becoming utterly abandoned. It has, befides, the most favourable influence on all the paffive virtues; it gives a foftnefs and fenfibility to the heart, and a mildness and gentleness to the manners; but above all, it produces an univerfal charity and love to mankind, however different in ftation, country, or religion. There is a fublime yet tender melancholy, almoft the univerfal attendant on genius, which is too apt to degenerate into gloom and difguft with the world. Devotion is admirably calculated to foothe this difpofition, by infenfibly leading the mind, while it feems to indulge it, to thofe profpects which calm every murmur of difcontent, and diffufe a chearfulness over the darkest hours of human life.-Perfons in the pride of high health and spirits, who are keen in the purfuits of pleasure, intereft, or ambition, have either no ideas on this fubject, or treat it as the enthufiafm of a weak mind. But this really fhews great narrowness of understanding; a very little reflection and acquaintance with nature might teach them, on how precarious a foundation their boafted independence on religion is built; the thoufand nameless accidents that may deftroy it; and that though for fome years they fhould efcape thefe, yet that time muft impair the greatest vigour of health and fpirits, and deprive them of all thofe objects for which, at prefent, they think life only worth enjoying. It should feem, therefore, very neceffary to fecure fome permanent object, fome real fupport to the mind, to chear the foul, when all others fhall have loft their influence. The greatest inconvenience, indeed, that attends devotion, is its taking fuch a fast hold of the affections, as fometimes threatens the extinguishing of every other active principle of the mind. For when the devotional fpirit falls in with a melancholy temper, it is too apt to deprefs the mind entirely, to fink it to the weakest fuperftition, and to produce a total retirement and abstraction from the world, and all the duties of life. Gregory. § 82. The Difference between true and falfe Politeness. It is evident enough, that the moral and Chriftian duty, of preferring one another in honour, respects only focial peace and charity, and terminates in the good and edification of our Chriftian brother. Its ufe is, to foften the minds of men, and to draw them from that favage rufticity, which engenders many vices, and difcredits the virtues themselves. But when men had experienced the benefit of this complying temper, and further faw the ends, not of charity only, but of felf-interest, that might be answered by it; they confidered no longer its juft purpose and application, but stretched it to that officious fedulity, and extreme fervility of adulation, which we too often obferve and lament in polifhed life. Hence, that infinite attention and confideration, which is fo rigidly exacted, and fo duly paid, in the commerce of the world: hence, that' proftitution of mind, which leaves a man no will, no fentiment, no principle, no character; all which difappear under the uniform exhibition of good manners: hence, those infidious arts, thofe ftudied difguifes, thofe obfequious flatteries, nay, thofe multiplied and nicelyvaried forms of infinuation and addrefs, the direct aim of which may be to acquire the fame of politeness and good-breeding, but the certain effect, to corrupt every virtue, to foothe every vanity, and to inflame every vice of the human heart. Thefe fatal mischiefs introduce themfelves under the pretence and femblance of that humanity, which the fcriptures encourage and enjoin: but the genuine virtue is easily diftinguished from the counterfeit, and by the following plain figns. True politeness is modeft, unpretending, and generous. It appears as little as may be; and when it does a courtefy, would willingly conceal it. It choofes filently to forego its own claims, not officiously to withdraw them. It engages a man to prefer his neighbour to himself, because he really efteems him; because he is tender of his reputation; because he thinks it more manly, more Christian, to defcend a little himself than to degrade another. It refpects, in a word, the credit and eftimation of his neighbour. The mimic of this amiable virtue, false politenefs, is, on the other hand, ambitious, fervile, timorous. It affects popularity: is folicitous to please, and to be taken notice of. The man of this character does not offer, but obtrude his civilities; because he would merit by this affiduity; becaufe, in defpair of winning regard by any worthier qualities, he would be fure to make the most of this; and laftly, because of all things, he would dread, by the omiffion of any punctilious obfervance, to give offence. In a word, this fort of politenefs refpects, for its immediate object, the F favour favour and confideration of our neigh- feit folicits their favour by dishoneft com bour. pliances, and for the bafeft end. 2. Again; the man who governs himfelf by the spirit of the Apoftle's precept, viour. Hurd. expreffes his preference of another in fuch § 83. On religious Principles and Beba a way as is worthy of himfelf: in all innocent compliances, in all honeft civilities, in all decent and manly condefcenfions. On the contrary, the man of the world, who refts in the letter of this command, is regardless of the means by which he conducts himself. He refpects neither his own dignity, nor that of human nature. Truth, reafon, virtue, all are equally betrayed by this fupple impoftor. He affents to the errors, though the moft pernicious; he applauds the follies, though the most ridiculous; he foothes the vices, though the moft flagrant, of other men. He never contradicts, though in the foftelt form of infinuation; he never difapproves, though by a refpectful filence; he never condemns, though it be only by a good example. In fhort, he is folicitous for nothing, but by fome ftudied devices to hide from others, and, if poffible, to pal liate to himself, the grofinefs of his illiberal adulation. Laftly; we may be fure, that the ultimate ends for which thefe different objects are purfued, and by fo different means, must also lie wide of each other. Accordingly, the true polite man would, by all proper teftimonies of refpect, promote the credit and eftimation of his neighbour; because he fees that, by this generous confideration of cach other, the peace of the world is, in a good degree, preferved; because he knows that thefe mutual attentions prevent animofities, foften the fiercenefs of men's manners, and difpofe them. to all the offices of benevolence and charity; becaufe, in a word, the interefts of fociety are beft ferved by this conduct; and be cause he understands it to be his duty to love his neighbour. The falíely polite, on the contrary, are anxious, by all means whatever, to procure the favour and confideration of thofe they converse with; because they regard, ultimately, nothing more than their private intereft; because they perceive, that their own felfish defigns are beft carried on by fuch practices: in a word, because they love themselves. Thus we fee, that genuine virtue confults the honour of others by worthy means, and for the nobleft purposes; the counter Religion is rather a matter of fentiment than reafoning. The important and interefting articles of faith are fufficiently plain. Fix your attention on these, and do not meddle with controverfy. If you get into that, you plunge into a chaos, from which you will never be able to extricate yourfelves. It fpoils the temper, and, I suspect, has no good effect on the heart. Avoid all books, and all converfation, that tend to fhake your faith on those great points of religion, which fhould ferve toregulate your conduct, and on which your hopes of future and eternal happiness depend. Never indulge yourselves in ridicule on religious fubjects; nor give countenance to it in others, by feeming diverted with what they fay. This, to people of good breedwill be a fufficient check. ing with you to go no farther than the Scriptures for your religious opinions. Embrace thofe you find clearly revealed. Never perplex yourfelves about fuch as you do not understand, but treat them with filent and becoming reverence. I would advise you to read only fuch religious books as are addreffed to the heart, fuch as infpire pious and devout affections, fuch as are proper to direct you in your conduct; and not fuch as tend to entangle you in the endless maze of opinions and fyftems. Be punctual in the ftated performance of your private devotions, morning and evening. If you have any fenfibility or imagination, this will establish such an intercourfe between you and the Supreme Being, as will be of infinite confequence to you in life. It will communicate an habitual chearfulness to your tempers, give a firmness and fteadiness to your virtue, and enable you to go through all the viciffitudes of human life with propriety and dignity. I wish you to be regular in your atten dance on public worship, and in receiving the communion. Allow nothing to interrupt your public or private devotions, except the performance of fome active duty in life, to which they fhould always give place. In your behaviour at public wor fhip, obferve an exemplary attention and gravity. That extreme ftri&tnefs which I recommend to you in thefe duties, will be confidered by many of your acquaintance as a fuperftitious attachment to forms; but in the advices I give you on this and other fubjects, I have an eye to the spirit and manners of the age. There is a levity and diffipation in the prefent manners, a coldness and liftleffness in whatever relates to religion, which cannot fail to infect you, unless you purposely cultivate in your minds a contrary bias, and make the devotional one habitual. Gregory's Advice. who taftes them ofteneft, will relish them beft. And now, could the author flatter himfelf that any one would take half the pleasure in reading his work which he hath taken in writing it, he would not fear the lofs of his labour. The employment detached him from the bustle and hurry of life, the din of politics, and the noife of folly; vanity and vexation flew away for a feafon, care and difquietude came not near his dwelling. He arofe, fresh as the morning, to his tafk; the filence of the night invited him to purfue it; and he can truly fay, that food and reft were not preferred before it. Every Pfalm improved infinitely upon his acquaintance with it, and no one gave him uneafinefs but the laft; for then he grieved that his work was done. Happier hours than thofe which have been fpent in these meditations on the fongs of Sion, he never expects to fee in this world. Very pleasantly did they pafs, and moved fmoothly and fwiftly along; for when thus engaged, he counted no time. They are gone, but have left a relish and a fra grance upon the mind, and the remembrance of them is fweet. Horne. 84. On the Beauties of the Pfalms. Greatness confers no exemption from the cares and forrows of life: its fhare of them frequently bears a melancholy proportion to its exaltation. This the Ifraelitish monarch experienced. He fought in piety, that peace which he could not find in empire, and alleviated the dif quietudes of ftate, with the exercifes of devotion. His invaluable Pfalms convey thofe comforts to others, which they afforded to himself. Compofed upon particular occafions, yet defigned for general ufe; delivered out as fervices for Ifraelites under the Law, yet no lefs adapted to the circumftances of Chriftians under the Gofpel; they prefent religion to us in the moft engaging drefs; communicating truths which philofophy could never inveftigate, in a ftyle which poetry can never equal; while history is made the vehicle of prophecy, and creation lends all its charms to paint the glories of redemption. Calculated alike to profit and to please, they inform the understanding, elevate the affections, and entertain the imagination. Indited under the influence of him, to whom all hearts are known, and all events foreknown, they fuit mankind in all fituations, grateful as the manna which defcended from above, and conformed itself to every palate. The fairest productions of human wit, after a few perufals, like gathered flowers, wither in our hands, and lofe their fragrancy; but these unfading plants of paradife become, as we are accuftomed to them, ftill more and more beautiful; their bloom appears to be daily heightened; fresh odours are emitted, and new sweets extracted from them. He who hath once tafted their excellencies, will defire to taste them yet again; and he $85. The Temple of virtuous Love. The structure on the right hand was (as I afterwards found) confecrated to virtuous. Love, and could not be entered, but by fuch as received a ring, or fome other token, from a perfon who was placed as a guard at the gate of it. He wore a garland of rofes and myrtles on his head, and on his fhoulders a robe like an imperial mantle white and unfpotted all over, excepting only, that where it was clafped at his breaft, there were two golden turtle doves that buttoned it by their bills, which were wrought. in rubies: he was called by the name of Hymen, and was feated near the entrance of the temple, in a delicious bower, made up of feveral trees that were embraced by woodbines, jeffamines, and amaranths, which were as fo many emblems of marriage, and ornaments to the trunks that fupported them. As I was fingle and unaccompanied, I was not permitted to enter the temple, and for that reafon am a ftranger to all the mysteries that were performed in it. I had, however, the curiofity to obferve, how the feveral couples that entered were disposed of; which was after the following manner: there were two great gates on the backfide of the edifice, at which the whole crowd was let out. At one of thefe gates F 2 were were two women, extremely beautiful, fparrows, heathen gods, fatyrs, and mon though in a different kind; the one hav- fters, made up of half men, half beast. ing a very careful and compofed air, the The gates were unguarded, and open to all other a fort of fmile and ineffable fweetnefs that had a mind to enter. Upon my in her countenance: the name of the firft going in, I found the windows were blindwas Difcretion, and of the other Com- ed, and let in only a kind of twilight, that placency. All who came out of this gate, ferved to difcover a prodigious number of and put themfelves under the direction of dark corners and apartments, into which thefe two fifters, were immediately con- the whole temple was divided. I was here ducted by them into gardens, groves, and ftunned with a mixed noife of clamour and meadows, which abounded in delights, and jollity: on one fide of me I heard finging were furnished with every thing that and dancing; on the other, brawis and could make them the proper feats of hap- clafhing of fwords: in fhort, I was fo piness. The fecond gate of this temple little pleafed with the place, that I was let out all the couples that were unhappily going out of it; but found I could not remarried; who came out linked together turn by the gate where I entered, which by chains, which each of them ftrove to was barred against all that were come in, break, but could not. Several of thefe with bolts of iron and locks of adamant; were fuch as had never been acquainted there was no going back from this temple with each other before they met in the through the paths of pleasure which led to great walk, or had been two well acquainted it all who paffed through the ceremonies in the thicket. The entrance to this gate of the place, went out at an iron wicket, was poffeffed by three fifters, who joined which was kept by a dreadful giant called themselves with thefe wretches, and occa- Remorfe, that held a fcourge of fcorpions fioned most of their miferies. The youngest in his hand, and drove them into the only of the fifters was known by the name of outlet from that temple. This was a pafLevity; who, with the innocence of a fage fo rugged, fo uneven, and choaked virgin, had the drefs and behaviour of a with fo many thorns and briars, that it harlot: the name of the fecond was Con- was a melancholy fpectacle to behold the tention, who bore on her right arm a pains and difficulties which both fexes fufmuff made of the fkin of a porcupine, and fered who walked through it: the men, on her left carried a little lap-dog, that though in the prime of their youth, apbarked and fnapped at every one that peared weak and infeebled with old age: paffed by her. The eldest of the fifters, the women wrung their hands, and tore who feemed to have an haughty and im- their hair, and feveral loft their limbs, perious air, was always accompanied with before they could extricate themfelves out a tawny Cupid, who generally marched of the perplexities of the path in which before her with a little mace on his fhoul- they were engaged. The remaining part der, the end of which was fashioned into of this vifion, and the adventures I met the horns of a tag: her garments were with in the two great roads of Ambition yellow, and her complexion pale: her eyes and Avarice must be the fubject of anowere piercing, but had odd cafts in them, ther paper. Ibid. and that particular diftemper which makes perfons who are troubled with it fec objects double. Upon enquiry, I was informed that her name was Jealousy. Tatler. $86. The Temple of Luft. Having finished my obfervations upon this temple, and its votaries, I repaired to that which ftood on the left hand, and was called the Temple of Luft. The front of it was raised on Corinthian pillars, with all the meretricious ornaments that accomthat order; whereas that of the other pany was composed of the chafe and matronlike lonic. The fides of it were adorned with feveral grotefque figures of goats, § 87. The Temple of Virtue. With much labour and difficulty. I paffed through the firft part of my vifior, and recovered the centre of the wood, from whence I had the profpect of the three great roads. I here joined myfelf to the middle-aged party of mankind, who marched behind the ftandard of Ambition. The great road lay in a direct line, and was terminated by the Temple of Virtue. It was planted on each fide with laurels, which were intermixed with marble trophies, carved pillars, and ftatues of lawgivers, heroes, ftatefmen, philofophers, and poets. The perfors who trave lled this great path, were fuch whofe thoughts up were were bent upon doing eminent fervices to mankind, or promoting the good of their country. On each fide of this great road, were feveral paths that were also laid out in ftraight lines, and ran parallel with it: these were most of them covered walks, and received into them men of retired virtue, who propofed to themfelves the fame end of their journey, though they chose to make it in fhade and obfcurity. The edifices, at the extremity of the walk, were fo contrived, that we could not fee the temple of Honour, by reafon of the temple of Virtue, which stood before it: at the gates of this temple, we were met by the god defs of it, who conducted us into that of Honour, which was joined to the other edifice by a beautiful triumphal arch, and had no other entrance into it. When the deity of the inner structure had received us, the prefented us in a body, to a figure that was placed over the high altar, and was the emblem of Eternity. She fat on a globe, in the midst of a golden zodiac, holding the figure of a fun in one hand, and a moon in the other; her head was veiled, and her feet covered. Our hearts glowed within us, as we ftood amidst the Sphere of light which this image cast on every fide of it. Tatler, $88. The Temple of Vanity. Having feen all that happened to the band of adventurers, I repaired to another pile of buildings that stood within view of the temple of Honour, and was raised in imitation of it, upon the very fame model; but, at my approach to it, I found that the stones were laid together without mortar, and that the whole fabric stood upon fo weak a foundation, that it hook with every wind that blew. This was called the Temple of Vanity. The goddess of it fat in the midft of a great many tapers, that burned day and night, and made her appear much better than fhe would have done in open day-light. Her whole art was to fhew herself more beautiful and majestic than fhe really was.. For which reafon fhe had painted her face, and wore a cluster of falfe jewels upon her breaft: but what I more particularly obferved, was the breadth of her petticoat, which was made altogether in the fashion of a modern fardingal. This place was filled with hypocrites, pedants, free-thinkers, and prating politicians, with a rabble of thofe who have only titles to make them great men. Female votaries crowded the tem ple, choaked up the avenues of it, and were more in number than the fand upon the fea-fhore. I made it my bufinefs, in my return towards that part of the wood from whence I first fet out, to obferve the walks which led to this temple; for I met in it several who had begun their journey with the band of virtuous perfons, and travelled fome time in their company: but, upon examination, I found that there were feveral paths, which led out of the great road into the fides of the wood, and ran into fo many crooked turns and windings, that thofe who travelled through them, often turned their backs upon the temple of Virtue, then croffed the straight road, and fometimes marched in it for a little space, till the crooked path which they were engaged in again led them into the wood. The feveral alleys of thefe wanderers, had their particular ornaments: one of them I could not but take notice of, in the walk of the mischievous pretenders to politics, which had at every turn the figure of a perfon, whom, by the infcription, I found to be Machiavel, pointing out the way, with an extended finger, like a Mercury. Ibid. § 89. The Temple of Avarice. :: I was now returned in the fame manner as before, with a defign to observe carefully every thing that paffed in the region of Avarice, and the occurrences in that affembly, which was made up of perfons of my own age. This body of travellers had not gone far in the third great road, before it led them infenfibly into a deep valley, in which they journied feveral days, with great toil and uneafiness, and without the neceflary refreshments of food and fleep. The only relief they met with, was in a river that ran through the bottom of the valley on a bed of golden fand they often drank of this ftream, which had fuch a particular quality in it, that though it refreshed them for a time, it rather inflamed than quenched their thirst. On each fide of the river was a range of hills full of precious ore; for where the rains had washed off the earth, one might fee in feveral parts of them long veins of gold, and rocks that looked like pure filver. We were told that the deity of the place had forbad any of his votaries to dig into the bowels of thefe hills, or convert the treafures they contained to any use, under pain of starving. At the end of the valley itood the Temple of Avarice, made after F 3 the |