and procure respect; has less happiness below, than if by a stronger effort of virtue he had continued in a state of dependence and poverty, neglected and despised, destitute of any other means to exercise the social affections than mutual condolence with those who suffer the same calamity, and almost wishing, in the bitterness of his distress, that he had improved the opportunity which he had lost.

It may indeed be urged, that the happiness and infelicity of both these states, are still in exact proportion to virtue: that the affluence, which was acquired by a single act of vice, is enjoyed only by the exercise of virtue; and that the penury incurred by a single effort of virtue, is rendered afflictive only by impatience and discontent.

But whether this be granted or denied, it remains true that the happiness in both these states is not equal; and that in one the means to enjoy life were acquired by vice, which in the other were lost by virtue. And if it be possible, by a single act of vice, to increase happiness upon the whole of life; from what rational motives can the temptation to that act be resisted? From 'none, surely, but such as arise from the belief of a future state, in which virtue will be rewarded and vice punished; for to what can happiness be wisely sacrificed, but to greater happiness? and how can the ways of God be justified, if a man by the irreparable injury of his neighbour becomes happier upon the whole, than he would have been if he had observed the eternal rule, and done to another as he would that another should do to him?

Perhaps I may be told, that to talk of sacrificing happiness to greater happiness, as virtue, is absurd; and that he who is restrained from fraud or vio-, lence, merely by the fear of hell, is no more vir

tuous than he who is restrained merely by the fear of a gibbet.

But supposing this to be true, yet with respect to society, mere external rectitude of conduct answers all the purposes of virtue; and if I travel without being robbed, it is of little consequence to me, whether the persons whom I meet on the road were restrained from attempting to invade my property by the fear of punishment, or the abhorrence of vice: so that the gibbet, if it does not produce virtue, is yet of such incontestible utility, that I believe those gentlemen would be very unwilling that it should be removed, who are, notwithstanding, so zealous to steel every breast against the fear of damnation; nor would they be content, however negligent of their souls, that their property should be no otherwise secured, than by the power of MORAL BEAUTY, and the prevalence of ideal enjoyments.

If it be asked, how moral agents became the subjects of accidental and adventitious happiness and misery; and why they were placed in a state in which it frequently happens, that virtue only alleviates calamity, and vice only moderates delight; the answer of REVELATION is known, and it must be the task of those who reject it to give a better: It is enough for me to have proved that man is at present in such a state: I pretend not to trace the unsearchable ways of the ALMIGHTY,' nor attempt to 'penetrate the darkness that surrounds his throne:' but amidst this enlightened generation, in which such multitudes can account for apparent obliquities and defects in the natural and the moral world, I am content with an humble expectation of that time, in which every thing that is crooked shall be made strait, and every thing that is imperfect shall be done away.'

6

N° 11. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1752.

He, who secure within can say,

To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.

TO THE ADVENTURER.

HOR.

DRYDEN.

512,

It is the fate of all who do not live in necessary or accidental obscurity, who neither pass undistinguished through the vale of poverty, nor hide themselves in the groves of solitude, to have a numerous acquaintance and few friends.

An acquaintance is a being who meets us with a smile and a salute, who tells us in the same breath that he is glad and sorry for the most trivial good and ill that befals us, and yet who turns from us without regret, who scarce wishes to see us again, who forsakes us in hopeless sickness or adversity, and when we die remembers us no more. A friend is he with whom our interest is united, upon whose participation all our pleasures depend; who sooths us in the fretfulness of disease, and cheers us in the gloom of a prison; to whom when we die even our remains are sacred, who follows them with tears to the grave, and preserves our image in his heart. A friend our calamities may grieve, and our wants

may impoverish, but neglect only can offend, and unkindness alienate. Is it not therefore astonishing, that a friend should ever be alienated or offended? and can there be a stronger instance of the folly and caprice of mankind, than their with-holding from those, upon whom their happiness is confessed to depend, that civility which they lavish upon others, without hope of any higher reward than a trivial and momentary gratification of their vanity, by an echo of their compliments and a return of their obeisance?

Of this caprice there are none who have more cause to complain than myself. That I am a person of some importance has never yet been disputed I am allowed to have great power to please and to instruct; I always contribute to the felicity of those by whom I am well treated; and I must confess, that I am never abused without leaving marks of my resentment behind me.

I am generally regarded as a friend; and there are few who could think of parting with me for the last time, without the utmost regret, solicitude, and reluctance. I know, wherever I come, that I have been the object of desire and hope; and that the pleasure which I am expected to diffuse, has, like all others, been enjoyed by anticipation. By the young and gay, those who are entering the world, either as a scene of business or pleasure, I am frequently desired with such impatience, that although every moment brings on wrinkles and decrepitude with irresistible rapidity, they would be willing that the time of my absence should be annihilated, and the approach of wrinkles and decrepitude rendered yet more precipitate. There cannot surely be stronger evidence than this of my influence upon their happiness, or of their affection for me: and yet the transport with which I am at first received

quickly subsides; they appear to grow weary of my company, they would again shorten life to hasten the hour of my departure, and they reflect upon the length of my visit with regret.

To the aged I confess I am not able to procure equal advantages; and yet there are some of these who have been remarkable for their virtue, among whom I experience more constant reciprocations of friendship. I never heard that they expressed an impatient expectation of me when absent, nor do they receive me with rapture when I come; but while I stay they treat me with complacency and good-humour; and in proportion as their first address is less violent, the whole tenour of their conduct is more equal; they suffer me to leave them in an evening without importunity to prolong my visit, and think of my departure with indifference.

You will, perhaps, imagine, that I am distinguished by some strange singularity, of which the uncommon treatment that I receive is a consequence. As few can judge with impartiality of their own character, none are believed merely upon their own evidence, who affirm it to be good: I will therefore describe to you the manner in which I am received by persons of very different stations, capacities, and employments. The facts shall be exhibited without false colouring; I will neither suppress, soften, nor exaggerate any circumstance, by which the natural and genuine state of these facts may be discovered, and I know that your sagacity will do me justice.

In summer I rise very early, and the first person that I see is a peasant at his work, who generally regards me with a smile, though he seldom participates of my bounty. His labour is scarce ever suspended while I am with him; yet he always talks of me with complacency, and never treats me with