of man with that of other creatures; in which I could not but observe, that not withstanding we are obliged by duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, after the fame manner as inferior animals are prompted to it by inftinct, we fall very short of them in this particular. We are here the more inexcufable, because there is a greater variety of business to which we may apply ourselves. Reason opens to us a large field of affairs, which other creatures are not capable of. Beasts of prey, and I believe of all other kinds, in their natural ftate of being, divide their time between action and rest. They are always at work or afleep. In short, their waking hours are wholly taken up in seeking after their food, or in confuming it. The human species only, to the great reproach of our natures, are filled with complaints, that "The day hangs heavy on them," that "They do not know what to do with themselves," that They are at a loss how to pass away their time," with many of the like thameful murmurs, which we often ind in the mouths of those who are filed reafonable beings. How monstrous are fach exprefiions among creatures who have the labours of the mind, as well as ticle of the body, to furnish them with proper employments; who, befides the bufiness of their proper callings and profeffions, can apply themselves to the duties of religion, to meditation, to the reading of teful books, to difcourse; in a word, who may exercife themselves in the unbounded puríuits of knowledge and virtue, and every hour of their lives make themselves wiser or better than they were before!

After having been taken up for fome time in this course of thought, I diverted myfelf with a book, according to my usual custom, in order to unbend my mind before I went to fleep. The book I made use of on this occafion was Lucian, where I amufed my thoughts for about an hour among the dialogues of the dead, which in all probability produced the following dream.

I was conveyed, methought, into the entrance of the infernal regions, where I faw Rhadamanthus, one of the judges of the dead, feated on his tribunal. On his lefthand ftood the keeper of Erebus, on his right the keeper of Elysium. I was told he fat upon women that day, there being feveral of the sex lately arrived, who had not yet their manfions affigned them. I was furprised to hear him afk every one of them the fame question, namely, "What they

had been doing?" Upon this question being propofed to the whole affembly, they stared one upon another, as not knowing what to answer. He then interrogated each of them feparately. Madam, says he to the first of them, you have been upon the earth about fifty years; what have you been doing there all this while? Doing! fays she, really I do not know what I have been doing: I defire I may have time given me to recollect. After about half an hour's pause, she told him that the had been playing at crimp; upon which Rhadamanthus beckoned to the keeper on his left hand, to take her into custody. And you, madam, says the judge, that look with fuch a foft and languishing air; I think you set out for this place in your nine-and-twentieth year, what have you been doing all this while? I had a great deal of business on my hands, fays she, being taken up the first twelve years of my life in dreffing a jointed baby, and all the remaining part of it in reading plays and romarces. Very well, says he, you have employed your time to good purpose, Away with her. The next was a plain country-woman: Well, mistrefs, says Radamanthus, and what have you been doing? An't please your worship, says she, I did not live quite forty years; and in that time brought my husband feven daughters, made him nine thousand cheeses, and left my eldest girl with him, to look after his house in my abfence, and who, I may venture to say, is as pretty a housewife as any in the country. Rhadamanthus smiled at the fimplicity of the good woman, and ordered the keeper of Elysium to take her into his And you, fair lady, fays he, what have you been doing these five-and-thirty years? I have been doing no hurt, I affure you, fir, faid she. That is well, faid he, but what good have you been doing? The lady was in great confufion at this question, and not knowing what to answer, the two keepers leaped out to feize her at the fame time; the one took her by the hand to convey her to Elyfium, the other caught hold of her to carry her away to Erebus. But Rhadamanthus observing an ingenuous modesty in her countenance and behaviour, bid them both let her loofe, and fet her afide for a reexamination when he was more at leifure. An old woman, of a proud and four look, presented herself next at the bar, and being afked what she had been doing? Truly, faid the, I lived threefcore-and-ten years in a very wicked world, and was fo angry at the behaviour of a parcel of young flirts, C4

that I passed most of my last years in condemning the follies of the times; I was every day blaming the filly conduct of people about me, in order to deter those I conversed with from falling into the like errors and miscarriages. Very well, says Rhadamanthus; but did you keep the fame watchful eye over your own actions? Why truly, fays she, I was so taken up with publishing the faults of others, that I had no time to confider my own. Madam, says Rhadamanthus, be pleased to file off to the left, and make room for the venerable matron that slands behind you. Old gentlewoman, fays he, I think you are fourscore: you have heard the question, what have you been doing so long in the world? Ah, Sir! fays the, I have been doing what 1 should not have done, but I had made a firm resolution to have changed my life, if I had not been fiatched off by an un. timely end. Madam, fays he, you will please to follow your leader: and spying another of the fame age, interrogated her in the fame form. To which the matron replied, I have been the wife of a hufband who was as dear to me in his old age as in his youth. I have been a mother, and very happy in my children, whom I endeavoured to bring up in every thing that is good. My eldest fon is blest by the poor, and beloved by every one that knows him. I lived within my own family, and left it much more wealthy than I found it. Rhadamanthus, who knew the value of the old lady, fmiled upon her in fuch a manner, that the keeper of Elyfium, who knew his office, reached out his hand to her. He no fooner touched her, but her wrinkles vanished, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed with blushes, and the appeared in full bloom and beauty. A young woman obferving that this officer, who conducted the happy to Elysium, was so great a beautifier, longed to be in his hands; fo that prefling through the crowd, she was the next that appeared at the bar. And being asked what she had been doing the five-and-twenty years that she had passed in the world? I have endeavoured, fays she, ever since I came to years of difcretion, to make myself lovely, and gain admirers. In order to it, I passed my time in bottling up May-dew, inventing white washes, mixing colours, cutting out patches, confulting my glass, suiting my complexion, tearing off my tucker, finking my ftays- Rhadamanthus, without hearing her out, gave the sign to take her

off. Upon the approach of the keeper of Erebus, her colour faded, her face was puckered up with wrinkles, and her whole person lost in deformity.

I was then surprised with a distant found of a whole troop of females, that came forward laughing, finging, and dancing. I was very defirous to know the reception they would meet with, and withal was very apprehenfive, that Rhadamanthus would fpoil their mirth: But at their nearer approach the noise grew fo very great that it awakened me.

I lay fome time, reflecting in myself on the odduess of this dream, and could not forbear asking my own heart, what I was doing? I answered myself that I was writing Guardians. If my readers make as good a use of this work as I defign they should, I hope it will never be imputed to me as a work that is vain and unprofitable.

I shall conclude this paper with recommending to them the same short felf-examination. If every one of them frequently lays his hand upon his heart, and confiders what he is doing, it will check him in all the idle, or, what is worse, the vicious moments of life, lift up his mind when it is running on in a feries of indifferent actions, and encourage him when he is engaged in those which are virtuous and laudable. In a word, it will very much alleviate that guilt which the best of men have reason to acknowledge in their daily confeffions, of leaving undone those things which they ought to have done, and of doing those things which they ought not to have done." Guardian.

§ 16. A Knowledge of the Ufe and Value of Time very important to Youth.

There is nothing which I more wish that you should know, and which fewer people do know, than the true ufe and value of time. It is in every body's mouth; but in few people's practice. Every fool who flatterns away his whole time in nothings, utters, however, fome trite common-place fentence, of which there are millions, to prove, at once, the value and the fleetness of time. The fun-dials, likewise, all over Europe, have some ingenious inscription to that effect; so that nobody squanders away their time, without hearing and feeing, daily, how necessary it is to employ it well, and how irrecoverable it is if loft. But all these admonitions are uselefs, where there is not a fund of good fenfe and reafon

fon to suggest them, rather than receive them. By the manner in which you now tell me that you employ your time, I flatter myself, that you have that fund: that is the fund which will make you rich indeed. I do not, therefore, mean to give you a critical effay upon the usfe and abuse of time; I will only give you some hints, with regard to the use of one particular period of that long time which, I hope, you have before you, I mean the next two years. Remember then, that whatever knowledge you do not folidly lay the foundation of belore you are eighteen, you wil never be maiter of while you breathe. Knowledge is a comfortable and neceffary retreat and shelter for us in an advanced age; and if we do not plant it while young, it will give us no fhade when we grow old. I neither require nor expect from you great application to books, after you are once thrown out into the great world. I know it is impoffible; and it may even, in fome cafes, be improper: this, therefore, is your time, and your only time, for unwearied and uninterrupted application. If you should formetimes think it a little la boricus, confider, that labour is the unavejable fatigue of a necessary journey. The more hours a day you travel, the froner you will be at your journey's end. The toner you are qualified for your liberty, the sooner you shall have it; and your manumiffion will entirely depend upon the manter in which you employ the intermediace une. I think I offer you a very good bargain, when I promise you, upon my werd, that, if you will do every thing that I would have you do, till you are gateen, I will do every thing that you would have me do, ever afterwards. Lord Chesterfield.

§ 17. On a lazy and trifling Difpofition. There are two forts of understandings; one of which hinders a man from ever being confiderable, and the other commonly makes him ridiculous; I mean the lazy mind, and the trifling frivolous mind. Yours, I hope, is neither. The lazy mind will not take the trouble of going to the bottom of any thing; but, discouraged by the first difficulties, (and every thing worth knowing or having is attended with fsome) ftops short, contents itself with easy, and, confequently, fuperficial knowledge, and prefers a great degree of ignorance, to a small degree of trouble. These people fither think, or represent, most things as

impossible; whereas few things are so to industry and activity. But difficulties seem to them impossibilities, or at least they pretend to think them so, by way of excuse for their laziness. An hour's attention to the fame object is too laborious for them; they take every thing in the light in which it at firit presents itself, never confider it in all its different views; and, in short, never think it thorough. The consequence of this is, that when they come to speak upon these subjects before people who have confidered them with attention, they only difcover their own ignorance and laziness, and lay themselves open to answers that put them in confufion.

Do not then be discouraged by the first difficulties, but contra audentior ito: and refolve to go to the bottom of all those things, which every gentleman ought to know well. Those arts or fciences, which are peculiar to certain profeffions, need not be deeply known by those who are not intended for those professions. As, for instance, fortification and navigation; of both which, a fuperficial and general knowledge, such as the common course of converfation, with a very little enquiry on your part, will give you, is fufficient. Though, by the way, a little more knowledge of fortification may be of some use to you; as the events of war, in fieges, make many of the terms of that science occur frequently in common conversations; and one would be forry to say, like the Marquis de Mafcarille, in Molicre's Précienfes Ridicules, when he hears of une demie Lune : Ma foi, c'étoit bien une Lune toute entiere. But those things which every gentleman, independently of profession, should know, he ought to know well, and dive into all the depths of them. Such are languages, history, and geography, ancient and modern; philosophy, rational logic, rhetoric; and for you particularly, the constitutions, and the civil and military state of every country in Europe. This, I confefs, is a pretty large circle of knowledge, attended with fome difficulties, and requiring some trouble, which, however, an active and industrious mind will overcome, and be amply repaid.

The trifling and frivolous mind is always bufied, but to little purpose; it takes little objects for great ones, and throws away upon trifles that time and attention which only important things deserve. Knickknacks, butterflies, shells, infects, &c. are the objects of their most serious researches. They

They contemplate the dress, not the characters, of the company they keep. They attend more to the decorations of a play, than to the sense of it; and to the ceremonies of a court, more than to its politics. Such an employment of time is an absolute lofs of it. Lord Chesterfield's Letters.

§ 18. The bad Effects of Indolence.

No other difpofition, or turn of mind, so totally unfits a man for all the social offices of life, as Indolence. An idle man is a mere blank in the creation: he seems made for no end, and lives to no purpose. He cannot engage himself in any employment or profeffion, because he will never have diligence enough to follow it: he can fucceed in no undertaking, for he will never pursue it; he must be a bad husband, father, and relation, for he will not take the least pains to preserve his wife, children, and family, from itarving; and he must be a worthlefs friend, for he would not draw his hand from his bosom, though to prevent the destruction of the universe. If he

is born poor, he will remain so all his life, which he will probably end in a ditch, or at the gallows: if he embarks in trade, he will be a bankrupt: and if he is a per fon of fortune, his stewards will acquire immense estates, and he himself perhaps will die in the Fleet.

It should be confidered, that nature did not bring us into the world in a state of perfection, but has left us in a capacity of improvement; which should seem to intimate, that we should labour to render ourfelves excellent. Very few are such abfolute idiots, as not to be able to become at leaft decent, if not eminent, in their several stations, by unwearied and keen application: nor are there any poffefsed of such transcendent genius and abilities, as to render all pains and diligence unnecef. fary. Perfeverance will overcome diffi. culties, which at first appear infuperable; and it is amazing to confider, how great and numerous obitacles may be removed by a continual attention to any particular point. I will not mention here, the trite example of Demofthenes, who got over the greatest natural impediments to oratory, but content myself with a more modern and familiar inftance. Being at Sadier's Wells a few nights ago, I could not but admire the furprising feats of activity there exhibited; and at the fame time reflected, what incredible pains and labour it muft

have cost the performers to arrive at the art of writhing their bodies into such various and unnatural contortions. But I was most taken with the ingenious artist, who, after fixing two bells to each foot, the same number to each hand, and with great propriety placing a cap and bells on his head, played several tunes, and went through as regular triple peals and bobmajors, as the boys of Chrift-church Hofpital; all which he effected by the due jerking of his arms and legs, and nodding his head backward and forward. If this artist had taken equal pains to employ his head in another way, he might perhaps have been as deep a proficient in numbers as Jedediah Buxton, or at least a tolerable modern rhymer, of which he is now no bad emblem: and if our fine ladies would use equal diligence, they might fashion their minds as fuccefsfully, as Madam Catharina distorts her body.

There is not in the world a more uselefs, idle animal, than he who contents himfelf with being merely a gentleman. He has an eftate, therefore he will not endeavour to acquire knowledge: he is not to labour in any vocation, therefore he will do nothing. But the misfortune is, that there is no such thing in nature as a negative virtue, and that absolute idleness is impracticable. He, who does no good, will certainly do mischief; and the mind, if it is not stored with useful knowledge, will neceffarily become a magazine of nonfenfe and trifles. Wherefore a gentleman, though he is not obliged to rife to open his shop, or work at his trade, should always find fome ways of employing his time to advantage. If he makes no advances in wisdom, he will become more and more a flave to folly; and he that does nothing, because he has nothing to do, will become vicious and abandoned, or, at best, ridiculous and contemptible.

I do not know a more melancholy object, than a man of an honest heart, and fine natural abilities, whose good qualities are thus destroyed by indolence. Such a perfon is a conftant plague to all his friends and acquaintance, with all the means in his power of adding to their happiness; and fuffers himself to take rank among the lowest characters, when he might render himself confpicuous among the highest. Nobody is more universally beloved and more univerfally avoided, than my friend Careless. He is an humane man, who never did a beneficent action, and a man of