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side is mutual. The son must rely upon his parent for support, but the parent lies under the same obligations to give, that the other has to expect; the subordinate officer must receive the commands of his superior, but for this obedience the former has a right to demand an intercourse of favour: such is not the dependence I would deprecate, but that where every expected favour must be the result of mere benevolence in the giver, where the benefit can be kept without remorse, or transferred without injustice. The character of a legacy-hunter, for instance, is detestible in some countries, and despicable in all. This universal contempt of a man who infringes upon none of the laws of society, some moralists have arraigned as a popular and unjust prejudice; never considering the necessary degradations a wretch must undergo, who previously expects to grow rich by benefits, without having either natural or social claims to enforce his petitions.
But this intercourse of benefaction and acknowledgment is often injurious even to the giver as well as the receiver. A man can gain but little knowledge of himself, or of the world, amidst a circle of those whom hope or gratitude has gathered round him: their unceasing humiliations must necessarily increase his comparative magnitude, for all men measure their. own abilities by those of their company. Thus being taught to over-rate his merit, he in reality lessens it: increasing in confidence, but not in power, his professions end in empty boast, his undertakings in shameful disappointment.
It is perhaps one of the severest misfortunes of the great, that they are, in general, obliged to live among men whose real value is lessened by dependence, and whose minds are enslaved by obligation. The humble companion may have at first accepted patronage with generous views, but soon he feels the mortifying influence of conscious infe
riority, by degrees sinks into a flatterer, and from flattery at last degenerates into stupid veneration. To remedy this, the great often dismiss their old dependents, and take new. Such changes are falsely imputed to levity, falsehood, or caprice in the patron, since they may be more justly ascribed to the client's gradual deterioration.
No, my son, a life of independence is generally a life of virtue. It is that which fits the soul for every generous flight of humanity, freedom, and friendship. To give should be our pleasure; but to receive, our shame. Serenity, health, and affluence attend the desire of rising by labour; misery, repentance, and disrespect, that of succeeding by extorted benevolence. The man who can thank himself alone for the happi-ness he enjoys, is truly blest; and lovely, far more lovely the sturdy gloom of laborious indigence, than the fawning simper of thriving adulation.
ON DOMESTIC HAPPINESS.
THE importance of Domestic Happiness will appear, if we consider it in reference to our avocations and cares. These are numerous and diversified, and demand relaxation and relief. Who could endure perpetual drudgery and fatigue? and, oh, what so refreshing, so soothing, so satisfying as the placid joys of home!
See the traveller. Does duty call him for a season to leave his beloved circle? The image of his earthly happiness continues vividly in his remembrance-it quickens him to diligence-it cheers him under diffi
ulties it makes him hail the hour which sees his purpose accomplished, and his face turned towards home-it communes with him as he journeys-and he hears the promise which causes him to hope, "Thou shalt know also that thy tabernacle shall be in re peace; and thou shalt visit thy habitation and not "sin." Oh, the joyful re-union of a divided family; the pleasures of renewed interview and conversation after days of absence!
Behold the man of science. He drops the labour and painfulness of research-closes his volume-smooths his wrinkled brows-leaves his study and unbending himself, stoops to the capacities, yields to the wishes, and mingles with the diversions of his children.
"He will not blush that has a father's heart,
"That youth takes pleasure in to please his boy."
Take the man of trade. What reconciles him to the toil of business? What enables him to endure the fastidiousness and impertinence of customers? What rewards him for so many hours of tedious confinement ? By and by the season of intercourse will arrive—he will be imbosomed in the caresses of his family-he will behold the desire of his eyes, and the children of his love, for whom he resigns his ease-and in their welfare and smiles he will find his recompence.
Yonder comes the labourer. He has borne the burden and heat of the day: the descending sun has releas'd him from his toil, and he is hastening home to enjoy repose. Half-way down the lane, by the side of which stands his cottage, his children run to meet him; one he carries, and one he leads. The companion of his humble life is ready to furnish him with his plain repast. See his toil-worn countenance assumes an air of cheerfulness-his hardships are forgotten fatigue vanishes-he eats and is satisfied-the
evening fair, he walks with uncovered head around his garden-enters again and retires to rest, and “ the "rest of a labouring man is sweet whether he eat "little or much." Inhabitant of this lonely, lowly dwelling, who can be indifferent to thy comfort!— "Peace be to this house".
"Let not ambition mock thy useful toil,
NHAPPY is that mortal that has imbibed a love
for play; so powerful is that seductive passion, that every consideration of propriety, affection, consanguinity, friendship, and virtue, falls before this alldestroying leviathan, the offspring of sordid Avarice, which, swallowing all the nobler sensations of the soul, robs Justice of her balance, Valour of her sword, and Pity of her tear. The professed gamester feels no commiserating pangs for the wide-spreading ruin his favourite vice occasions. He views, with hardened callosity and freezing apathy, the wretched man he has despoiled, writhing under the tortures of self-condemnation, agonized by the stings of remorse, that goad him on to desperation, as he reflects on returning to the wife he loves, whom he has made a beggar; and how he shall receive the innocent caresses of her children, by his pernicious vices, deprived of the inheritance of their forefathers.
THE PRECEPTS OF CARAZAN,
AN ORIENTAL TALE.
N the plains of Persia, where the Araxes, foaming
fields, Carazan, the venerable Persian, had spent his days. His age was threescore and ten; and his knowledge exceeded all the sons of men. His drink was the crystal rill; his habitation a remote cave, overgrown with moss; and his diet consisted of those natural gifts which are liberally lavished on mankind by the all-bountiful Alla.
The Eastern and Western Worlds had unfolded their sources of learning to his view, and he had profited by them all. Confucius awakened his mind to the study of nature; the Magii taught him to behold the omnicient power of the Almighty in the construction of flowers; the Bramins pointed out the duty of man, by the actions of beasts; and the Egyptians bore his soul on the wings of Astronomy, to the knowledge of the etherial luminaries. He combined, in himself, the learning of all nations, and of sages venerated for piety and scientific knowledge; as the resplendent Mithra unites, in his fervid focus, the scattered beams of lucid light.
It was the practice of Carazan, every morning, to offer up a prayer to Heaven for his preservation and health, before he tasted of any refreshment. He had, therefore, one morning, according to this practice, retired to a small grotto, that stood fast by a limpid rill; and, in a pious orison, poured forth his soul to the empyreal Dispenser of every good.