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I cannot refrain from inserting the Golden Verses of Pythagoras, as elegantly translated by Fitzgerald:

First, the Supreme doth highest rev'rence claim;
Use with religious awe his sacred Name:
Assur'd he views thy ways, let nought control
The word thou once hast bound upon thy soul.
Next to the heroes bear a grateful mind,
Whose glorious cares and toils have bless'd mankind.
Let just respect and decent rites be paid
To the immortal manes of the dead.
Honour thy parents and thy next of kind;
And virtuous men, wherever thou canst find;
In the same bond of love let them be join'd.
Useful and steady let thy life proceed,
Mild ev'ry word, good-natur'd ev'ry deed;
Oh! never with the man thou lov'st contend,
But bear a thousand frailties from thy friend.
Rashly inflam'd, vain spleen and slight surmise
To real feuds and endless discords rise.
O'er lust, o'er anger, keep the strictest reign,
Subdue thy sloth, thy appetite restrain.
With no vile action venture to comply,
Tho' unbeheld by ev'ry mortal eye.
Above all witnesses thy conscience fear,
And more than all mankind thyself revere.
One way let all thy words and actions tend,
Reason their constant guide, and truth their end.
And ever mindful of thy mortal state-

How quick, how various are the turns of fate;
How here, how there, the tides of fortune roll;
How soon impending death concludes the whole-
Compose thy mind, and, free from anxious strife,
Endure thy portion of the ills of life:

Tho' still the good man stands secure from harms,
Nor can misfortune wound whom virtue arms.
In common converse thou wilt often find
Some to improve, and some to taint the mind;
Grateful, to that a due observance pay,
Beware lest this entice thy thoughts astray;
And bold untruths which thou art forc'd to hear,
Receive discreetly with a patient ear.
Wouldst thou be justly rank'd among the wise,
Think, ere thou dost,-ere thou resolv'st, advise.
Still let thy aims with sage experience square,
And plan thy conduct with sagacious care.
So shalt thou all thy course with pleasure run,
Nor wish an action of thy life undone.

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Among the various ends of thy desires,
'Tis no inferior place thy health requires.
Firmly for this from all excess refrain,
Thy cups be mod'rate and thy diet plain:
Nor yet inelegant thy board supply,
But shun the nauseous pomp of luxury.
Let spleen by cheerful converse be withstood,
And honest labours purify the blood.
Each night, ere needful slumber seals thy eyes,
Home to thy soul let these reflections rise:
How has this day my duty seen express'd?
What have I done, omitted, or transgress'd?
Then grieve the moments thou hast idly spent:
The rest will yield thee comfort and content.
Be these good rules thy study and delight,
Practise by day, and ponder them by night:
Thus all thy thoughts to virtue's height shall rise,
And truth shall stand unveil'd before thy eyes.
Of beings, the whole system thou shalt see,
Rang'd, as they are, in beauteous harmony;
Whilst all depend from one superior Cause,
And Nature works obedient to her laws.
Hence, as thou labour'st with judicious care
To run the course allotted to thy share,
Wisdom refulgent with a heav'nly ray
Shall clear thy prospect, and direct thy way
Then all around compassionately view
The wretched ends which vain mankind pur
Toss'd to and fro by each impetuous gust,
The rage of passion, or the fire of lust;
No certain stay, no safe retreat, they know,
But blindly wander through a maze of woe:
Meanwhile congenial vileness works within,
And custom quite subdues the soul to sin.
Save us from this distress, almighty Lord,
Our minds illumine, and thy aid afford!
But oh! secure from all, thy life is led,
Whose feet the happy paths of virtue tread.
Thou stand'st united to the race divine,
And the perfection of the skies is thine.
Imperial reason, free from all control,
Maintains her just dominion in thy soul;
Till purg'd at length from ev'ry sinful stain,
When friendly death shall break the cumbrous chain,
Loos'd from the body, thou shalt take thy flight,
And range immortal in the fields of light.

FITZGERALD.

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The accidents of life, such as natural evils, the bad passions of men, and the disappointments which arise from our ignorance, create great part of the misery which we see among mankind. But the torrent which overwhelms the vale beneath him, cannot reach the elevation on which the man of virtue and religion stands. He has no unrepented guilt to oppress his mind, no apprehensions of future punishment to appal his heart. The rational views he entertains concerning the universal Parent, lead him to rejoice in the divine government. The conviction that the world is managed by wisdom which cannot err, and benevolence which wills the happiness of the universe, causes him to submit to unavoidable evils, as the wise appointments of Heaven. The consciousness of sincerity is the source of daily pleasure. And his prospects, with regard to the present life, as well as that which is to come, are satisfactory to his mind and conscience.

I am confident that we may safely conclude, with Dr. Paley, that,

"It is a happy world, after all. The air,-the earth,—the water,-teem with delightful existence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my view. The insect youth are on the wing.' Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions in the air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation which they feel in their lately discovered faculties. A bee amongst the flowers in spring, is one of the cheerfullest objects that can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment; so busy, and so pleased: yet it is only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of the animal being half domesticated, we happen to be better acquainted than we are with that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and, under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by the offices which the Author of their nature has assigned to them.

"But the atmosphere is not the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants are covered with aphides, greedily sucking their juices, and constantly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratification. What else should fix them so close to the

operation, and so long? Other species are running about with an alacrity in their motions which carries with it every mark of pleasure. Large patches of ground are sometimes half covered with these brisk and sprightly natures.

"If we look to what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself. These are so happy, that they know not what to do with themselves. Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics in it, (which I have noticed a thousand times with equal attention and amusement,) all conduce to shew their excess of spirits, and are simply the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side, in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or, rather, a very thick mist, hanging over the edge of the water, to the height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring with the water. When the cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing else than so much space, filled with young shrimps, in the act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the water, or from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal could express delight, it was this: if they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose, then, what I have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in a state of positive enjoyment, what a sum, collectively, of gratification and pleasure have we here before our view!"

Cease then, nor ORDER Imperfection name:
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point; this kind, this due degree
Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.
Submit,-in this or any other sphere,

Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear.

All nature is but art unknown to thee;

All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good:

And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear,- Whatever is, is right.

POPE.

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HAVING proved, I hope satisfactorily, in the foregoing pages, that the detail of Human Life was intended to be, and really is, diversified with many kinds of intrinsic satisfaction-having analyzed the sources from which intellectual and corporeal delights are conveyed to the human race-having stripped them of all meretricious glare, and set up a landmark, beyond which indulgence in them becomes criminal-having pointed out the reasons why men, in their pursuit of happiness, venture "like little wanton boys that swim on bladders," so much positive good, and yet so frequently fail in obtaining this "god of their idolatry"having pointed out the mistakes in which this vain contest originated-having endeavoured, without unfeelingly "exposing our father's nakedness," to depict the miseries that are inseparable from this fallen state, and, in doing so, having defended the wisdom, the benevolence, and the goodness of the great Creator, in attaching such penalties to it-there remains nothing essential to the completion of our design, unless it be a compendious recapitulation of those points of duty,

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