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manner of harm it could do religion, if we should entirely give them up this elegant part of

mankind.

Methinks nothing more shews the weakness of their cause, than that no division of their fellowcreatures join with them, but those among whom they themselves own reason is almost defaced, and who have little else but their shape, which can entitle them to any place in the species.

Besides these poor creatures, there have now and then been instances of a few crazy people in several nations, who have denied the exiftence of a deity.

The catalogue of these is however very short; even Vanini, the most celebrated champion for the cause, professed before his judges that he believed the existence of a God, and taking up a straw which lay before him on the ground, afsured them, that alone was sufficient to convince him of it; alledging feveral arguments to prove that it was impossible nature alone could create any thing.

I was the other day reading an account of Cafimir Lifzynski, a gentleman of Poland, who was convicted and executed for this crime. The manner of his punishment was very particular. As foon as his body was burnt, his ashes were put into a cannon, and thot into the air towards Tartary.

I am apt to believe, that if fomething like this method of punishment should prevail in England, such is the natural good sense of the British nation, that whether we rammed an atheist whole into a great gun, or pulverised our infidels, as they do in Poland, we should not have many charges.

I should, however, propose, while our ammunition lasted, that instead of Tartary, we should always keep two or three cannons ready pointed towards the Cape of Good Hope, in order to shoot our unbelievers into the country of the

Hottentots.

In my opinion, a solemn judicial death is too great an honour for an atheift, though I must allow the method of exploding him, as it is practised in this ludicrous kind of martyrdom, has fomething in it proper enough to the nature of this offence.

There is indeed a great objection against this manner of treating them. Zeal for religion is of so active a nature, that it feldom knows where to reft; for which reason I am afraid, after having difcharged our atheists, we might poffibly think of shooting off our fectaries; and as one does not foresee the vicissitude of human affairs, it might one time or other come to a man's own turn to fly out of the mouth of a demiculverin.

If any of my readers imagine that I have treated these gentlemen in too ludicrous a manner, I must contess for my own part, I think reasoning against such unbelievers upon a point that shocks the common sense of mankind, is doing them too great an honour, giving them a figure in the eye of the world, and making people fancy that they have more in them than they really have.

As for those persons who have any scheme of religious worthip, I am for treating fuch with the utmost tenderness, and should endeavour to thew them their errors with the greatest temper and humanity; but as these miscreants are for throwing down religion in general, for stripping

mankind of what themselves own is of excellent use in all great focieties, without once offering to establish any thing in the room of it: I think the best way of dealing with them, is to retort their own weapons upon them, which are those of scorn and mockery.

X

TULL.

N° 390. WEDNESDAY, MAY 28. Non pudendo sed non faciendo id quod non decet, impudentiæ nomen effugere debemus. The way to avoid the imputation of impudence, is not to be ashamed of what we do, but never to do what we ought to be ashamed of.

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ANY are the epistles I receive from ladies extremely afficted that they lie under the observation of fcandalous people, who love to defame their neighbours, and make the unjustest interpretation of innocent and indifferent actions. They describe their own behaviour fo unhappily, that there indeed lies some cause of fufpicion upon them. It is certain, that there is no authority for persons who have nothing else to do, to pass away hours of converfation upon the miscarriages of other people, but fince they will do fo, they who value their reputation should be cautious of appearances to their difadvantage: but very often our young women, as well as the middle-aged and the gay part of those growing old, without entering into a formal ague for that purpose, to a woman agree upon a short way to preserve their characters, and go on in a way that at best is only not vicious. The method is, when an ill-natured or talkative girl has faid any thing that bears hard upon some part of another's carriage, this creature, if not in any of their lit le cabals, is run down for the most cenforious dargerous body in the world. Thus they guard their reputation rather than their modesty; as if guilt lay in being under the imputation of a fault, and not in the commiffion of it. Orbicilla is the kindest poor thing in the town, but the most blushing creature living; it is true, the has not loft the sense of shame, but she has loft the sense of innocence. If she had more confidence, and never did any thing which ought to ftain her cheeks, would the not be much more modest without that ambiguous fuffufion, which is the livery both of guilt and innocence? Modesty confifts in being conscious of no ill, and not in being ashamed of having done it. When people go upon any other foundation than the truth of their own hearts for the conduct of their actions, it lies in the power of fcandalous tongues to carry the world before them, and make the rest of mankind fall in with the ill, for fear of reproach. On the other hand, to do what you ought, is the ready way to make calumny either filent or ineffectually malicious. Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, says admirably to young ladies under the distress of being defamed: The best, said he, that I can you advife, Is to avoid the occafion of the ill; For when the cause, whence evil doth arife, Removed is, th' effect furceaseth still. Abstain from pleasure, and restrain your wil!, Subdue defire, and bridle loofe delight: Use scanty diet, and forbear your fill;

Shun secrecy, and talk in open fight: So shall you foon repair your prefent evil plight.

Instead

Instead of this care over their words and actions, recommended by a poet in old queen Bess's days, the modern way is to say and do what you please, and yet be the prettiest fort of women in the world. If fathers and brothers will defend a lady's honour, she is quite as fafe as in her own innocence. Many of the distressed, who suffer under the malice of evil tongues, are so harmless that they are every day they live afleep until twelve at noon: concern themselves with nothing but their own persons until two; take their necessary food between that time and four;

vint, go to the play; and fit up at cards until

towards the enfuing morn; and the malicious world tall draw conclufions from innocent glances, short whifpers, or pretty familiar tal

leries with fashionable men, that these fair ones are not as rigid as vestals. It is certain, say these goodeft creatures very well, that virtue does not confift in constrained behaviour and wry faces, that must he allowed: but there is a decency in the aspect and manner of ladies contracted from a habit of virtue, and from general renexions that regard a modest conduct, all which may be understood, though they cannot be defcribed. A young woman of this fort clairns an esteem mixed with affection and honour, and meets with no defamation; or if the does, the wild malice is overcome with an undisturbed perseverance in her innocence. To speak freely, there are fuch coveys of coquettes about this town, that if the peace was not kept by some impertinent tongues of their own fex, which keep them under fome restraint, we should have no manner of engagement upon them to keep them in any tolerable order.

As I am a Spectator, and behold how plainly one part of woman-kind balance the behaviour of the other, whatever I may think of talebearers or flandcrers, I cannot wholly fupprefs them, no more than a general would difcourage fpies. The enemy would eafily surprise him whom they knew had no intelligence of their motions. It is fo far otherwise with me, that I acknowledge I permit a she-flanderer or two in every quarter of the town, to live in the characters of coquettes, and take all the innocont freedoms of the rest, in order to find me information of the behaviour of their respective fisterhoods.

Rut as the matter of respect to the world, which looks on, is carried on, methinks it is so very easy to be what is in the general called virtuous, that it need not cost one hour's reflexion in a month to preferve that appellation. is pleasant to hear the pretty rogues talk of virtue and vice among each other the is the laziest creature in the world, but I must confefs strictly virtuous; the peevisheft huffey breathing, but as to her virtue, she is without blemith she has not thel aft charity for any of her acquaintance, but I must allow her rigidly virtuous. As the unthinking part of the male world call every man a man of honour who is not a coward; fo the croud of the other ex terms, every woman who will not be a wench, virtuous.

N° 391. THURSDAY, MAY 29.

Non tu prece poscis emaci,

Quæ nifi feäuct's nequeas committere Divis:
At bona pars procerum tacitâ Ibabit acerrâ,
Haud cuvis promptum eft, murmurque bumilesque
fufurros

Tollere de templis, & aperto vivere voto.
Mens bona, fama, fides; bat claré, & ut audiat
bafpes,

Illa fibi introrfum, & fub lingua immurmurat: Of
Ebullit patrui præclarum fummis ! Et O fi
Sub raftro crepet argenti mibi feria dextro
Hercule! pup thamve utinam, quem proximus bæres
Impello, expungam!
PERS. Sat 2. V. 3%

Thy pray'rs the test of Heav'n will bear; Nor need'st thou take the Gods afide, to hear: While others, e'en the mighty men of Rome, Big fwell'd with mischief, to the temples come; And in low murmurs, and with coftly smoke, Heav'n's help, to profper their black vows, invoke.

so boldly to the Gods mankind reveal
What from cach other they, for shame, conceal.
Give me good fame, ye pow'rs, and make me
juft;

Thus much the rogue to public ears will traft.
In private thôn. When wilt thou, mighty Jove,
My wealthy uncle from this world remove?
Or-O'thou thund'rer's fon, great Hercules,
That once thy bounteous deity would please
To guide my rake, upon the chinking found
Of fome vaft treafure, hidden under ground!
O were my pupil fairly knock'd o'th' head!"
I should poffefs th' effate if he were dead.

W

DRÝDEN.

HILE Homer reprefents Phoenix, thể tutor of Achilles, as perfuading his pú pil to lay afide his resentments, and give himself up to the intreaties of his countrymen, the poet in order to make him fpeak in character, afcribes to him a speech full of those fables and allegories which old men take delight in reiating, and which are very proper for instruction. The Gods, fays he, fuffer themselves to be prevailed upon by intreaties. When mortals have offended ' them by their tranfgreffions, they appease them by vows and facrifices. You must know, Achilles, that prayers are the daughters of Jupiter. They are crippled by frequent kneeling, have their faces full of cares and wrinkles, and their eyes always caft towards Heaven. They

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Itare constant attendants on the goddess Ate, and march bebind her. This goddess walks forward with a bold and haughty air, and being very light of foot, runs through the whole earth, grieving and afflicting the fons of men. She gets the start of Prayers, who always follow her, in order to heal those persons whom the wounds. He who honours these daughters of Jupiter, when they draw near to him, receives great benefit from them; but as for him who rejects them, they intreat their father to give his orders to the goddefs Até, tổ punish hig for Iris hardness of lieart. This noble allegory needs but little explanation; for whether the goddess Ate fignifies injury, as fome have explained it; or guilt in general, as others; or di vine justice, as I am the more apt to think, thể interpretation is obvious enough.

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I fhall I shall produce another heathen fable relating to prayers, which is of a more diverting kind. One would think by some passages in it, that it was composed by Lucian, or at least by fome author who has endeavoured to imitate his way of writing: but as differtations of this nature are more curious than useful, I shall give my reader the fable, without any further inquiries after the author.

Menippus the philosopher was a fecond time taken up into Heaven by Jupiter, when for his entertainment he lifted up a trap-door that was 'placed by his foot-stool. At its rifing, there iffued through it such a din of cries as aftonith'ed the philosopher. Upon his asking what they meant, Jupiter told him they were the prayers 'that were fent up to him from the earth. Menippus, amidst the confufion of voices, which was so great, that nothing less than the ear of Jove could diftinguish them, heard the words, ' riches, honour, and long life, repeated to fe'veral different tones and languages. When the

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first hubbub of founds was over, the trap-door being left open, the voices came up more separate and diftinct. The first prayer was a very odd one; it came from Athens, and defired Jupiter to increase the wisdom and the beard of his humble fupplicant. Menippus knew it by the voice to be the prayer of his friend Lycander the philosopher. This was succeeded by the petition of one who had just laden a ship, and promised Jupiter, if he took care of it, and returned it home again full of riches, he would 'make him an offering of a filver cup. Jupiter thanked him for nothing; and bending down * his ear more attentively than ordinary, heard a voice complaining to him of the cruelty of an Ephefian widow, and begging him to breed compassion in her heart. This, fays Jupiter, ' is a very honest fellow. I have received a great deal of incense from him; I will not be so cruel to him as not to hear his prayers. He was then 'interrupted with a whole volley of vows which were made for the health of a tyrannical prince by his fubjects who prayed for him in his pre' fence. Menippus was surprised, after having ⚫ liftened to prayers offered up with so much ardour and devotion, to hear low whispers from ⚫ the fame affembly expoftulating with Jove for suffering fuch a tyrant to live, and asking him how his thunder could lie idle? Jupiter was • so offended at these prevaricating rafcals, that he took down the first vows, and puffed away the laft. The philofopher feeing a great cloud * mounting upwards, and making its way direct. ly to the trap-door, inquired of Jupiter what it meant. This, says Jupiter, is the smoke of a whole hecatomb that is offered me by the ge⚫neral of an army, who is very importunate with me to let him cut off an hundred thousand men ⚫ that are drawn up in array against him: what does the impudent wretch think I fee in him, to

• believe I will make a facrifice of fo many mortals as good as himself, and all this to his glory forscoth? But hark, says Jupiter, there is a voice I never heard but in time of danger: it is a rogue that is shipwrecked in the Ionian fea: 4 faved him on a plank but three days ago, upon his promife to mend his manners; the scoundrel

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'series of human life. The old fellow shall live ' till he makes his heart ake, I can tell him that 'for his pains. This was followed by the foft voice of a pious lady, defiring Jupiter that the might appear amiable and charming in the fight ' of her emperor. As the philosopher was reflecting on this extraordinary petition, there 'blew a gentle wind through the trap-door, 'which he at first mistook for a gale of Zephyrs, 'but afterwards found it to be a breeze of fighs : ' they smelt strong of flowers and incenfe, and ' were succeeded by most paffionate complaints ' of wounds and torments, fires and arrows, cru ' elty, despair, and death. Menippus fancied

that such lamentable cries arose from some ge'neral execution, or from wretches lying under 'the torture; but Jupiter told him that they 'came up to him from the ifle of Paphos, and 'that he every day received complaints of the 'fame nature from that whimsical tribe of mor

tals who are called lovers. I am so trifled with, 'says he, by this generation of both sexes, and 'find it so impossible to please them, whether I 'grant or refuse their petitions, that I shall order 'a western wind for the future to intercept them ' in their passage, and blow them at random up' on the earth. The last petition I heard was 'from a very aged man of near an hundred years ' old, begging but for one year more of life, and ' then promifing to die contented. This is the

rarest old fellow, says Jupiter. He has made ' this prayer to me for above twenty years toge'ther. When he was but fifty years old, he de 'fired only that he might live to see his son settled ' in the world, I granted it. He then begged the 'same favour for his daughter, and afterwards that he might see the education of a grandfon : ' when all this was brought about, he puts up a petition that he might live to finish a house he ' was building. In short, he is an unreasonable ' old cur, and never wants an excure; I will hear 'no more of him. Upon which he flung down 'the trap-door in a passion, and was refolved to * give no more audience that day.'

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Notwithstanding the levity of this fable, the moral of it very well deserves our attention, and is the fame with that which has been inculcated by Socrates and Plato, not to mention Juvenal and Perfius, who have each of them made the finest satire in their whole works upon this fubject. The vanity of men's wishes, which are the na. tural prayers of the mind, as well as many of those secret devotions which they offer to the Supreme Being are sufficiently exposed by it. Among other reasons for fet forms of prayer, I have often thought it a very good one, that by this means the folly and extravagance of men's defires may be kept within due bounds, and ret break out in absurd and ridiculous petitions on fo great and folemn an occafion.

No 390. FRIDAY, MAY 32.

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To the Spectator

sis not worth a groat, and yet has the impudence. The transformation of Fidelio into a looking

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to offer me a temple if I will keep him from finking. But yonder, says he, is a special youth for you, he defires me to take his father, who keeps a great eftate from him, out of the

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glafs. WAS lately at a tea-table, where fome young ladies entertained the company with

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a relation of a coquette in the neighbourhood, who had been discovered practising before her glass. To turn the discourse, which, from being witty, grew to be malicious, the matron of the family took occafion from the fubject, to wish that there were to be found amongst men

fuch faithful monitors to dress the mind by, as • we confult to adorn the body. She added, that ' if a fincere friend were miraculously changed into a looking-glass the thould not be ashamed to afk its advice very often. This whimfical thought worked fo much upon my fancy the whole evening, that it produced a very odd dream.

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Methought that as I stood before my glass, the image of a youth, of an open ingenucus afpect, appeared in it; who with a small thrill voice fpoke in the following manner:

The looking-glass, you fee, was heretofore a man, even 1, the unfortunate Fidelio. I had two brothers, whose deformity in frape was made up by the clearness of their understand'ing: it must be owned however, that (as it, generally happens) they had each a pervcrfenefs of humour fuitable to their distortion of body. The eldest, whose belly funk in monstroufly, was a great coward; and though his fplenctic contracted temper made him take fire immediately, he made objets that befet him appear greater than they were. The fecond, whofe breafts fwelled into a bold relievo, on the contrary, tock great pleasure in lessening every thing, and was perfectly the reverfe of his bro'ther. Thefe oddnesses pleased company once or twice, but disgusted when often seen: for < which reason the young gentlemen were fent from court to study mathematics at the uni* versity.

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I need not acquaint you, that I was very well • made, and reckoned a bright and polite gentle'man. I was the confident and darling of all

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the fair; and if the old and ugly spoke ill of

me, all the world knew it was because I fcorn ⚫ed to flatter them. No ball, no affembly was attended until I had been confulted. Flavia coloured her hair before me, Celia shewed me ⚫ her teeth, Panthea heaved her bofom, Cleora brandished her diamond; I have feen Cloe's

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foot, and tied artificially the garters of Rhodope.

It is a general maxim, that those who dote upon themfelves, can have no violent afection for another but on the contrary, I found that the women's paffion rose for me in proportion to the love they bore to themselves. This was verified in my amour with Narciffa, who was fo conftant to me, that it was pleafantly faid, had I been little enough, the would have hung ine at her girdle. The most dangerous rival I had, was a gay empty fellow, who by the • strength of a long intercourse with Narciffa, joined to his natural endowments, had formed himfelf into a perfect refemblance with her. I had been difcarded, had the not obferved that Le frequently asked my bpinion about matters of the last confequence: this made me ftill more confiderable in her eye.

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thing, he imagined strange things from her airs 'and gestures. Sometimes with a ferene look 'she stepped back in a liftening posture, and brightened into an innocent smile. Quickly after she swelled into an air of majesty and difdain, then kept her eyes half shut after a languisming manner, then covered her blushes with 'her hand, breathed a figh, and feemed ready to 'fink down. In rushed the furious lover; but how great was his surprise to fee no one there 'but the innocent Fidelio, with his back against the wall betwixt two windows?

'It were endlefs to recount all my adventures. Let me haften to that which cost me my life, and Narciffa her happiness.

She had the misfortune to have the small-poх, upon which I was expreflly forbid her fight, it 'being apprehended that it would increase her diftemper, and that I should infallibly catch it at the first look. As foon as the was fuffered to leave her bed, the ftole out of her chamber, and 'found me all alone in an adjoining apartment. She ran with transport to her darling, and without mixture of fear, left I should diflike her. But oh me! what was her fury when the heard' me fay, I was afraid and shocked at fo loath

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some a spectacle! She stepped back, fwollen ' with rage, to fee if I had the infolence to repeat 'it. I did, with this addition, that her ill-timed paffion had increased her ugliness. Enraged, infiammed, diftracted, she snatched a bodkin, ' and with all her force stabbed me to the heart. Dying, I preserved my fincerity, and expresed the truth, though in broken words; and by reproachful grimaces to the last I mimicked the 'deformity of my murderefs.

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Cupid, who always attends the fair, and pitied the fate of fo useful a fervant as I was, obtain'ed of the Destinies, that my body fhould be made incorruptible, and retain the qualities my mind ⚫ had possessed. I immediately loft the figure of a man, and became smooth, polished, and bright, and to this day am the first favourites of the ladies.'

No 393. SATURDAY, MAY 31. Nefcio quâ præter folitum dulcedine læti. Unusual sweetness purer joys inspires.

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T

VIRG. Georg. 1. v. 412.

OOKING over the letters that have been fent me, I chanced to find the following one, which I received about two years ago from an ingenious friend who was then in Denmark. • Dear Sir,

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Copenhagen, May 1, 2710.

HE spring with you has already taken poffeffion of the fields and woods : now is the feafon of folitude, and of moving 'complaints upon trivial fufferings: now the griefs of lovers begin to flow, and their 'wounds to bleed afresh. I too, at this diftance from the scitor climates, am not without my * discontents at prefent. You perhaps may laugh at me for a moft romantic wretch, when I have ' difclosed to you the occafion of my uneasiness, and yet I cannot help thinking my unhappiners. real, in being comfined to a region, which is the very reverfe of Paradife. The feafons here are all of them unpleafant, and the country quite deftitute of rural charms. I have not heard a bird sing, nor a brook murmur, nor a breeze ' whisper, neither have I been blest with the fight ' of a flowery meadow these two years. Every ' wind here is a tempeft, and every water a tur'bulent ocean. I hope, when you reflect a little, you will not think the grounds of my complaint in the least frivolous and unbecoming a man of ' ferious thought; fince the love of woods, of ' fields and flowers, of rivers and fountains, seems to be a passion implanted in our natures, the most early of any, even before the fair sex had a being.

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I am, Sir, &c.

Could I transport myself with a wish from one country to another, I should choose to pass my winter in Spain, my spring in Italy, my fummer in England, and my autumn in France. Of all these seasons there is none can vie with the spring for beauty and delightfulness. It bears the fame figure among the seasons of the year, that the morning does among the divisions of the day, or youth among the stages of life. The English fummer is pleasanter than that of any other country in Europe, on no other account but because it has a greater mixture of spring in it. The mildness of our climate, with those frequent refreshments of dews and rains that fall among us, keep up a perpetual chearfulness in our fields, and fill the hottest months of the year with a lively verdure.

In the opening of the spring, when all nature begins to recover herself, the fame animal pleasure which makes the birds sing, and the whole brute creation rejoice, rises very sensibly in the heart of man. I know none of the poets who have observed so well as Milton those secret overflowings of gladness which diffuse themselves through the mind of the beholder, upon furveying the gay scenes of nature: he has touched upon it twice or thrice in his Paradise Lost, and describes it very beautifully under the name of vernal delight, in that passage where he represents the devil himself as almost sensible of it.

Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue
'Appear'd, with gay enamel'd colours mixt:
On which the fun more glad impress'd his beams
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow,

When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely

feem'd

That landskip: and of pure now purer air
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight, and joy able to drive

All fadness but defpair, &c.

Many authors have written on the vanity of the creature, and represented the barrenness of every thing in this world, and its incapacity of producing any folid or substantial happiness. As difcourses of this nature are very useful to the sensual and voluptuous; those speculations which shew the bright side of things, and lay forth those innocent entertainments which are to be met with among the several objects that encompass us, are no less beneficial to men of dark and melancholy tempers. It was for this reason that I endeavour-ed to recommend a chearfulness of mind in my two last Saturday's papers, and which I would till inculcate, not only from the confideration of ourselves, and of that Being on whom we depend, nor from the general furvey of that universe in which we are placed at present, but from reflexions on the particular season in which this paper is written. The creation is a perpetual feast to

the mind of a good man, every thing he fees chears and delights him; Providence has imprinted fo many smiles on nature, that it is impossible for a mind which is not funk in more gross and sensual delights, to take a furvey of them, without feveral fecret sensations of pleasure. The pfalmist has in several of his divine poems celebrated those beautiful and agreeable scenes which make the heart glad, and produce in it that vernal delight which I have before taken notice of.

Natural philosophy quickens this taste of the creation, and renders it not only pleasing to the imagination, but to the understanding. It does not rest in the murmur of brooks and the melody of birds, in the shade of groves and woods, or in the embroidery of fields and meadows, but considers the several ends of Providence which are ferved by them, and the wonders of Divine Wif dom which appear in them. It heightens the pleasures of the eye, and raises such a rational admiration in the foul as is little inferior to devotion.

It is not in the power of every one to offer up this kind of worship to the great author of nature, and to indulge these more refined meditations of heart, which are doubtless highly acceptable in his fight; I shall therefore conclude this short essay on that pleasure which the mind naturally conceives from the present season of the year, by the recommending of a practice for which every one has fufficient abilities.

I would have my readers endeavour to moralize this natural pleasure of the foul, and to improve this vernal delight, as Milton calls it, into a christian virtue. When we find ourselves inspired with this pleasing instinct, this secret fatisfaction and complacency arifing from the beauties of the creation, let us confider to whom we stand indebted for all these entertainments of fenfe, and who it is that thus opens his hand and fills the world with good. The apostle instructs us to take advantage of our present temper of mind, to graft upon it fuch a religious exercise as is particularly conformable to it, by that precept which advises those who are sad to pray, and those who are merry to fing pfalms. The chearfulness of heart which springs up in us from the furvey of nature's works, is an admirable preparation for gratitude. The mind has gone a great way towards praise and thanksgiving, that is filled with fuch a fecret gladness. A grateful reflexiou on the fupreme cause who produces it, sanctifies it in the foul, and gives it its proper value. Such an habitual disposition of mind confecrates every field and wood, turns an ordinary walk into a morning or evening sacrifice, and will improve those tranfient gleams of joy which naturally brighten up and refresh the foul on such occafions, into an inviolable and perpetual state of bliss and happiness.

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