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Lady S. Ha! ha! 'tis very hard for them to leave a Valet and Miss in her Teens, which are still favousubject they have not quite run down.

rites. But, unquestionably, the chief strength of Joseph S. And I believe the abuse was no more Garrick lay in his powers as an actor, by which he acceptable to your ladyship than Maria.

Lady S. I doubt her affections are further engaged than we imagine. But the family are to be here this evening, so you may as well dine where you are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing farther; in the meantime I'll go and plot mischief, and you shall study sentiment.

[E.ceunt. In the last year of this period (1780), Mrs CowLEY, a neglected poetess, produced her lively comedy,

The Belle's Stratagem, which is still popular on the stage. In theatrical phrase, therefore, we may say that, with respect to comedy, the season closed well

, and was marked by unusual brilliancy.

This period may be said to have given birth to the well-known species of sub-comedy entitled the Farce—a kind of entertainment more peculiarly English than comedy itself, and in which the literature of our country is surprisingly rich. As inferior in dignity, it is here placed after comedy; but there are reasons why it might have been placed first, for some of its luminaries flourished early in the period, and by their productions exercised a considerable influence on the comedies which came after, and which have just been enumerated. Amongst the first who shone in this field was David GARRICK

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Garrick's Villa, near Hampton.
gave a popularity and importance to the drams
that it had not possessed since its palmy days in
the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Sheridan ho-
noured his memory with a florid sentimental mo-
nody, in which he invoked the 'gentle muse' to
guard his laurelled shrine'-

And with soft sighs disperse the irreverent dust
Which time may strew upon his sacred bust.

Fielding was another distinguished writer in this walk, though of all his pieces only one, Tom Thumb, has been able to keep possession of the stage. He threw off these light plays to meet the demands of the town for amusement, and parry his own clamorous necessities, and they generally have the appearance of much haste. Love a-la-Mode, by MACKLIN, presented a humorous satire on the Scottish character, which was followed up by his more sarcastie comedy of The Man of the World, performed in 1781.

Macklin was an actor by profession, remarkable David Garrick.

for his personation of Shylock after he was ninety

years of age; and his dramatic pieces are lively and (1716-1779), so eminent as an actor in both tragedy entertaining. It must be with some surprise that and comedy. Garrick was a native of Lichfield, we find another successful author in this line in the and a pupil of Dr Johnson, with whom he came to person of the Rev. Mr Townley, master of Merchant London to push his fortune. His merits quickly Tailors' School: he was the author of High Life raised him to the head of his profession. As the Belou Stairs, a happy burlesque on the extravagance manager of one of the principal theatres for a long and affectation of servants in aping the manners of course of years, he banished from the stage many their masters, and which had the effect, by a wellplays which had an immoral tendency; and his timed exposure, of correcting abuses in the domestic personal character, though marked by excessive establishments of the opulent classes. vanity and other foibles, gave a dignity and respectability to the profession of an actor. As an author [Scene from High Life Below Stairs.] he was more lively and various than vigorous or pro

Enter SiR HARRY'S SERVANT. found. He wrote some epigrams, and even ventured on an ode or two; he succeeded in the composition of Sir H. Oh, ho! Are you thereabouts my lord duke! some dramatic pieces, and the adaptation of others That may do very well by and by. However, you'll to the stage. His principal plays are, The Lying I never find me behind hand. [Offers to kiss Kitty. Duke. Stand off; you are a commoner; nothing am confounded. My lord duke, what shall I say to under nobility approaches Kitty.

her? Pray help me out.

[Aside Sir H. You are so devilish proud of your nobility. Duke. Ask her to show her legs. Ha, ha, ha! Now, I think we have more true nobility than you.

(A side. Let me tell you, sir, a knight of the shire Duke. A knight of the shire! Ha, ha, ha! a mighty

Enter Philip and LOVEL, laden with bottles. honour, truly, to represent all the fools in the county. Phil. Here, my little peer, here is wine that will

Kit. O lud! this is charming to see two noblemen ennoble your blood ! Both your ladyships' most quarrel.

huinble servant. Sir H. Why, any fool may be born to a title, but Lov. [Affecting to be drunk.] Both your ladyships only a wise man can make himself honourable. most humble servant.

Kit. Well said, Sir Harry, that is good morillity. Kit. Why, Philip, you have made the boy drunk.

Duke. I hope you make some difference between Phil. I have made him free of the cellar, ha, ha, ha! hereditary honours and the huzzas of a mob.

Lov. Yes, I am free; I am very free. Kit . Very sinart, my lord ; now, Sir Harry,

Phil. He has had a smack of every sort of wine, Sir H. If you make use of your hereditary honours from humble port to imperial tokay. to screen you from debt

Lov. Yes, I have been drinking kokay. Duke. Žounds! sir, what do you mean by that? Kit. Go, get you some sleep, child, that you may

Kit. Hold, hold! I shall have some fine old noble wait on his lordship by and by. blood spilt here. Ha’ done, Sir Harry.

Lov. Thank you, madam; I will certainly wait on Sir 11. Not I; why, he is always valuing himself their lordships and their ladyships too. upon his upper house.

[Aside and exit. Duke. We have dignity.

[Slow. Phil. Well, ladies, what say you to a dance! and Sir H. But what becomes of your dignity, if we then to supper. refuse the supplies ?

(Quick. Kit. Peace, peace; here's lady Bab.

Enter Cook, COACHMAN, KINGSTON, and CLOE.

Come here ; where are all our people? I'll couple you. Enter LADY BAB's SERVANT in a chair.

My lord duke will take Kitty ; Lady Bab will do me Dear Lady Bab!

the honour of her hand; Sir Harry and Lady Char. Lady Bab. Mrs Kitty, your servant: I was afraid | lotte; coachman and cook; and the two devils will of taking cold, and so ordered the chair down stairs. dance together: ha! ha! ha! Well, and how do you? My lord duke, your servant, Duke. With submission, the country dances by and Sir Harry too, yours.

and by. Druke. Your ladyship’s devoted.

Lady C. Ay, ay; French dances before supper, and Lady B. I'm afraid I have trespassed in point of country dances after. I beg the duke and Mrs Kitty time. [Looks on her watch.] But I got into my may give us a minuet. favourite author.

Drike. Dear Lady Charlotte, consider my poor gout. Drike. Yes, I found her ladyship at her studies this Sir Harry will oblige us.

[Sir Harry bows. morning ; some wicked poem.

All. Minuet, Sir Harry ; minuet, Sir Harry. Lady B. Oh, you wretch! I never read but one Kit. Marshal Thingumbob's minuet. [A minuet by book.

Sir Harry and Kitty; awkward and conceited. Kit. What is your ladyship so fond of!

Lady C. Mrs Kitty dances sweetly. Lady B. Shikspur. Did you never read Shikspur? Phil. And Sir Harry delightfully.

Kit. Shikspur! Shikspur! Who wrote it? No, I Duke. Well enough for a commoner. never read Shikspur.

Phil. Come, now to supper. A gentleman and a Lady B. Then you have an immense pleasure to come. lady. [They sit down.] Here is claret, burgundy,

Kit. Well, then, I'll read it over one afternoon or and champaign, and a bottle of tokay for the ladies. other. Here's Lady Charlotte.

There are tickets on every bottle: if any gentleman

chooses port Enter LADY CHARLOTTE'S MAID in a chair.

Duke. Port! 'Tis only fit for a dram. Dear Lady Charlotte!

Kit. Lady Bab, what shall I send you! Lady Lady C. Oh! Mrs Kitty, I thought I never should Charlotte, pray be free ; the more free the more have reached your house. Such a fit of the cholic welcome, as they say in my country. The gentleseized me. On! Lady Bab, how long has your lady- men will be so good as to take care of themselves. ship been here? My chairinen were such drones. My

[A pause. lord duke! the pink of all good breeding.

Duke. Lady Charlotte, Hob or nob!' Duke. Oh! ma'am.

[Bowing. Lady C. Done, my lord, in burgundy if you please. Lady C. And Sir Harry! Your servant, Sir Harry. Duke. Here's your sweetheart and mine, and the [Formally. friends of the company.

[They drink. A pause. Sir H. Madam, your servant: I am sorry to hear Phil. Come, ladies and gentlemen, a bumper all your ladyship has been ill.

round ; I have a health for you. Here is to the Lady C. You must give me leave to doubt the amendment of our masters and mistresses.' sincerity of that sorrow, sir. Remember the Park. All. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! (Loud laugh. A pause.

Sir 1. The Park! I'll explain that affair, madam. Kit. Ladies, pray what is your opinion of a single Lady C. I want none of your explanations. gentleman's service ?

[Scornfully. Lady C. Do you mean an old single gentleman ! Sir H. Dear Lady Charlotte !

AU. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! [Loud laugh. Lady C. No, sir; I have observed your coolness of Phil. My lord duke, your toast. late, and despise you. A trumpery baronet !

Duke. Lady Betty. Sir H. I see how it is; nothing will satisfy you but Phil. Oh no, a health and a sentiment. nobility. That sly dog, the marquis

Drike. Let us have a song. Sir Harry, your song. Lady C. None of your reflections, sir. The marquis Sir H. Would you have it? Well then, Mrs Kitty, is a person of honour, and above inquiring after a we must call upon you : you honour my lady's fortune, as you meanly did.

muse? Sir H. I-Í, madamn? scorn such a thing. I All. A song, a song; ay, ay, Sir Harry's song ; Sir assure you, madam, I never—that is to say—Egad, 1 | Harry's song.

Duke. A song to be sure, but first, preludio. [Kisses a profession, was forced to admit the amazing Kitty.] Pray, gentlemen, put it about.

powers and fascinations of his conversation. It was [Kisses round. Kingston kisses Cloe heartily. in 1747 that Foote commenced a class of new enterSir H. See how the devils kiss!

tainments in the Haymarket theatre, in which he Kit. I am really hoarse; but hem-I must clear was himself the sole stage figure, and which proved up my pipes, hem! This is Sir Harry's song; being highly attractive by the many droll and whimsical a new one, entitled and called the Fellow Servant, portraits of character which they presented, many or All in a Livery.'

[Sings of these being transcripts or caricatures of persons Phil. How do you like it, my lord duke?

well known. The Diversions of the Morning, The Duke. It is a vile composition.

Auction of Pictures, and The Englishman in Paris, Phil. How so?

were the names of some of these pieces. Of the reDuke. O, very low !—Very low indeed!

gular farces of Foote, which were somewhat later Sir H. Can you make a better?

in production, The Minor-an unjustifiable attack Duke. I hope so.

upon the Methodists—was the most successful. It Sir H. That is very conceited.

was followed by The Mayor of Garratt, a coarse but Duke. What is conceited, you scoundrel!

humorous sketch, including two characters, in Major Sir H. Scoundrel! You are a rascal; I'll pull you Sturgeon, the city militia officer, and Jerry Sneak, by the nose.

(All rise. which can never be completely obsolete. His plays Duke. Lookyé, friend ; don't give yourself airs, and are twenty in number, and he boasted, at the close make a disturbance among the ladies. If you are a of his life, that he had added sixteen decidedly new gentleman, name your weapons.

characters to the English stage. Sir H. Weapons !—what you will—pistols. Duke. Done, behind Montague House.

[Tuft Hunting.] Sir H. Done, with seconds. Duke. Done.

[From The Lame Lover.') Phil. Oh, for shame, gentlemen. My lord duke !

CHARLOTTE and SERJEANT CIRCUIT. Sir Harry—the ladies !—fie! [Duke and Sir Harry Charlotte. Sir, I have other proofs of your hero's affect to sing. A violent knocking. Kitty faints.] What vanity not inferior to that I have mentioned. the devil can that be, Kitty?

Serjeant. Cite them. Kit. Who can it possibly be?

Char. The paltry ambition of levying and followPhil. Kingston, run up stairs and peep. [Excit King-ing titles. ston.] It sounds like my master's rap: pray heaven it Serj. Titles ! I don't understand you. is not he!

Char. I mean the poverty of fastening in public But by far the greatest of this class of authors upon men of distinction, for no other reason but beremains to be mentioned. SAMUEL FOOTE (1721. baronet is superseded by my lord ; quitting the puny

cause of their rank; adhering to Sir John till the 1777) was born of a good family, and educated at

peer for an earl; and sacrificing all three to a duke.

Serj. Keeping good company!-a laudable ambition!

Char. True, sir, if the virtues that procured the father a peerage could with that be entailed on the son.

Serj. Have a care, hussy ; there are severe laws against speaking evil of dignities. Char. Sir!

Serj. Scandalum magnatum is a statute must not be trifled with : why, you are not one of those vulgar sluts that think a man the worse for being a lord !

Char. No, sir; I am contented with only not thinking him the better.

Ser;. For all this, I believe, hussy, a right honourable proposal would soon make you alter your mind.

Char. Not unless the proposer had other qualities than what he possesses by patent. Besides, sir, you know Sir Luke is a devotee to the bottle.

Sery. Not a whit the less honest for that.

Char. It occasions one evil at least; that when under its influence he generally reveals all, sometimes more than he knows.

Serj. Proofs of an open temper, you baggage ; but, come, come, all these are but trifling objections.

Char. You mean, sir, they prove the object a trifle.

Serj. Why, you pert jade, do you play on my words ! I say Sir Luke is

Char. Nobody.

Serj. Nobody! how the deuce do you make that out! He is neither a person attainted nor outlawed,

may in any of his majesty's courts sue or be sued, Samuel Foote.

appear by attorney or in propria persona, can acquire,

buy, procure, purchase, possess, and inherit, not only Oxford; but, squandering away his fortune, was personalities, such as goods and chattels, but even forced to become an actor and dramatic writer. In realities, as all lands, tenements, and hereditaments, powers of mimicry, in wit, and in humour, he seems whatsoever and wheresoever. to have gone far beyond all the men of his own time, Char. But, sir and it may be questioned if three such men have Serj. Nay, further, child, he may sell, give, bestow, come under public notice in England. Samuel John-bequeath, devise, demise, lease, or to farm let, ditto son, though he disliked the man for his easy morals lands, or to any person whomsoever-andand his making the burlesquing of private characters Char. Without doubt, sir; but there are, notwith

150

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standing, in this town a great number of nobodies, service, my lord. What, Lloyd with an L! It was not described by Lord Coke.

with an L, indeed, my lord. Because in your part of

the world I have heard that Lloyd and Flloyd were SIR LUKE LIMP makes his appearance, and after a short dialogue, enter a Servant and delivers a card to SIR LUKE.

synonymous, the very same names. Very often in

deed, my lord. But you always spell yours with an Sir Luke. [Reads.] Sir Gregory Goose desires the L? Always. That, Mr Lloyd, is a little unlucky; honour of Sir Luke Limp's company to dine. An for you must know I am now paying my debts alphaanswer is desired.' Gadso! a little unlucky; I have betically, and in four or five years you might have been engaged for these three weeks.

come in with an F; but I am afraid I can give you Serj. What! I find Sir Gregory is returned for the no hopes for your L. Ha, ha, ha! corporation of Fleecem. Sir Luke. Is he so? Oh, oh! that alters the case.

Enter & SERVANT. George, give my compliments to Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and dine there. Order Joe to run to Serv. There was no overtaking the servant. Alderman Inkle's in Threadneedle Street ; sorry can't Sir Luke. That is unlucky: tell my lord I'll attend wait upon him, but confined to bed two days with the him. I'll call on Sir Gregory myself. [Exit Serv. new influenza.

[Ecit Servant. Serj. Why, you won't leave us, Sir Luke? Char. You make light, Sir Luke, of these sort of Sir Luke. Pardon, dear Serjeant and Charlotte; engagements.

have a thousand things to do for half a million of Sir Luke. What can a man do? These fellows people, positively; proinised to procure a husband for (when one has the misfortune to meet them) take Lady Cicely Sulky, and match a coach-horse for Briscandalous advantage : when will you do me the gadier Whip; after that, must run into the city to honour, pray, Sir Luke, to take a bit of mutton with borrow a thousand for young At-all at Almack’s; send me! Do you name the day? They are as bad as a a Cheshire cheese by the stage to Sir Timothy Tankard beggar who attacks your coach at the mounting of a in Suffolk; and get at the Herald's office a coat of hill; there is no getting rid of them without a penny arms to clap on the coach of Billy Bengal, a nabob to one, and a promise to t'other.

newly arrived ; so you see I have not a moment to Serj. True; and then for such a time too--three lose. Feeks! I wonder they expect folks to remember. It Serj. True, true. is like a retainer in Michaelmas term for the summer

Sir Luke. At your toilet to-morrow you may assizes.

[Enter a Servant abruptly, and runs against Sir Luke.] Sir Luke. Not but upon these occasions no man Can't you see where you are running, you rascal. in England is more punctual than

Serv. Sir, his grace the Duke of

Sir Luke. Grace !-Where is he? WhereEnter a SERVANT, who gives SIR LUXE a letter.

Serv. In his coach at the door. If you an't better From whom?

engaged, would be glad of your company to go into Sero. Earl of Brentford. The servant waits for an the city, and take a dinner at Dolly's.

Sir Luke. In his own coach, did you say! answer. Sir Luke. Answer! By your leave, Mr Serjeant

Serv. Yes, sir. and Charlotte. [Reads.] Taste for music-Mons.

Sir Luke. With the coronetsorDuport-fail-dinner upon table at five.' Gadso!

Serv. I believe so. I hope Sir Gregory's servant an't gone.

Sir Luke. There's no resisting of that. Bid Joe Sere. Immediately upon receiving the answer.

run to Sir Gregory Goose's. Sir Luke. Run after him as fast as you can-tell

Serv. He is already gone to Alderman Inkle's. hima quite in despair–recollect an engagement that

Sir Luke. Then do you step to the knight-hey! can't in nature be missed, and return in an instant. --no-you must go to my lord's-hold, hold, no-I

[Exit Serrant. have it-step first to Sir Greg's, then pop in at Lord Char. You see, sir, the knight must give way for Brentford's, just as the company are going to dinner.

Serv. What shall I say to Sir Gregory?
Sir Lake. No, faith, it is not that, my dear Char- Sir Luke. Anything-what I told you before.

Serv. And what to my lord ?
lotte; you saw that was quite an extempore business.
No, bang it, no, it is not for the title ; but, to tell

Sir Luke. What !- Why, tell him that my uncle you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any man

from Epsom-no—that won't do, for he knows I don't in the world: it is that makes me fond of his house. care a farthing for him—hey! Why, tell him-hold, Char. By the choice of his company he gives an

I have it. Tell him that as I was going into my unanswerable instance of that.

chair to obey his commands, I was arrested by a couple Sir Luke. You are right, my dear girl. But now of bailiffs, forced into a hackney coach, and carried to give you a proof of his wit: you know Brentford's into the Pied Bull in the borough ; I beg ten thoufinances are a little out of repair, which procures him sand pardons for making his grace wait, but his grace some visits that he would very gladly excuse.

knows my misfor- [Exeunt Sir Luke and Serv. Serj. What need he fear?' Ilis person is sacred ; Alatter myself I have pretty well established my case.

Char. Well, sir, what d'ye think of the proofs? I for by the tenth of William and MarySir Luke. He knows that well enough ; but for all

Serj. Why, hussy, you have hit upon points; but that

then they are but trifling flaws, they don't vitiate the Serj Indeed, by a late act of his own house (which title ; that stands unimpeached. does them infinite honour), his goods or chattels may be

The popularity of The Beggar's Opera' being Sir Luke. Seized upon when they can find them; partly owing to the excellent music which accombut je lives in ready furnished lodgings, and hires his panied the piece, we find in this period a number coach by the month.

of comic operas, in which songs and dialogue alterSerj. Nay, if the sheriff return non inventus.' nate. Sheridan's unexampled success has been

Sir Luke. A plague o' your law; you make me lose already mentioned. The Devil to Pay, by C. COFFEY, sight of my story. One morning a Welsh coach- was long a favourite, chiefly for the female characmaker came with his bill to my lord, whose name was ter, Nell, which made the fortune of several actresses; unluckily Lloyd. My lord had the man up. You and among the best pieces of this description are are called, I think, Mr Lloyd ? At your lordship’s | those by Isaac BICKERSTAFF, whose operas, The

my lord.

Pudlock, Love in a Village, Lionel Clarissa, &c., pre- tender officiousness; and, therefore, no one should sent a pleasing union of lyrical charms with those of think it unnecessary to learn those arts by which dramatic incident and dialogue. CHARLES DIBDIN friendship may be gained. Kindness is preserved was author and composer of a multitude of musical by a constant reciprocation of benefits or interchange operas and other dramatic trifles : his Quaker, pro- of pleasures ; but such benefits only can be bestowed duced in 1777, is distinguished for its excellent music. as others are capable to receive, and such plea

sures only imparted as others are qualified to enjoy. PERIODICAL ESSAYISTS.

By this descent from the pinnacles of art, no honour

will be lost; for the condescensions of learning are An attempt was made at this period to revive the always overpaid by gratitude. An elevated genius style of periodical literature, which had proved so employed in little things, appears, to use the simile successful in the hands of Addison and Steele. of Longinus, like the sun in his evening declination; After the cessation of "The Guardian, there was a he remits his splendour but retains his magnitude, long interval, during which periodical writing was and pleases more though he dazzles less.' confined to party politics. An effort was made to On revenge :-* A wise man will make haste to connect it again with literature by Dr Johnson, who forgive, because he knows the true value of time, published the first paper of The Rambler on the and will not suffer it to pass away in unnecessary 20th of March 1750, and it was continued twice pain. He that willingly suffers the corrosions of ina-week, without interruption, till the 14th of March veterate hatred, and gives up his days and nights to 1752. Johnson received only four contributions the gloom and malice and perturbations of strata(one from Richardson the novelist) during the whole gem, cannot surely be said to consult his ease. Recourse of the publication, and, consequently, the sentment is a union of sorrow with malignity; a work bore the stamp of but one mind, and that combination of a passion which all endeavour to mind cast in a peculiar mould. The light graces and avoid, with a passion which all concur to detest. genialities of Steele were wanting, and sketches The man who retires to meditate mischief, and to of the fashions and frivolities of the times, which exasperate his own rage; whose thoughts are emhad contributed so much to the popularity of the ployed only on means of distress and contrivances of former essayists, found no place in the grave and ruin; whose mind never pauses from the rememgloomy pages of "The Rambler.' The serious and brance of his own sufferings, but to indulge some somewhat pedantic style of the work was ill-cal- hope of enjoying the calamities of another, may culated for general readers, and it was no favourite justly be numbered among the most miserable of with the public. Johnson, when he collected these human beings, among those who are guilty without essays, revised and corrected them with great care, reward, who have neither the gladness of prosperity but even then they appeared heavy and cumbrous; nor the calm of innocence. his attempts at humour were not happy, and the Whoever considers the weakness both of himself female characters introduced were all, as Garrick and others, will not long want persuasives to forremarked, Johnsons in petticoats. They all speak the giveness. We know not to what degree of malignity sanie measured lofty style, and resemble figures in any injury is to be imputed; or how much its guilt, sculpture rather than real life. The author's use of if we were to inspect the mind of him that comhard words was a common complaint; but it is mitted it, would be extenuated by mistake, precisomewhat curious to find, among the words ob- pitance, or negligence; we cannot be certain how jected to in • The Rambler,' resuscitation, narcotic, much more we feel than was intended to be inflicted, fatuity, and germination, which have now become of or how much we increase the mischief to ourdaily use, and carry with them no appearance of selves by voluntary aggravations. We may charge pedantry. The turgid style of Johnson, however, to design the effects of accident; we may think the often rose into passages of grandeur and beauty; his blow violent only because we have made ourselves imagery is striking and original, and his inculcation delicate and tender; we are on every side in danger of moral and religious duty was earnest and impres- of error and of guilt, which we are certain to avoid sive. Goldsmith declared that a system of morals only by speedy forgiveness. might be drawn from these essays. No other Eng- From this pacific and harmless temper, thus pro lish writer of that day could have moralised in such pitious to others and ourselves, to domestic trana dignified strain as in the following passages :- quillity and to social happiness, no man is withheld

On useful knowledge :- To lessen that disdain but by pride, by the fear of being insulted by his with which scholars are inclined to look on the com- adversary, or despised by the world. It may be laid mon business of the world, and the unwillingness down as an unfailing and universal axiom, that “all with which they condescend to learn what is not pride is abject and mean." It is always an ignorant, to be found in any system of philosophy, it may be lazy, or cowardly acquiescence in a false appearance necessary to consider, that though admiration is ex- of excellence, and proceeds not from consciousness cited by abstruse researches and remote discoveries, of our attainments, but insensibility of our wants. yet pleasure is not given, nor affection conciliated, Nothing can be great which is not right. Nothing but by softer accomplishments, and qualities more which reason condemns can be suitable to the digeasily communicable to those about us. He that nity of the human mind. To be driven by external can only converse upon questions about which only motives from the path which our own heart approves, a small part of mankind has knowledge sufficient to to give way to anything but conviction, to suffer make them curious, must lose his days in unsocial the opinion of others to rule our choice or overpower silence, and live in the crowd of life without a com- our resolves, is to submit tamely to the lowest and panion. He that can only be useful on great occa- most ignominious slavery, and to resign the right of sions may die without exercising his abilities, and directing our own lives. stand a helpless spectator of a thousand vexations The utmost excellence at which humanity can which fret away happiness, and which nothing is re- arrive is a constant and determinate pursuit of quired to remove but a little dexterity of conduct virtue without regard to present dangers or advanand readiness of expedients.

tages; a continual reference of every action to the No degree of knowledge attainable by man is able divine will ; a habitual appeal to everlasting justo set him above the want of hourly assistance, or tice; and an unvaried elevation of the intellectual to extinguish the desire of fond endearments and eye to the reward which perseverance only can ob

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