As Mencius the philosopher was travelling in pursuit of wisdom, night overtook him at the foot of a gloomy mountain, remote from the habitations of men. Here, as he was straying, while rain and thunder conspired to make solitude still more hideous, he perceived a hermit's cell, and approaching, asked for shelter. Enter,' cries the hermit, in a severe tone, 'men deserve not to be obliged, but it would be imitating their ingratitude to treat them as they deserve. Come in examples of vice may sometimes strengthen us in the ways of virtue.'

After a frugal meal, which consisted of roots and tea, Mencius could not repress his curiosity to know why the hermit had retired from mankind, the actions of whom taught the truest lessons of wisdom. Mention not the name of man,' cries the hermit, with indignation ; 'here let me live retired from a base ungrateful world; here among the beasts of the forest I shall find no flatterers; the lion is a generous enemy, and the dog a faithful friend; but man, base man, can poison the bowl, and smile while he presents it.' You have been used ill by mankind? interrupted the philosopher shrewdly. Yes,' returned the hermit, 'on mankind I have exhausted my whole fortune, and this staff, and that cup, and those roots, are all that I have in return.' Did

you bestow your fortune, or did you only lend it returned Mencius. 'I bestowed it, undoubtedly,' replied the other, for where were the merit of being a money-lender? Did they ever own that they received it?' still adds the philosopher. 'A thousand times,' cries the hermit, they every day loaded me with professions of gratitude for obligations re-. ceived, and solicitations for future favours.''If then,' says Mencius, smiling, 'you did not lend your fortune in order to have it returned, it is unjust to accuse them of ingratitude; they owned themselves obliged, you expected no more, and they certainly earned each favour by frequently acknowledging the obligation.? The hermit was struck with the reply, and surveying his guest with emotion, 'I have heard of the great Mencius, and you certainly are the man; I am, now fourscore years old, but still a child in wisdom; take me back to the school of man, and educate me as one of the most ignorant and the youngest of your disciples.?

Indeed, my son, it is better to have friends. in our passage through life than grateful dependants; and as love is a more willing, so it is a more lasting tribute than extorted obligation. As we are uneasy when greatly obliged, gratitude once refused can never after be recovered; the mind that is base enough to

disallow the just return, instead of feeling any uneasiness upon recollection, triumphs in its new acquired freedom, and in some measure is pleased with conscious baseness.

Very different is the situation of disagreeing friends, their separation produces mutual uneasiness like that divided being in fabulous creation, their sympathetic souls once more desire their former union; the joys of both are imperfect, their gayest moments tinctured with uneasiness; each seeks for the smallest concessions to clear the way to a wished-for explanation; the most trifling acknowledgment, the slightest accident, serves to effect a mutual reconciliation.

But instead of pursuing the thought, permit me to soften the severity of advice, by an European story, which will fully illustrate my meaning.

A fiddler and his wife, who had rubbed through life as most couples usually do, sometimes good friends, at others not quite so well, one day happened to have a dispute, which was conducted with becoming spirit on both sides. The wife was sure she was right, and the husband was resolved to have his own way. What was to be done in such a case? the quarrel grew worse by explanations, and at last the fury of both rose to such a pitch, that they made a vow never to sleep together in

the same bed for the future. This was the most rash vow that could be imagined, for they still were friends at bottom, and, besides, they had but one bed in the house; however, resolved they were to go through with it, and at night the fiddle-case was laid in bed between them, in order to make a separation. In this manner they continued for three weeks; every night the fiddle-case being placed as a barrier to divide them.

By this time, however, each heartily repented of their vow, their resentment was at an end, and their love began to return; they wished the fiddle-case away, but both had too much spirit to begin. One night, however, as they were both lying awake with the detested fiddle-case between them, the husband happened to sneeze; to which the wife, as is usual in such cases, bid God bless him; 'Ay, but," returns the husband, woman, do you say that from your heart?'- Indeed, I do, my poor Nicholas,' cried his wife, I say it. with all my heart. If so then,' says the husband, we had as good remove the fiddlecase.'

LETTER LXVI.

FROM THE SAME.

The folly of attempting to learn wisdom by being recluse.

Books, my son, while they teach us to respect the interest of others, often make us unmindful of our own; while they instruct the youthful reader to grasp at social happiness, he grows miserable in detail, and attentive to universal harmony, often forgets that he him self has a part to sustain in the concert. I dislike, therefore, the philosopher who describes the inconveniencies of life in such pleasing colours, that the pupil grows enamoured of distress, longs to try the charms of poverty, meets it without dread, nor fears its inconveniencies till he severely feels them.

A youth, who has thus spent his life among books, new to the world, and unacquainted with man, but by philosophic information, may be considered as a being whose mind is filled with the vulgar errors of the wise; utterly unqualified for a journey through life, yet confident of his own skill in the direction, he sets out with confidence, blunders on with vanity, and finds himself at last undone.

He first has learned from books, and then lays it down as a maxim, that all mankind are