CHAPTER II.

THE GOVERNMENT OF LIFE.-VOYAGE OF Life.

HE wisdom of the ancients as to the government of life was made up of precepts -pointing out what to do, and what ought not to be done, in accordance with the laws of REASON.

Precepts refresh the memory and bring us to a more distinct view of the parts which we saw but confusedly in the whole-we carry away the tincture of good whether we will or not; and, when impressed upon the faithful mind, the imprint is deep and lasting.

“To perfect oneself,” says Seneca, “is not a thing of chance, but is approached by industry and labour. As we are all inclined to evil before we are good, we must unlearn iniquity and study virtue, and the difficulty lies in beginning the enterprise, for a weak mind is afraid of new experiments-it loves procrastination, which is the bane of slothfulness." Speaking of his friend and the virtue of true friendship, Seneca says, "It is a kindness, that you call upon me to keep a strict account of my time-that nothing less than a diary of my life will satisfy you; for I take it as a mark both of your good opinion and of your friendship in believing that I do nothing which I care to conceal. I will hereafter set a watch upon myself."

Difficulties strengthen the mind as labour does the body. The pusillanimous say, "This is a hard lesson, and we cannot go through with it." We could if we would endeavour; but we CANNOT, because we take it for granted that we CANNOT without trying whether we can or no. The reason is that we are of a SICKLY HUMOUR, pleased with our vices, and allow ourselves to be mastered by them-resort to an excuse rather

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GOVERNMENT OF LIFE.

than cast them off. We WILL not, under pretence that we CANNOT; and we submit to error for the INDOLENCE of it. Some people embrace good things as soon as they hear them, while others require quickening by admonition and precept. A word to one is sufficient; to a second, admonition; a third, example and precept.

"A few precepts," says Socrates, "at hand, are more useful, and do more towards a happy life, than whole volumes of cautions that we know not where to find." Precepts are the RULES by which we ought to square our lives; for they appeal to the affections, invigorate the mind, and stimulate to virtuous actions. When given with kindness and respect (for a blessing attends counsels that flow from the heart), they impress us with our duty; for they appeal to reason, and explain why we are to do this, and why refrain from doing that. Our understandings are so weak that we require help to expound to us what is GOOD and what is EVIL.

Precepts teach us to cherish virtue-to love to give-and to follow good counsels. If they do not lead us to honesty, they at least prompt us to be honest.

A precept that has taken root in the heart may change the whole current of a man's life.

Allegories are founded on precept- they waylay the youthful mind, and gently lead it from the labyrinths of romance into the dome of truth and reason.

The beautiful allegory of Addison, the

VOYAGE OF Life,

was suggested by one of Seneca's precepts.

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"Life,' says Seneca, is a voyage, in the progress of which we are perpetually changing our scenes: we first leave childhood behind us, then youth, then the years of ripened manhood, then the better or more pleasing part of old age.'—The perusal of this passage having excited in me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant fluctuation of his wishes, the

gradual change of his disposition to all external objects, and the thoughtlessness with which he floats along the stream of time, I sunk into a slumber amidst my meditations, and, on a sudden, found my ears filled with the tumult of labour, the shouts of alacrity, the shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of waters.

"My astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity; but soon recovering myself so far as to inquire whither we were going, and what was the cause of such clamour and confusion, I was told that they were launching out into the ocean of Life; that we had already passed the straits of infancy, in which multitudes had perished, some by the weakness and fragility of their vessels, and more by the folly, perverseness, or negligence, of those who undertook to steer them; and that we were now on the main sea, abandoned to the winds and billows, without any other means of security than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our power to choose, among great numbers that offered their direction and assistance.

"I then looked round with anxious eagerness; and first turning my eyes behind me, saw a stream flowing through flowery islands, which every one that sailed along seemed to behold with pleasure; but no sooner touched, than the current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet irresistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was darkness, nor could any of the passengers describe the shore at which he first embarked.

"Before me, and on either side, was an expanse of waters violently agitated, and covered with so thick a mist, that the most perspicacious eyes could see but a little way. It appeared to be full of rocks and whirlpools, for many sank unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full sails, and insulting those whom they had left behind. So numerous, indeed, were the dangers, and so thick the darkness, that no caution could confer security. Yet there were many, who, by false intelligence, betrayed their followers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom they found in their way against the rocks.

"The current was invariable and insurmountable; but though it was impossible to sail against it, or to return to the place that was once passed, yet it was not so violent as to allow no opportunities for dexterity or courage, since, though none could retreat back from danger, yet they might often avoid it by oblique direction.

"It was, however, not very common to steer with much care and prudence; for, by some universal infatuation, every man appeared to think himself safe, though he saw his consorts every moment sinking round him; and no sooner had the waves closed over them, than their fate and their misconduct were forgotten; the voyage was pursued with the same jocund confidence; every man congratulated himself upon the soundness of his vessel, and he believed himself able to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallowed, or glide over the rocks on which he was dashed; nor was it often observed that the sight of a wreck made any man change his course; if he turned aside for a moment, he soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to the disposal of chance.

"This negligence did not proceed from indifference, or from weariness of their present condition; for not one of those who thus rushed upon destruction failed, when he was sinking, to call loudly upon his associates for that help which could not now be given him; and many spent their last moments in cautioning others against the folly by which they were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their benevolence was sometimes praised, but their admonitions were unregarded.

"The vessels in which we had embarked, being confessedly unequal to the turbulence of the stream of life, were visibly impaired in the course of the voyage, so that every passenger was certain, that however long soever he might by favourable accidents, or by incessant vigilance, be preserved, he must sink at last.

"This necessity of perishing might have been expected to

sadden the gay, and intimidate the daring, at least to keep the melancholy and timorous in perpetual torments, and hinder them from any enjoyment of the varieties and gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their labours; yet in effect none seemed less to expect destruction than those to whom it was most dreadful; they all had the art of concealing their danger from themselves; and those who knew their inability to bear the sight of the terrors that embarrassed their way took care never to look forward, but found some amusement in the present moment, and generally entertained themselves by playing with Hope, who was the constant associate of the voyage of Life.

"Yet all that Hope ventured to promise, even to those whom she favoured most, was, not that they should escape, but that they should sink last; and with this promise every one was satisfied, though he laughed at the rest for seeming to believe it. Hope, indeed, apparently mocked the credulity of her com panions; for, in proportion as their vessels grew leaky, she redoubled her assurances of safety; and none were more busy in making provisions for a long voyage, than they whom all but themselves saw likely to perish soon from irreparable decay.

"In the midst of the current of Life was the gulph of Intemperance, a dreadful whirlpool, interspersed with rocks, of which the pointed crags were concealed under water, and the tops covered with herbage, on which Ease spread couches of repose; and with shades where Pleasure warbled the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks, all who sailed on the ocean of Life must necessarily pass. Reason, indeed, was always at hand to steer the passengers through a narrow outlet, by which they might escape; but very few could, by her entreaties or remonstrances, be induced to put the rudder into her hand, without stipulating that she should approach so near unto the rocks of Pleasure, that they might solace themselves with a short enjoyment of that delicious region, after which they

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