that kind of life, or feries of action, in which the choice of others, or his own necefsities, may have engaged him. It may perhaps be very disagreeable to him, at first; but use and application will certainly render it not only less painful, but pleasing and fatisfactory.

In the second place, I would recommend to every one, the admirable precept, which Pythagoras is faid to have given to his disciples, and which that philosopher must have drawn from the observation I have enlarged upon: "Pitch upon that course of life which is the most excellent, and custom will render it the most delightful." Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose their own way of life, are inexcufable if they do not pursue that which their judgment tells them is the most laudable. The voice of reason is more to be regarded, than the bent of any present inclination; fince, by the rule above mentioned, inclination will at length come over to reason, though we can never force reason to comply with inclination.

In the third place, this observation may teach the moft fenfual and irreligious man, to overlook those hardships and difficulties, which are apt to discourage him from the profecution of a virtuous life. "The Gods," faid Hefiod, "have placed labour before virtue; the way to her is at first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and easy the farther we advance in it." The man who proceeds in it with steadiness and refolution, will, in a little time, find that "her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace."

To enforce this confideration, we may further obferve, that the practice of religion will not only be attended with that pleasure, which naturally accompanies those actions to which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary joys of heart, that rise from the confciousness of such a pleasure; from the fatisfaction of acting up to the dictates of reason; and from the profpect of a happy immortality.

In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation, which we have made on the mind of man, to take particular care, when we are once fettled in a regular course of life, how we too frequently indulge ourselves in even the most innocent diversions and entertainments; fince the mind may insensibly fall off from the relith of virtuous actions, and, by degrees, exchange that pleafure which it takes in the performance of its duty, for delights of a much inferior and an unprofitable

nature.

The last use which I small make of this remarkable property in human nature, of being delighted with those actions to which it is accustomed, is, to show how abfolutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue in this life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next. The state of bliss, we call Heaven, will not be capable of affecting those minds which are not thus qualified for it: we must in this world, gain a relish of truth and virtue, if we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection, which are to make us happy in the next. The feeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, which are to rifse up and flourish in the foul to all eternity, must be planted in it during this its present state of probation. In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the reward, but as the natural effect, of a religious life.

ADDISON.

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SECTION XVI.

The Pleasures refulting from a proper Use of our Faculties.

HAPPY that man, who, unembarrassed by vulgar cares, master of himself, his time, and fortune, spends his time in making himself wifer; and his fortune, in making others (and therefore himself) happier: who, as the will and understanding are the two ennobling faculties of the foul, thinks himself not complete, till his understanding is beautified with the valuable furniture of knowledge, as well as his will enriched with every virtue: who has furnished himself with all the advantages to relish solitude and enliven conversation; who when ferious, is not fullen; and when cheerful, not indiscreetly gay; whose ambition is, not to be admired for a false glare of greatness, but to be beloved for the gentle and fober luftre of his wisdom and goodness. The greatest minister of state has not more bufiness to do, in a public capacity, than he, and indeed every other man, may find, in the retired and still scenes of life. Even in his private walks, every thing that is vifible convinces him there is present a Being invisible. Aided by natural philosophy, he reads plain legible traces of the Divinity in every thing he meets: he sees the Deity in every tree, as well as Mofes did in the burning bush, though not in fo glaring a manner: and when he sees him, he adores him with the tribute of a grateful heart.

SEED.

SECTION XVII.

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Description of Candour.

TRUE candour is altogether different from that guarded, inoffenfive language, and that studied openness of behaviour, which we so frequently meet with among men of the world. Smiling, very often, is the aspect, and fmooth are the words, of those who in. wardly are the most ready to think evil of others. That candour which is a Christian virtue, confifts, not in fairness of speech, but in fairness of heart. It may want the blandishment of external courtefy, but fupplies its place with humane and generous liberality of fentiment. Its manners are unaffected, and its profefsions cordial. Exempt, on one hand, from the dark jealousy of a fufpicious mind, it is no less removed, on the other, from that easy credulity which is imposed on by every fpecious pretence. It is perfectly confiftent with extensive knowledge of the world, and with due attention to our own fafety. In that various intercourse, which we are obliged to carry on with persons of every different character, fufpicion, to a certain degree, is a necessary guard. It is only when it exceeds the bounds of prudent caution, that it degenerates into vice. There is a proper mean between undistinguishing credulity, and universal jealoufy, which a found understanding difcerns, and which the man of candour studies to preserve.

He makes allowance for the mixture of evil with good, which is to be found in every human character. He expects none to be faultless; and he is unwilling

to believe that there is any without fome commendable quality. In the midst of many defects, he can difcover a virtue. Under the influence of personal resentment, he can be just to the merit of an enemy. He never lends an open ear to those defamatory reports and dark suggestions, which, among the tribes of the cenforious, circulate with so much rapidity, and meet with fuch ready acceptance. He is not hasty to judge, and he requires full evidence before he will condemn As long as an action can be afcribed to different motives, he holds it as no mark of fagacity to impute it always to the worst. Where there is just ground for doubt, he keeps his judgment undecided; and, during the period of fufpenfe, leans to the most charitable conftruction which an action can bear. When he muft condemn, he condemns with regret; and without those aggravations which the feverity of others adds to the crime. Helistens calmly to the apology of the offender, and readily admits every extenuating circumstance which equity can suggest. How much foever he may blame the principles of any fect or party, he never confounds, under one general cenfure, all who belong to that party or fect. He charges them not with fuch consequences of their tenets, as they refuse and dif

avow.

From one wrong opinion, he does not infer the fubverfion of all found principles; nor from one bad action, conclude that all regard to confcience is overthrown. When he "beholds the mote in his brother's eye," he remembers "the beam in his own." He commiferates human frailty; and judges of others according to the principles, by which he would think it reasonable that they should judge of him. In a word, he views men and actions in the clear funshine

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