard says.

"If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be," as poor Richard says,

where tells us, "lost time is never found again; and what we call time enough always proves little enough :" let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diliSloth makes all things difficult, but indus gence shall we do more with less perplexity. all day, and shall scarce overtake his business try all easy; and he that riseth late, must trot at night; while laziness travels so slowly, business, let not that drive thee; and early that poverty soon overtakes him. Drive thy to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise," as poor Richard

The Way to Wealth, as clearly shown in the" the greatest prodigality;" since, as he elsePreface of an old Pennsylvania Almanac, intitled, Poor Richard Improved.* COURTEOUS READER,—I have heard, that nothing gives an author so great pleasure, as find his works respectfully quoted by others. Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately, where a great number of people were collected, at an auction of merchant's goods. The hour of the sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of the times; and one of the company called to a plain clean old man, with white locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Will not these heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able to pay them? What would you advise us to do?"-Father Abraham stood up, and replied, "If you would have my advice, I will give it to you in short, for a word to the wise is enough," as Poor Richard says.' They joined in desiring him to speak his mind, and gathering round him, he proceeded as follows:

Friends,' says he, the taxes are, indeed, very heavy, and, if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly; and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us, by allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, and something may be done for us; "God helps them that help themselves," as poor Richard says.

1. It would be thought a hard government that should tax its people one tenth part of their time, to be employed in its service: but idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth,

* Dr. Franklin for many years published the Pennsylvania Almanac, called Poor Richard [Saunders,] and furnished it with various sentences and proverbs, which had principle relation to the topics of "industry, attention to one's own business, and frugality." These sentences and proverbs he collected and digested in the above preface, which were read with much avidity, and perhaps tended more to the formation of national character in America, than any other cause.

says.

I

a

If we are

better times? We may make these times bet-
So what signifies, wishing and hoping for
ter, if we bestir ourselves.
not wish, and he that lives upon hope will die
"Industry need
fasting. There are no gains without pains;
have, they are smartly taxed.
then help hands, for I have no lands," or, if
hath a trade, hath an estate; and, he that hath
"He, that
calling, hath an office of profit and honour,"
as poor Richard says; but then the trade
lowed, or neither the estate nor the office
must be worked at, and the calling well fol-
will enable us to pay our taxes.
industrious, we shall never starve; for, "at
the working man's house, hunger looks in,
but dares not enter." Nor will the bailiff
or the constable enter, for "industry pays
debts, while despair increaseth them.".
What though you have found no treasure, nor
has any rich relation left you a legacy, "di-
gives all things to industry. Then plow deep,
ligence is the mother of good luck, and God
while sluggards sleep, and you shall have
corn to sell and to keep." Work while it is
called to-day, for you know not how much you
may be hindered to-morrow. "One to-day is
and farther, "never leave that till to-morrow,
worth two to-morrows," as poor Richard says;
which you can do to-day." If you were a
servant, would you not be ashamed that a
good master should catch you idle? Are you
then your own master? Be ashamed to catch
yourself idle, when there is so much to be
done for yourself, your family, your country,
and your king. Handle your tools without
mittens; remember, that, "the cat in gloves

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