locusts', alike'? We say'. not'. We say', that literature" is necessary to every country that is not peopled with savages', or slaves'. We say', that every man owes something', in the form of support', to literature', as strictly as he does to liberty', education', or religion'. You can no more disengage yourself from this obligation', than from that of bestowing charity'. Your judging and discriminating faculties were given you', to enable you to select from the hundred applications for your name in this way', those works which you ought to encourage'. You ought to make it a matter of deliberation and conscience to decide to whom you ought to give', and from whom withhold', your countenance and patronage'. If you have been caught purchasing forty thousand verses of trash', shall you crush the spirit of modest and ingenuous talent by neglect'? If your lady has been taken in with pit-coal indigo', is it good reason', that she should', therefore', forever after refuse to purchase the real die'?

a

We hold the common objection', "I am tormented to death with subscriptions'," to amount', in substance', to this admission': "I have a poor head', and', withal', am a good deal of a Goth', and care very little about literature', or any thing that causes man to differ from the brute'. I know of no difference between poet Emmons', and Bryant', or even Milton'. I am told that there are geese and swans'; but', being of the former breed myself', I take all fowls to belong to my class', and all works that ask subscription', to be on the same footing'."

This is not the language of a patriot', a scholar', or a gentleman'. A thousand ask patronage', and a thousand ask charity'; and there are deserving and undeserving objects in each class'. It is a duty', that you should exercise your best judgment in making the proper discrimination'.

There is that in the preface of the Fredoniad', which', at the first look', disarms criticism', and inspires pity'. But a weak', undistinguishing pity', founded on animal tenderness and good nature', is neither a rational nor a benevolent sentiment'. True benevolence is wise in its views'. This gentleman says', he was cautioned against writing these verses', and found no encouragement except from one man'. Why did he not heed the caution"? Instead of furnishing the community with an arguments against yielding its aid to literary efforts', he might have administered pills', or cut down trees', or made chimneys', and in a thousand ways have been usefully', and cheerfully', and Såb'stánse-not, stunse.

Lit'êra-túre. Tôỏ-not, tò. THer'fore. •Pǎ'trè'at. fRash'un'al. Ar'gå 'mênt.

gainfully', and honourably employed'. If men will mistake their powers', and interpret a six years' morbid excitement of a weak brain', for the visitings of the muse', and', in consequence', go on to blot and spoil such an immense amount of clean paper with the expensive characters of the press', who can help it'? They may', perhaps', deserve pity'; but duty requires', that their example be held up as a warning to others'.

SECTION V.

On Natural and Fantastical Pleasures.-GUARDIAN.

It is of great use to consider the pleasures which constitute human happiness, as they are distinguished into Natural and Fantastical. Natural Pleasures I call those which, not depending on the fashion and caprice of any particular age or nation, are suited to human nature in general, and were intended, by Providence, as rewards for using our faculties agreeably to the ends for which they are given us. Fantastical Pleasures are

those which, having no natural fitness to delight our minds, presuppose some particular whim or taste, accidentally prevailing in a set of people, to which it is owing that they please.

C

Now I take it, that the tranquillity and cheerfulness with which I have passed my life, are the effects of having, ever since I came to years of discretion, confined my inclinations to the former sort of pleasures. But, as my experience can be a rule only to my own actions, it may probably be a stronger motive to induce others to the same scheme of life, if they would consider that we are prompted to natural pleasures, by an instinct impressed on our minds by the Author of our nature, who best understands our frames, and, consequently, best knows what those pleasures are which will give us the least uneasiness in the pursuit, and the greatest satisfaction in the enjoyment of them. Hence it follows, that the objects of our natural desires are cheap, and easy to be obtained; it being a maxim that holds throughout the whole system of created beings, "that nothing is made in vain," much less the instincts and appetites of animals, which the benevolence, as well as the wisdom, of the Deity, is concerned to provide for. Nor is the fruition of those objects less pleasing, than the acquisition is easy: and the pleasure is heightened by the sense of having

Ka-prèèse'. Eks-pè'ré-ènse-not, unse. Nå'tshire. En-joè'ment. •Bé-nev'ò'lênse-not, lunse.

Chap. IV.

NATURAL AND FANTASTICAL PLEASURES.

275

answered some natural end, and the consciousness of acting in concert with the Supreme Governour of the Universe.

Under natural pleasures, I comprehend those which are universally suited, as well to the rational, as the sensual, part of our nature. And of the pleasures which affect our senses, those only are to be deemed natural, that are contained within the rules of reason, which is allowed to be as necessary an ingredient of human nature, as sense. And, indeed, excesses of any kind, are hardly to be considered pleasures, much less natural pleasures.

It is evident that a desire terminated in money, is fantastical. So is the desire of outward distinctions, which bring no delight of sense, nor recommend us as useful to mankind; and, also, the desire of things merely because they are new or foreign. Men who are indisposed to a due exertion of their higher faculties, are driven to such pursuits as these, from the restlessness of the mind, and the sensitive appetites' being easily satisfied. It is, in some sort, owing to the bounty of Providence, that, disdaining a cheap and vulgar happiness, they frame to themselves imaginary goods, in which there is nothing that can raise desire, but the difficulty of obtaining them. Thus, men become the contrivers of their own misery, as a punishment to themselves, for departing from the measures of nature. Having, by a habitual reflection on these truths, made them familiar, the effect is, that I, among a number of persons who have debauched their natural taste, see things in a peculiar light, which I have arrived at, not by any uncommon force of genius, or acquired knowledge, but only by unlearning the false notions instilled by custom and education.

The various objects that compose the world, were, by nature, formed to delight our senses; and, as it is this only that makes them desirable to an uncorrupted taste, a man may be said naturally to possess them, when he possesses those enjoyments which they are fitted by nature to yield. Hence, it is usual with me to consider myself as having a natural property in every object that administers pleasure to me. When I am in the country, all the fine seats near the place of my residence, and to which I have access, I regard as mine. The same Í think of the groves and fields where I walk, and muse on the folly of the civil landlord in London, who has the fantastical pleasure of draining dry rent into his coffers, but is a stranger to the fresh air and rural enjoyments. By these principles, I am possessed of half a dozen of the finest seats in England, Plêzh'ure.

which, in the eye of the law, belong to certain of my acquaintances, who, being men of business, choose to live near the

court.

In some great families, where I choose to pass my time, a stranger would be apt to rank me with the domesticks; but, in my own thoughts and natural judgment, I am master of the house, and he who goes by that name, is my steward, who eases me of the care of providing for myself the conveniences and pleasures of life.

When I walk the streets, I use the foregoing natural maxim, namely: That he is the true possessor of a thing, who enjoys it, and not he that owns it without the enjoyment of it;' and to convince myself that I have a property in the gay part of all the gilt chariots that I meet, which I regard as amusements designed to delight my eyes, and the imagination of those kind people who sit in them, gayly attired, only to please me, I find that I have a real, they only an imaginary, pleasure, from their exterior embellishments. Upon the same principle, I have discovered that I am the natural proprietor of all the diamond necklaces, the crosses, stars, brocades, and embroidered clothes which I see at a play or a birthnight, as they give more natural delight to the spectator, than to those that wear them. And I look on the beaus and ladies as so many paroquets in an aviary, or tulips in a garden, designed purely for my diversion. A gallery of pictures, a cabinet, or a library, that I have free ac cess to, I think my own. In a word, all that I desire, is the use of things, let who will have the keeping of them; by which maxim I am grown one of the richest men in Great Britain; with this difference-that I am not a prey to my own cares, or the envy of others.

The same principles I find of great use in my private economy. As I cannot go to the price of history painting, I have purchased, at easy rates, several beautifully designed pieces of landscape and perspective, which are much more pleasing to a natural taste, than unknown faces of Dutch gambols, though done by the best masters. My couches, beds, and window-curtains, are of Irish stuff, which those of that nation work very fine, and with a delightful mixture of colours. There is not a piece of china in my house; but I have glasses of all sorts, and some tinged with the finest colours; which are not the less pleasing because they are domestick, and cheaper than foreign toys. Every thing is neat, entire, and clean, and fitted to the taste of one who would rather be happy, than be thought rich.

Judj'ment—not, munt. Amůze'mênts. Plêzh'ère.

Every day, numberless innocent and natural gratifications occur to me, while I behold my fellow-creatures labouring in a toilsome and absurd pursuit of trifles: one, that he may be called by a particular appellation; another, that he may wear a particular ornament, which I regard as a piece of riband, that has an agreeable effect on my sight, but is so far from supplying the place of merit, where merit is not, that it serves only to make the want of it more conspicuous. Fair weather is the joy of my soul. About noon, I behold a blue sky with rapture, and receive great consolation from the rosy dashes of light which adorn the clouds both morning and evening. When I am lost among the green trees, I do not envy a great man, with a great crowd at his levee. And I often lay aside thoughts of going to an opera, that I may enjoy the silent pleasure of walking by moonlight, or viewing the stars sparkling in their azure ground; which I look upon as part of my possessions, not without a secret indignation at the tastelessness of mortal men, who, in their race through life, overlook the real enjoyments of it.

But the pleasure which naturally affects a human mind with the most lively and transporting touches, I take to be the sense that we act in the eye of infinite wisdom, power, and goodness, that will crown our virtuous endeavours here, with a happiness hereafter, large as our desires, and lasting as our immortal souls. This is a perpetual spring of gladness in the mind. This lessens our calamities, and doubles our joys. Without this, the highest state of life is insipid; and with it, the lowest is a paradise.

SECTION VI.

Thoughts on Death.-LORD BACON.

I HAVE often thought upon death'; and I find it the least of all evils'. All that is past', is as a dream'; and he that hopes or depends upon time to come', dreams awake'. As much of our life as we have already discovered', is already dead'. All those hours which we enjoy', even from the breasts of our mother until we return to our grandmother the earth', are our dying days'; for we die daily': and as others have given place to us', so must we', in the end', give way to others'.

I know many wise men who fear to die'; for the change is 1In'nd 'sent—not, sunt. Pår-tik'à'lår—not, pår-tîk'ul-år. că'zhåre.