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and as the mind of man, when left to itself, is naturally an enemy to all injustice, we, even unknown to ourselves, strive to repair the wrong we have involuntarily done her, by a double portion of attention and regard.

If these observations be founded in truth, it will appear, that though a woman with a cultivated mind may justly hope to please, without even any superior advantages of person, the loveliest creature that ever came from the hand of her Creator can hope only for a transitory empire, unless she unite with her beauty the more durable charm of intellectual excellence.

The favored child of nature, who combines in herself these united perfections, may be justly considered as the masterpiece of creation; as the most perfect image of the Divinity here below. Man, the proud lord of creation, bows willingly his haughty neck beneath her gentle rule. Exalted, tender, beneficent, is the love that she inspires. Even time himself shall respect the all-powerful magic of her beauty. Her charms may fade, but they shall never wither; and memory still, in the evening of life, hanging with fond affection over the blanched rose, shall view through the vale of lapsed years, the tender bud, the dawning promise, whose beauties once blushed before the beams of the morning sun.




CONTENTMENT produces, in some measure, all those effects which are usually ascribed to what is called the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes arising from a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. It has indeed a kindly influence on the soul of man, in respect of every being to whom he stands related. It extinguishes all murmuring, repining, and ingratitude towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard to the community wherein he is placed.


It gives sweetness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts. Among the many methods which might be made use of for acquiring this virtue, I shall mention only the two following. First of all, a man should always consider how much he has, more than he wants; and secondly, how much more unhappy he might be than he really is.



First, a man should always consider how much he has, more than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased with the reply which Aristippus made to one, who condoled with him upon the loss of a farm: "Why," said he, "I have three farms still, and you have but one; so that I ought rather to be afflicted for you, than for me.' On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they have lost, than what they possess; and to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than on those who are under greater difficulties. All the real pleasures and conveniences of life lie in a narrow compass; but it is the humor of mankind to be always looking forward, and straining after one who has got the start of them in wealth and honor.

For this reason, as none can be properly called rich, who have not more than they want, there are few rich men in any of the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of a higher rank, live in a kind of splendid poverty; and are perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the solid pleasures of life, they endeavor to outvie one another in shadows and appearances. Men of sense have at all times beheld, with a great deal of mirth, this silly game that is playing over their heads; and, by contracting their desires, they enjoy all that secret satisfaction which others are always in quest of. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let a man's estate be what it may, he is a poor man if he does not live within it; and naturally sets himself to sale to any one that can give him his


When Pittacus, after the death of his brother, who left him a good estate, was offered a great sum of money by the king of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindness; but told him, he

had already more by half than he knew what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to wealth, and luxury to poverty; or, to give the thought a more agreeable turn, "Content is natural wealth,” says Socrates; to which I shall add, luxury is artificial poverty. I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of those who are always aiming at superfluous and imaginary enjoyments, and who will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion, the philosopher, namely, "That no man has so much care, as he who endeavors after the most happiness."

In the second place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently provided with the means to make themselves easy; this regards such as actually lie under some pressure or misfortune. These may receive great alleviation, from such a comparison as the unhappy person may make between himself and others; or between the misfortune which he suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen him. I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, upon breaking his leg by a fall from the main-mast, told the standers by, it was a great mercy that it was not his neck. To which, give me leave to add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after having invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled by a person that came into the room in a passion, and threw down the table that stood before him: "Every one," says he, "has his calamity; and he is a happy man that has no greater than this."

I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that there never was any system, besides that of Christianity, which could effectually produce in the mind of man, the virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. In order to make us contented with our condition, many of the present philosophers tell us, that our discontent only hurts ourselves, without being able to make any alteration in our circumstances; others, that whatever evil befalls us is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which superior beings themselves are subject; while others, very gravely, tell the man who is miserable, that it is necessary he should be so, to keep up the harmony of the universe; and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and perverted, were he otherwise.

These, and the like considerations, rather silence than satisfy a man. They may show him that his discontent is unreasonable, but they are by no means sufficient to relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief could not fetch him back again: “It is for that very reason," said the emperor, "that I grieve." On the contrary, religion bears a more tender regard to human nature. It prescribes to every miserable man the, means of bettering his condition: nay, it shows him, that bearing his afflictions as he ought to do, will naturally end in the removal of them. It makes him easy here, because it can make him happy hereafter.





FAIR guardian of domestic life!
Kind banisher of home-bred strife!
Nor sullen lip, nor trembling eye,
Deforms the scene when thou art by:
No sickening husband mourns the hour
Which bound his joys to female power;
No pining mother weeps the cares
Which parents waste on thankless heirs;
The ready daughters, pleased attend;
The brother adds the name of friend;
By thee with flowers their board is crowned;
With songs from thee their walks resound;
The morn with welcome luster shines;
And evening unperceived declines.


Content! the good, the golden mean,
The safe estate that sits between
The sordid poor and miserable great,
The humble tenant of a rural seat!


In vain we wealth and treasure heap;
He 'mid his thousand kingdoms still is poor,
That for another crown does weep;
'Tis only he is rich, that wishes for no more.



Whom call we gay? that honor has been long
The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay. The lark is gay,
That dries his feathers, saturate with dew,
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest.
The peasant, too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster, is as gay as he.

But save me from the gayety of those,
Whose headaches nail them to a noonday bed;
And save me, too, from theirs, whose haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
For property stripped off by cruel chance :
From gayety, that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.


Primeval HOPE! the Aonian Muses say,
When man and nature mourned their first decay;
When every form of death, and every woe,
Shot from malignant stars to earth below;
When Murder bared her arm, and rampant war
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car;
When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain,
Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again;
All, all forsook the friendless, guilty mind,
But HOPE, the charmer, lingered still behind.



Be hushed, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore;

Be strong as the rock of the ocean, that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore.

Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate,
Yea, even the name I have worshiped in vain
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again :

To bear is to conquer our fate.


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