i principle within them. All the dead parts of nature are invigorated by the prefence of their Creator, and made capable of exerting their respective qualities. The several instincts, in the brute creation, do likewife operate and work towards the several ends which are agreeable to them, by this divine energy. Man only, who does not co-operate with his holy spirit, and is unattentive to his prefence, receives none of these advantages from it, which are perfective of his nature, and necessary to his well-being. The divinity is with him, and in him, and every where about him, but of no advantage to him. It is the fame thing to a man without religion, as if there were no God in the world. It is indeed impoffible for an infinite Being to remove himself from any of his creatures; but though he cannot withdraw his essence from us, which would argue an imperfection in him, he can withdraw from us all the joys and confolations of it. His presence may perhaps be necessary to support us in our existence; but he may leave this our exiftence to itself, with regard to its happiness or misery. For, in this sense, he may caft us away from his presence, and take his holy spirit from us. This fingle confideration one would think sufficient to make us open our hearts to all those infufions of joy and gladness which are so near at hand, and ready to be poured in upon us; especially when we confider, Secondly, the deplorable condition of an intellectaal being, who feels no other effects from his Maker's prefence, but such as proceed from divine wrath and indignation! We may affure ourselves, that the great Author of nature will not always be as one who is indifferent to any of his creatures. Those who will not feel him in his love, will be fure at length to feel him in his displeasure. And how dreadful is the condition of that creature, who is only sensible of the being of his Creator by what he fuffers from him! He is as essentially pre. fent in hell as in heaven; but the inhabitants of those accursed places behold him only in his wrath, and shrink within the flames to conceal themselves from him. It is not in the power of imagination to conceive the fearful effects of Omnipotence incenfed. But I shall only confider the wretchedness of an intellectual being, who, in this life, lies under the displeasure of him, that at all times, and in all places, is intimately anited with him. He is able to disquiet the soul, and vex it in all its faculties. He can hinder any of the greatest comforts of life from refreshing us, and give an edge to every one of its flightest calamities. Who then can bear the thought of being an out-cast from his prefence, that is, from the comforts of it, or of feeling it only in its terrors? How pathetic is that expostulation of Job, when for the real trial of his patience, he was made to look upon himself in this deplorable condition! Why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am become a burden to myfelf?" But, thirdly, how happy is the condition of that intellectual being, who is sensible of his Maker's presence from the fecret effects of his mercy and lovingkindness! The blessed in heaven behold him face to face, that is, are as sensible of his presence as we are of the prefence of any perfon whom we look upon with our eyes. There is doubtless a faculty in spirits, by which they apprehend one another, as our senses do material objects; and there is no question but our fouls, when they are difembodied, or placed in glorified bodies, will by this faculty, in whatever part of space they reside, be always sensible of the divine prefence. We, who have this veil of flesh standing between us and the world of spirits, must be content to know the spirit of God is present with us by the effects which he produceth in us. Our outward senses are too grofs to apprehend him; we may however taste and fee how gracious he is, by his influence upon our minds, by those virtuous thoughts which he awakens in us, by those secret comforts and refreshments which he conveys into our fouls, and by those ravishing joys and inward fatisfactions which are perpetually springing up, and diffusing themselves among all the thoughts of good men. He is lodged in our very effence, and is as a foul within the foul, to irradiate its understanding, rectify its will, purify its passions, and enliven all the powers of man. How happy therefore is an intellectual being, who by prayer and meditation, by virtue and good works, opens this communication between God and his own foul! Though the whole creation frowns upon him, and all nature looks black about him, he has his light and fup. port within him, that are able to cheer his mind, and bear him up in the midst of all those horrors which encompass him. He knows that his helper is at hand, and is always nearer to him than any thing else can can be, which is capable of annoying or terrifying him. In the midst of calumny or contempt, he attends to that Being who whispers better things within his foul, and whom he looks upon as his defender, his glory, and the lifter-up of his head. In his deepest folitude and retirement, he knows that he is in company with the greatest of beings; and perceives within himself such real sensations of his prefence, as are more delightful than any thing that can be met with in the conversation of his Creatures. Even in the hour of death, he considers the pains of his dissolution to be nothing else but the breaking down of that partition, which stands betwixt his foul, and the fight of that being who is always prefent with him, and is about to manifeft itself to him in fulness of joy. If we would be thus happy, and thus sensible of our Maker's prefence, from the secret effects of his mercy and goodness, we must keep fuch a watch over all our thoughts, that in the language of the fcripture, his foul may have pleasure in us. We must take care not to grieve his holy spirit, and endeavour to make the meditations of our hearts always acceptable in his fight, that he may delight thus to reside and dwell in us. The light of nature could direct Seneca to this doctrine, in a very remarkable passage among his epistles; Sacer ineft in nobis fpiritus, bonorum malorumque cuftos et obfervator; et quemadmodum nos illum tractamus, ita et ille nos. There is ⚫ a holy spirit residing in us, who watches ⚫ and observes both good and evil nien, • and will treat us after the fame manner that we treat him. But I shall conclude this discourse with those more emphatical words in divine revelation; ' If a man love • me, he will keep my words; and my • Father will love him, and we will come ⚫ unto him, and make our abode with • him." Spectator. § 9. On the Immortality of the Soul. I was yesterday walking alone in one of my friend's woods, and loft myself in it very agreeably, as I was running over in my mind the several arguments that establish this great point, which is the basis of morality, and the fource of all the pleasing hopes and fecret joys that can arife in the heart of a reasonable creature. I confidered those several proofs drawn, Firft, from the nature of the foul itself, and particularly its immateriality; which, though not abfolutely necessary to the eter nity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced to almost a demonstration. Secondly, from its paffions and fentiments, as particularly from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, and its hopes of immortality, with that fecret fatisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness which follows in it upon the commiffion of vice. Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned in this point. But among these and other excellent arguments for the immortality of the foul, there is one drawn from the perpetual pro. gress of the foul to its perfection, without a poffibility of ever arriving at it; which is a hint that I do not remember to have seen opened and improved by others who have written on this subject, though it seems to me to carry a very great weight with it. How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the foul, which is capable of such immense perfections, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing almost as foon as it is created? Are fuch abilities made for no purpose? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass: in a few years he has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the fame thing he is at present. Were a human foul thus at a stand in her accomplishments, were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements, I could imagine it might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a ftate of anne. But can we believe a thinking bing, that is in a perpetual progrefs of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few difcoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her enquiries? A man, confidered in his present state, seems only fent into the world to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a fucceffor, and immediately quits his poft to make room for him. He does not feem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not farprifing to confider in animals, which are formed for our use, and can finish their business in a short life. The filk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, estabium his foul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hur ried off the flage. Would an infinitely wife being make fuch glorious creatures for fo mean a purpose? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, fuch short-lived reasonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted? capacities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wisdom which thines through all his works, in the formation of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in fuch quick successions, are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity? There is not, in my opinion, a more pleating and triumphant confideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progress which the foul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the foul as going on from strength to strength, to conWer that the is to thine for ever with new acceffions of glory, and brighten to all eternity; that the will be ftill adding virtze to virtue, and knowledge to knowkige; carries in it fomething wonderfully agreeable to that ambition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a profpect pleasing to God himself, to fee his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of resemblance. Methinks this fingle confideration, of the progress of a finite spirit to perfection, will be fufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in fuperior. That cherubim, which now appears as a God to a human foul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human foul shall be as perfect as he himself now is: nay, when the thall look down upon that degree of perfection as much as the now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and fuperiority in the scale of being; but he knows that, how high foever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the fame degree of glory. With what astonishment and veneration may we look into our own fouls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always in referve for him. The foul, confidered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to another for all eternity without a poffibility of touching it: and can there be a thought so transporting as to confider ourfelves in these perpetual approaches to him, who is not only the standard of perfection, but of happiness! Spectator. I am the happy father of a very towardly fon, in whom I do not only fee my life, but alfo my manner of life renewed. It would be extremely beneficial to fociety, if you would frequently refume subjects which ferve to bind these fort of relations faiter, and endear the ties of blood with those of good-will, protection, obfervance, indulgence, and veneration. I would, methinks, have this done after an uncommon method; and do not think any one, who is not capable of writing a good play, fit to undertake a work wherein there will neceffarily occur fo many secret inftincts and biasses of human nature, which would pass unobserved by common eyes. I thank Heaven I have no outrageous offence againft my own excellent parents to answer for; but when I am now and then alone, and look back upon my paft life, from my earlieft infancy to this time, there are many faults which I committed that did not appear to me, even until I myself became a father. I had not until then a notion of the yearnings of heart, which a man has when he fees his child do a laudable thing, or the fudden damp which feizes him when he fears he will act fomething unworthy. It is not to be imagined what a remorie touched me for a long train of childish negligences of my mother, when I saw my wife the other day look out of the window, and turn as pale as athes upon feeing my younger younger boy fliding upon the ice. These 4 his predeceffor. Add to this, that the father knows he leaves a friend to the children of his friends, an easy landlord to his tenants, and an agreeable companion to his acquaintance. He believes his fon's behaviour will make him frequently remembered, but never wanted. This commerce is fo well cemented, that without the pomp of saying, Son, be a friend to such a one when I am gone; Camillus knows, being in his favour is direction enough to the grateful youth who is to succeed him, without the admonition of his mentioning it. These gentlemen are honoured in all their neighbourhood, and the fame effect which the court has on the manners of a kingdom, their characters have on all who live within the influence of them. My fon and I are not of fortune to communicate our good actions or intentions to so many as these gentlemen do; but I will be bold to say, my fon has, by the applause and approbation which his behaviour towards me has gained him, occafioned that many an old man, befides myself, has rejoiced. Other men's children follow the example of mine; and I have the inexpressible happiness of overhearing our neighbours, as we ride by, point to their children, and say, with a voice of joy, "There they go." Spectator. §11. The Strength of parental Affection. I went the other day to visit Eliza, who, in the perfect bloom of beauty, is the mother of several children. She had a little prating girl upon her lap, who was begging to be very fine, that she might go abroad; and the indulgent mother, at her little daughter's request, had just taken the knots off her own head to adorn the hair of the pretty trifler. A fmiling boy was at the same time caressing a lap-dog, which is their mother's favourite, because it pleases the children; and she, with a delight in her looks, which heightened her beauty, fo divided her converfation with the two pretty prattlers, as to make them both equally chearful. As I came in, she said with a blush, Mr. Ironfide, though you are an old batchelor, you must not laugh at my tenderness to my children.' I need not tell my reader what civil things I faid in anfwer to the lady, whose matron-like behaviour gave me infinite fatisfaction: fince I myfelf take great pleasure in playing with children thildren, and am feldom unprovided of plums or marbles, to make my court to fuch entertaining companions. Whence is it, faid I to myself when I was alone, that the affection of parents is so intense to their offspring? Is it becaufe they generally find fuch resemblances in what they have produced, as that thereby they think themselves renewed in their children, and are willing to trans mit themselves to future times? or is it becaufe they think themselves obliged by the dictates of humanity to nourish and rear what is placed fo immediately under their protection; and what by their means is brought into this world, the scene of mifery, of neceffity? These will not come up to it. Is it not rather the good providence of that Being, who in a fupereminent degree protects and cherishes the whole race of mankind, his fons and creatures? How shall we, any other way, account for this natural affection, so signally displayed throughout every species of the animal creation, without which the course of nature woald quickly fail, and every various kind be extinct? Instances of tenderness in the moit favage brutes are so frequent, that quctations of that kind are altogether unLeceffary. If we, who have no particular concern in them, take a fecret delight in obferving the gentle dawn of reason in babes; if our ears are foothed with their half-forming and aiming at articulate sounds; if we are charmed with their pretty mimickry, and furprised at the unexpected starts of wit and turning in these miniatures of man: what transport may we imagine in the breasts of ticfe, into whom natural instinct hath poured tenderness and fondness for them! how amiable is such a weakness of human nature! or rather, how great a weakness is it to give humanity so reproachful a name! The bare confideration of pa ternal affection should, methinks, create a more grateful tenderness in children towards their parents, than we generally fee; and the filent whispers of nature be attended to, though the laws of God and man did not call aloud. fouls, which cannot be explained by the prejudice of education, the sense of duty, or any other human motive. The memoirs of a certain French noble man, which now lie before me, furnish me with a very entertaining instance of this fecret attraction, implanted by Providence in the human foul. It will be necessary to inform the reader, that the person whose story I am going to relate, was one, whose roving and romantic temper, joined to a difpofition fingularly amorous, had led him through a valt variety of gallantries and amours. He had, in his youth, attended a princess of France into Poland, where he had been entertained by the King her hufband, and married the daughter of a grandee. Upon her death he returned into his native country; where his intrigues and other misfortunes having confumed his paternal estate, he now went to take care of the fortune his deceased wife had left him in Poland. In his journey he was robbed before he reached Warsaw, and lay ill of a fever, when he met with the following adventure; which I shall relate in his own words. "I had been in this condition for four days, when the countess of Venoski pafied that way. She was informed that a stranger of good fashion lay fick, and her charity led her to fee me. I remembered her, for I had often seen her with my wife, to whom she was nearly related; but when I found she knew me not, I thought fit to conceal my name. I told her I was a German; that I had been robbed; and that if the had the charity to fend me to Warsaw, the queen would acknowledge it, I having the honour to be known to her Majesty. The countess had the goodness to take compassion of me, and ordering me to be put in a litter, carried me to Warsaw, where I was lodged in her house until my health should allow me to wait on the queen. "My fever increased after my journey was over, and I was confined to my bed for fifteen days. When the countess first faw me, she had a young lady with her, about eighteen years of age, who was much taller and better shaped than the Polith women generally are. She was very fair, her skin exceedingly fine, and her air and shape inexpressibly beautiful. I was not fo fick as to overlook this young beauty; and I felt in my heart fuch emotions at the first view, as made me fear that all my misfortunes had not armed me sufficiently against the charms of the fair sex, "The |