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good quality; and thrusts upon us many evil ones, we never naturally possessed.

Man is never so strong, nor the operations of his mind so effective, as when they are called into action by some great, overwhelming, and destructive occasion; and then Virtue is the best shield and bulwark of his nature. Magnanimous himself, a truism does the maxim appear, which asserts, that magnanimity is the sum and perfection of every earthly virtue. Throwing a grace over every mental energy, it gives beauty to grandeur and tranquillity to passion. As to envy! who is there worthy of envy? The fortunate have their imaginary evils; the unfortunate their real ones. And whether real or imaginary are the easier to be borne, requires little skill in mental anatomy to determine. As to the Great! If you would know, without the trouble of experiment, what their extravagance and insensibility is, and what their wedded attachments to life, it is only to read the "Tyrant" of Lucian. Those, whom we style "great," are only men, placed upon high pedestals; and seen from which, they are, Heaven knows, little enough! In our early years we approach them with awe, and with an assured expectation, that they possess something intrinsically eminent. When we view them closer-Gracious Powers! how narrow are their views; how frivolous their conversation; and how violent their passions. How reluctant are they to forgive; how sensitive are they to disrespect; and how eagerly do they look for ⚫ homage:-how do they burn for favours, which beggars ought only to sue for; and how impatient,-how

fantastically impatient,-are they at honours, conferred upon an equal! Rank ought to have much to give, in order to compensate for the trouble and the misery it occasions.

VI.

The landscapes of Claude are in the first class of excellence ;-serene, lovely, and romantic. In gazing we desire to become inhabitants of his regions; to recline beneath his arches; to bathe in his rivers; to dance with his groups; and to listen to the music of his shepherds. A similar feeling pervades us, when we read the "Aminta" of Tasso, the "Pastor Fido" of Guarini, and other productions of celebrated poets. In life how few enjoyments are commensurate with these! Old men frequently complain how few pleasures, they have been able to enjoy but they would make fewer complaints, if they had been susceptible of similar enjoyments. Fine feelings produce a multitude of fine enjoyments; yet it must be confessed, that a man of exquisite sensibility undergoes many martyrdoms. "For some men," as an elegant writer has observed, "kindle the torch of immortality at the funeral pile of their own misery."

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Wisdom, however, is tranquil. The best inheritances, a man can possess, are heartfelt serenity and sedate fortitude: as, in the cold solace of society, a constant and legitimate sense of inward worth is the ⚫ first of all earthly consolations. The most beautiful object, that can engage the imagination, is that of a man, living serenely in the midst of privations and

tumult; as if he considered himself as living for eternity.

When we behold age, standing with one foot in the grave, and with another placed, as it were, upon an ingot of gold;-when we reflect how soon the season of life is over; and that no one hour of the past can ever contribute a single moment to the future :—when we behold the young and the beautiful withering in their prime, or feel ourselves the last survivor of many friends, after having seen the best of their wishes vanish in disappointment, and the last of their hopes melt into nothing, what awful views of Nature and of life are presented to the imagination!

When we look around us, and behold the pride, the envy, and the malice, that oppress the general mass of mankind: when we consider how many virtues society nips in the bud; and with what industry it punishes those virtues, it is obliged in decency to commend :—when we see with what eagerness the feelings are insulted and the mind starved; and observe the delight, with which some men view the wretchedness of their fellow creatures; there is, assuredly, sufficient justification for the profoundest melancholy. When we pause upon the ruins of a countenance, melancholy and meditative, whose only dower of inheritance was independance of mind : when the captivating bloom of youth has faded into ugliness, penury, and age: when the electrical fibres of the heart freeze before the touches of selfish indifference; and when experience teaches, that wealth and grandeur and glory store up for old age an irri-. tating horror of death, instead of picturing that trans

cendant change, which, as with a magic wand, shall

convert the wrinkles of age

into a blooming face,

On which youth shines celestial;

there is, indeed, "sufficient justification for the profoundest melancholy.-"But in that melancholy there is hope!

VII.

Recollection, enjoyment, and anticipation are the yesterday, the to-day, and the to-morrow of life. To live in the recollection of those, we love, is a felicity of the first order :-In affliction, too, how delightful is it to recal the enjoyments of the past! "Jerusalem remembered in the days of her miseries all those pleasant things, that she had in the days of old; when her people fell into the hands of the enemy." Many of our hopes are richer than realities; and yet there are recollections even richer than our hopes. They give grace to reason.

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Gibbon calls hope,-that dear prerogative of youth, the best comfort of our imperfect condition: St. Paul styles it "an earthly immortality:" Thales said, that, of all possessions, it was the one, most universally enjoyed; for they have it, who have, nothing else. Indeed so delightful are its impressions, that Dante and Milton, when they would give, the most vivid idea of the horrors, that surrounded the fallen Spirits, thought they could do so, in no manner so strongly, as by excluding them totally from the influence of hope.

Are we laid upon a bed of sickness ?-Are not our groans, at intervals, interrupted by the anticipation of the enjoyment, we shall experience, when we shall rise with the lark, and imbibe the sweet scent of the fields? Hope! yes

The fairest maid she is, that ever yet

Prison'd her locks within a golden net;

Or let them waving hang with roses round them set.

With what rapture does a Swiss soldier, engaged in a dangerous campaign, anticipate the comforts of his cottage, the joy of his wife, and the smiles of his children! His garden, which he left so neat; his cottage, mantled with woodbine; his friends, who lamented his departure, and who will celebrate his return; all pass in mental review before him. He enjoys, in perspective, the hour when he shall repose under the vine, which he planted when a boy; he already clasps his children to his breast; while with all the energy of anticipated rapture he beholds his wife, lifting up her eyes to heaven, in gratitude for his preservation, and exhorting him, with all the eloquence of a tried affection,

To think of nought but rural quiet,
Rural pleasures, rural ploys ;

Far from battles, blood and riot,

War, and all its murdering joys.

VIII.

But what hope, for years, animated thy broken spirit, unfortunate GENEVIEVE!-Formed by the finger of Nature in one of her happiest moments, this

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