I cannot forbear, in these circumstances, pausing a little, and considering whence this happy scene just at this time arises, and whither it tends. Whether God is about to bring about me any peculiar trial, for which this is to prepare me; whether he is shortly about to remove me from the earth, and so is giving me more sensible prelibations of heaven, to prepare me for it; or whether he intends to do some peculiar services by me just at this time, which many other circumstances lead me sometimes to hope; or whether it be that, in answer to your prayers, and in compassion to that distress which I must otherwise have felt in the absence and illness of her who has been so exceedingly dear to me, and was never more sensibly dear to me than now, he is pleased to favour me with this teaching experience; in consequence of which, I freely own I am less afraid than ever of any event that can possibly arise, consistent with his nearness to my heart, and the tokens of his paternal and covenant love. I will muse no further on the cause. It is enough the effect is so blessed.

To Mrs. Doddridge, from Northampton, October, 1742.

ROBERT DODSLEY,

born 1703, died 1764, after serving as apprentice to a tradesman, and subsequently acting as a footman, became author and bookseller by profession. He published A Muse in Livery, or The Footman's Miscellany, Lond., 1732, small 8vo; A Select Collection of Old Plays, Lond., 1744, 12 vols. 12mo; Miscellanies, Lond., 1745, 2 vols. 8vo; The Preceptor, Lond., 1748, 2 vols. 8vo; The Economy of Human Life, Lond., 1751, 8vo; Fugitive Pieces, Lond., 1764, 2 vols. small 8vo; was the author of The Toy Shop, The King and the Miller of Mansfield, and The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green (these three are plays), and other productions, and published The Annual Register, Lond., 1758, etc., suggested by Edmund Burke.

PRUDENCE.

Hear the words of Prudence, give heed unto her counsels, and store them in thy heart: her maxims are universal and all the virtues lean upon her: she is the guide and mistress of human life.

Put a bridle on thy tongue; set a guard before thy lips, lest the words of thine own mouth destroy thy peace.

Let him that scoffeth at the lame take care that he halt not himself: whosoever speaketh of another's failings with pleasure,

shall hear of his own with bitterness of heart.

Of much speaking cometh repentance, but in silence is safety.

A talkative man is a nuisance to society; the ear is sick of his babbling, the torrent of his words overwhelmeth conversation.

Boast not of thyself, for it shall bring contempt upon thee; neither deride another, for it is dangerous.

A bitter jest is the poison of friendship; and he that cannot restrain his tongue shall have trouble.

Furnish thyself with the proper accommodations belonging to thy condition; yet spend not to the utmost of what thou canst afford, that the providence of thy youth may be a comfort to thy old age.

Let thine own business engage thy atten tion: leave the care of the state to the gov ernors thereof.

Let not thy recreations be expensive, lest the pain of purchasing them exceed the pleasure thou hast in their enjoyment.

Neither let prosperity put out the eyes of circumspection, nor abundance cut off the hands of frugality: he that too much indulgeth in the superfluities of life shall live to lament the want of its necessaries.

From the experience of others do thou learn wisdom; and from their failings cor rect thine own faults.

yet mistrust not without reason: it is unTrust no man before thou hast tried him

charitable.

a

honest, lock him up in thine heart as But when thou hast proved a man to be treasure; regard him as a jewel of inestimable value.

Refuse the favours of a mercenary man; they will be a snare unto thee: thou shalt never be quit of the obligations.

neither leave that to hazard what foresight Use not to-day what to-morrow may want: may provide for, or care prevent.

The fool is not always unfortunate, nor the wise man always successful; yet never had wise man wholly unhappy. a fool a thorough enjoyment; never was a

Economy of Human Life, Part I.

SOAME JENYNS,

born 1704, died 1787, noted as a politician, essayist, infidel, and subsequently as a champion of Christianity, was author of A Free Enquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil, Lond., 1757. 12mo (ridiculed by Dr. Johnson in The Literary Magazine), with his Poems, 1761, 2 vols. 12mo; View of the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion, Lond.,

For my own part, when I am employed in serving others I do not look upon myself as conferring favours, but as paying debts.

In my travels, and since my settlement, I have received much kindness from men to whom I shall never have an opportunity of making the least direct return; and numberless mercies from God, who is infinitely above being benefited by our services. Those kindnesses from men I can therefore only return on their fellow-men; and I can only shew my gratitude for these mercies from God by a readiness to help his other children, and my brethren. For I do not think that thanks and compliments, though repeated weekly, can discharge our real obligations to each other, and much less those to our Creator. You will see in this my notion of good works that I am far from expecting to merit heaven by them. By heaven we understand a state of happiness, infinite in degree and eternal in duration: I can do nothing to deserve such rewards. He that for giving a draught of water to a thirsty person should expect to be paid with a good plantation would be modest in his demands compared with those who think they deserve heaven for the little good they do on earth. Even the mixed, imperfect pleasures we enjoy in this world are rather from God's goodness than our merit: how much more such happiness of heaven!

The faith you mention has certainly its use in the world: I do not desire to see it diminished, nor would I endeavour to lessen it in any man. But I wish it were more productive of good works than I have generally seen it: I mean real good works: works of kindness, charity, mercy, and public spirit; not holiday-keeping, sermon-reading, or hearing; performing church ceremonies, or making long prayers, filled with flatteries and compliments, despised even by wise men, and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The worship of God is a duty; the hearing and reading of sermons are useful; but if men rest in hearing and praying, as too many do, it is as if a tree should value itself on being watered and putting forth leaves, though it never produced any fruit.

Your great Master thought much less of these outward appearances and professions than many of his modern disciples. He preferred the doers of the word to the mere hearers; the son that seemingly refused to obey his father and yet performed his commands, to him that professed his readiness, but neglected the work; the heretical but charitable Samaritan to the uncharitable though

orthodox priest and sanctified Levite; and those who gave food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, raiment to the naked, entertainment to the stranger, and relief to the sick, though they never heard of his name, he declares shall in the last day be accepted; when those who cry Lord! Lord! who value themselves upon their faith, though great enough to perform miracles, but have neglected good works, shall be rejected. He professed that he came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance, which implied his modest opinion that there were some in his time who thought themselves so good that they need not hear even him for improvement: but now-a-days we have scarce a little parson that does not think it the duty of every man within his reach to sit under his petty ministrations, and that whoever omits them offends God. I wish to such more humility, and to you health and happiness, being your friend and servant. To Rev. George Whitefield: Philadelphia, June 6, 1753.

EARLY MARRIAGES.

You

DEAR JACK,-You desire, you say, my impartial thoughts on the subject of an early marriage, by way of answer to the numberless objections that have been made by numerous persons to your own. may remember, when you consulted me on the occasion, that I thought youth on both sides to be no objection. Indeed, from the marriages that have fallen under my observation, I am rather inclined to think that early ones stand the best chance of happiness. The temper and habits of the young are not yet become so stiff and uncomplying as when more advanced in life: they form more easily to each other, and hence many occasions of disgust are removed. And if youth has less of that prudence which is necessary to manage a family, yet the parents and elder friends of young married persons are generally at hand to afford their advice, which amply supplies that defect; and by early marriage youth is sooner formed to regular and useful life; and possibly some of those accidents or connexions that might have injured the constitution, or reputation, or both, are thereby happily prevented. Particular circumstances of particular persons may possibly sometimes make it prudent to delay entering into that state; but in general, when nature has rendered our bodies fit for it, the presumption is in nature's favour, that she has not judged amiss in making us desire it. Late mar riages are often attended, too, with this farther inconvenience, that there is not the same chance that the parents shall live to

see their offspring educated. "Late children," says the Spanish proverb, "are early orphans,' -a melancholy reflection to those whose case it may be. With us, in America, marriages are generally in the morning of life; our children are therefore educated and settled in the world by noon; and thus, our business being done, we have an afternoon and evening of cheerful leisure to ourselves; such as our friend at present enjoys. By these early marriages we are blessed with more children; and from the mode among us, founded by nature, of every mother suckling and nursing her own child, more of them are raised. Thence the swift progress of population among us, unparalleled in Europe. In fine, I am glad you are married, and congratulate you most cordially upon it. You are now in the way of becoming a useful citizen; and you have escaped the unnatural state of celibacy for life, the fate of many here [in England], who never intended it, but who, having too long postponed the change of their condition, find, at length, that it is too late to think of it, and so live, all their lives, in a situation that greatly lessens a man's value. An odd volume of a set of books bears not the value of its proportion to the set: what think you of the value of the odd half of a pair of scissors? It can't well cut any thing; it may possibly serve to scrape a trencher.

Pray make my compliments and best wishes acceptable to your bride. I am old and heavy, or I should, ere this, have presented them in person. I shall make but small use of the old man's privilege, that of giving advice to younger friends. Treat your wife always with respect: it will procure respect to you, not only from her, but from all that observe it.

:

Never use a slighting expression to her, even in jest for slights in jest, after frequent bandyings, are apt to end in angry earnest. Be studious in your profession, and you will be learned. Be industrious and frugal, and you will be rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy. Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy. At least you will, by such conduct, stand the best chance for such consequences. I pray God to bless you both; being ever your affectionate friend.

To John Alleyne, Esq., Craven Street, August 9, 1768.

THE FAME OF WASHINGTON.

SIR, I have received but lately the letter your excellency did me the honour of writing to me in recommendation of the Marquis de la Fayette. His modesty detained it long in his own hands. We became acquainted,

however, from the time of his arrival at Paris; and his zeal for the honour of our country, his activity in our affairs here, and his firm attachment to our cause, and to you, impressed me with the same regard and esteem for him that your excellency's letter would have done had it been immediately delivered to me.

Should peace arrive after another campaign or two, and afford us a little leisure. I should be happy to see your excellency in Europe, and to accompany you, if my age and strength would permit, in visiting some of its ancient and most famous kingdoms. You would on this side the sea enjoy the great reputation you have acquired, pure and free from those little shades that the jealousy and envy of a man's countrymen and contemporaries are ever endeavouring to cast over living merit. Here you would know, and enjoy, what posterity will say of Washington: for a thousand leagues have nearly the same effect as a thousand years. The feeble voice of those grovelling passions cannot extend so far either in time or distance. At present I enjoy that pleasure for you: as I frequently hear the old generals of this martial country (who studied the maps of America, and mark upon them all your operations) speak with sincere approbation and great applause of your conduct; and join in giving you the character of one of the greatest captains of the age.

I must soon quit the scene, but you may live to see our country flourish, as it will amazingly and rapidly after the war is over: like a field of young Indian corn, which long fair weather and sunshine had enfeebled and discoloured, and which, in that weak state, by a thunder-gust of violent wind, hail, and rain, seemed to be threatened with absolute destruction; yet, the storm being past, it recovers fresh verdure, shoots up with double vigour, and delights the eye not of its owner only, but of every observing traveller.

The best wishes that can be formed for your health, honour, and happiness ever attend you, from yours, &c.

To General Washington: Passy, March 5,

1780.

HENRY FIELDING,

one of the greatest of English novelists. born 1707, died 1754, was a son of Lieutenant-General Fielding and great-grandson of William, third Earl of Denbigh, a descendant of the Counts of Hapsburg, the German branch of which has counted among its members Emperors of Germany and Kings of Spain.

In addition to his novels of The Adven

tures of Joseph Andrews. Lond., 1742, 2 vols. 12mo, History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Lond., 1749, 2 vols. 12mo, and Amelia, Lond., 1752, 4 vols. 12mo, he also published History of Jonathan Wild the Great, Love in Several Masks, The Author's Farce, The Grub Street Opera, The Modern Husband, many other comedies, and poems, and essays. Among the collective editions of his Works are those of Chalmers, 1821, 10 vols. 8vo, and Roscoe, 1840, etc., imp. 8vo. Novels, with Memoir by Sir W. Scott, Edin., 1821, 8vo.

"Smollett and Fielding were so eminently successful as novelists that no other English author of that class has a right to be mentioned in the same breath. We readily grant to Smollett an equal rank with his great rival, Fielding,-while we place both far above any of their successors in the same line of fictitious composition. Perhaps

no books ever written excited such peals of inexhaustible laughter as those of Smollett."-SIR

WALTER SCOTT.

"I go to Sterne for the feelings of nature; Fielding for its vices; Johnson for a knowledge of the workings of its powers; and Shakspeare for every thing."-ABERNETHY.

"Fielding being mentioned, Johnson exclaimed, 'He was a block head!' and upon expressing my astonishment at so strange an assertion, he said, What I mean by his being a blockhead is, that he was a barren rascal!' BOSWELL: Will you not allow, sir, that he draws very natural pictures of human life? JOHNSON: Why, sir, it is of very low life.'"-BoSWELL: Life of Johnson.

PARTRIDGE AT THE PLAYHOUSE.

As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began, Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the entrance of the ghost; upon which he asked Jones, "What man that was in the strange dress: something," said he, "like what I have seen in a picture. Sure it is not armour, is it?" Jones answered, "That is the ghost." To which Partridge replied, with a smile, "Persuade me to that, sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my life, yet I am certain I should know one if I saw him better than that comes to. No, no, sir; ghosts don't appear in such dresses as that neither." In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the neighbourhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue till the scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to Mr. Garrick which he had denied to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling that his knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the stage? "O la! sir," said he, "I perceive now it is what you told me. I am not afraid of anything, for I know it is but a play; and if it was really a ghost, it

could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so much company; and yet if I was frightened I am not the only person."

Why, who," cries Jones, "dost thou take to be such a coward here beside thyself?" "Nay, you may call me coward if you will; but if that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay; go along with you! Ay to be sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such foolhardiness! Whatever happens, it is good enough for you. Follow you! I'd follow the devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is the devil,— for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases. Oh! here he is again. No farther! No, you have gone far enough already;

farther than I'd have gone for all the king's dominions." Jones offered to speak, but Partridge cried, "Hush, hush, dear sir, don't you hear him?" And during the whole speech of the ghost he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the ghost, and partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet succeeding likewise in him.

When the scene was over, Jones said, "Why, Partridge, you exceed my expectations. You enjoy the play more than I conceived possible." "Nay, sir," answered Partridge, "if you are not afraid of the devil, I can't help it; but to be sure, it is natural to be surprised at such things, though I know there is nothing in them: not that it was the ghost that surprised me neither; for I should have known that to have been only a man in a strange dress; but when I saw the little man so frightened himself, it was that which took hold of me." "And dost thou imagine, then, Partridge," cries Jones, "that he was really frightened?"' "Nay, sir," said Partridge, "did not you yourself observe afterwards, when he found it was his own father's spirit, and how he was murdered in his garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I should have been had it been my own case. But hush! O la! what noise is that? There he is again. Well, to be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder where those men are.' Then turning his eyes again upon Hamlet, "Ay, you may draw your sword: what signifies a sword against the power of the devil?"'

During the second act Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he help observing upon the king's countenance. "Well," said he, "how people may be deceived by faces! Nulla fides front is, I find, a true saying. Who would think, by look