stand the works of genius, without a spark of genuine feeling or of true taste.

The utmost ex

travagance of enthusiasm in a favourite pursuit, is beyond comparison preferable to this.

EDWARD. Describe true taste to us, papa, in a

few words.

FATHER.

That would require some thought. However, we might generally say of it, that while it will stoop to inspect and to admire the most minute and laborious operations of ingenuity, and while it feels an interest and sympathy in every branch of knowledge, it returns with a natural bias towards that which is most comprehensive in science, most intellectual in art, and most sublime in nature.

XXXI.

THE LOVER OF EASE.

In a dirty, ruinous looking house, that stood in one of the back streets of a smoky town, there lived an elderly man of the name of Smith. Very few people knew, and fewer cared any thing about him; yet it was impossible to pass his abode without noticing the broken window panes, mended with paper, or stuffed with rags : the wretched court-yard, overgrown with nettles, and bestrewed with fragments of earthenware; the appearance of the whole bespeaking the sloth and misery of the owner. Smith himself was not often visible, but

occasionally he might be seen on a sun-shiny morning, leaning with his arms folded over the pales of his yard, basking in the heat, like his old tabby cat. And sometimes on a dark evening,

his long, lean, shabby figure might be discerned hovering over a handful of fire in his rusty grate. It is true, that there are in every town individuals equally wretched and comfortless; and it is also true, that in most, if not in every instance of the kind, there is more of fault than of misfortune. But, in the case of Smith, it is worthy of record, that he was a man remarkable for his relish for the good and agreeable things of life. Though he was wretched, he had certainly no taste for wretchedness; though he was destitute of pleasure, pleasure was the thing he most desired. From his early childhood, his love of gratification was so great, that whenever an opportunity offered he never failed to avail himself of it: whether to do so were right or wrong, in season or out of season, he would deny himself no enjoyment then; by which means he is denied every enjoyment now. So improvident are the indulgent, even in scorning the very things that are most valued by them!

Smith was apprenticed to an honest trade, and he wanted not ability to become more than ordinarily expert in it. But whenever his master's back was turned, he thought it more agreeable to gossip over the fire with his fellow apprentices, to crack a pocket full of nuts, to play a game of whist, to read a dirty novel, or even to sit resting his head on his hands, over the bench than to go on with

his work. Thus, at the end of seven years, he left his master with an imperfect knowledge of his business, an indifferent character, and, worse than all, desultory and idle habits.

Now, if he had but so far denied himself while he was an apprentice, as to have applied diligently to his business, he might have earned money enough as a journeyman to procure him all those comforts and enjoyments of which he was so fond. But instead of this, he was obliged to get work at low wages, when and where he could; so that he was poor, though he hated poverty; and he that was so fond of dainty fare had many a scanty meal.

Smith was fond of company, and had amongst his other partialities, a strong love of praise. He would not deny himself, when any opportunity offered, the pitiful pleasure of fishing for a compliment, and of saying those little things to his own advantage, which always proved in fact to be to his own disadvantage. Thus, amongst the most severe denials to which his want of self-denial exposed him, were the perpetual mortifications which vanity is sure to encounter. Instead of being admired, Smith was ridiculed and pitied by his most discerning acquaintance; and as he was poor, they took no pains to conceal their contempt.

Having, as before hinted, read a great many worthless novels during his apprenticeship, his indolent mind was often occupied in the injurious habit of castle building. There was no handsome and gallant chevalier in old romance, no elegant and accomplished hero of modern tale, with whom

A H

this meagre, threadbare, and dirty journeyman, would not at times identify himself; "Who knows," he would often think, "but I may one day happen of good luck some do, and why should not I?" Those persons have always the highest expectations from luck who are least disposed to make use of their cunning. The many hours in every week that poor Smith sat dreaming over his hopes and his wishes for prosperity, would have done a great deal, well employed, to help him out of adversity. But it was much easier, he thought, to sit still and wish for wealth and honour, than to work hard for competence and credit. At any rate, he would not, or, as he thought, he could not deny himself this unprofitable amusement. Besides, he knew very well that the utmost diligence in his business would do no more than enable him to live with credit and comfort in his present rank of life; and that Idid not at all meet the ideas of one who was so familiar with great names, and high life, as are all readers of fiction; so he preferred to wait for the incalculably small chances of fortune, rather than to accept the certain rewards of industry. He thought the outside of a palace better than the inside of a cottage.

Every one who loves pleasure, knows how indispensable health is to the enjoyment of it; yet those who most value their ease, are generally the least careful in preserving it. Little acts of indulgence commonly introduce strong habits of intemperance. Thus Smith quickly lost one of the great advantages of honest poverty, health. Surely it must have been

a great denial to one who was so fond of pleasure, to be always in pain! He had better have denied himself.

It would not have been an easy thing to have persuaded Smith in his youth, to commence a life of austerity, and submit to the rigours of a monastic rule. Yet, it may well be questioned whether the hardships, denials, and mortifications to which his want of self-denial exposed him, were not less tolerable than those he would in that case have endured. For is not abstinence to be preferred to hunger? penance to pain? retirement to obscurity? concealment to contempt ? Is there then,

much to choose between the wretched Smith in his ruinous tenement, and a monk in the cloisters of La Trappe?

But how many people live in comfort and credit, who are yet little practised in the art of self-denial ! If indulgence always reduced one to wretchedness and contempt, there would be nothing to be said for it. Nor is there any thing to be said for it, although the degrees of outward misery to which it subjects individuals are various. It is truly remarked by Dr. Johnson, that "in proportion as we consult our ease, we part from happiness;" yes, in exact proportion. It is not necessary to be dirty, ragged, hungry, solitary and despised, in order to be uncomfortable. A man, reclining on the softest couch, in the most splendid apartments in the kingdom, surrounded with obsequious attendants, and pampered with every delicacy, may be pretty nearly as devoid of comfort as poor Smith in his