I pray daily that you may continue in all respects happy. My brother has taught me to write long letters; but if it be not tedious to you, I cannot think the time it has taken me could be more worthily employed; nor can I account that a trouble, which, besides that it is a duty and satisfaction to myself, will give you a pleasure.

I am, honoured Madam,

With all duty and affection,
Your obedient son.

LETTER XXIV.

From a Mother to her Son, in answer to the former. Dear Child,

I have this moment read your letter, and am set down to write to you. Where corresponding is a trouble, people may defer it to the latest hour; but why should I deny myself a moment the pleasure of conversing with you? My dear, continue in the thoughts you have at present, and you will add all that can now be thrown into the portion of my happiness. I interrupt myself by casting my eye over and over your letter, and the fulness of my heart prevents my informing you of its sensations. If you should see more blots than this, which is just now made in my writing, do not wonder or be uneasy. I will not dissemble to you that they are made by tears; but, dearest son, these are tears that flow from transport, which has no other expression. Sure no mother was ever happier in her children. Your brother is esteemed, nay, he is almost adored by every body: your sister is settled to an advantage that was beyond my utmost expectations; and yet she is so good a woman, that her hus band thinks himself under everlasting obligations. You, my dear Jack, was my only care; and I had more fear for you than all the rest, as the youngest; that as the latest remembrance of your honoured father, you had a larger share of my tenderness than either, and you was destined to a scene of the greatest danger. Heaven alone can tell what hath been my fears and anxieties about you, and how continual my prayers for your security. They are all granted; and instead of being, as I feared you would, an occasion of continual alarms to me, you are adding more than any of them to my contentment. I know your kind heart, and I can see what a joy it is to you to perceive you make me happy. In

such a mind as yours, there seems wanting no other motive to be good beside the excellence of virtue; but I am sure, that if this were not sufficient, the very thought that your mother's peace depended upon your conduct, would keep you in the way of goodness.

My dear child, regard your brother; no person is so able to advise you, and he loves you with more than the common affection of the relation; he admires your good sense, and he esteems your principles. Dear son, think what an honour it is to have the esteem of so excellent a man; think what a happiness it is to have so fine a character at so tender an age as yours; and as you shew me how much my satisfaction is an object of your concern, remember what a transport it must be to me to hear of you so favourably.

*

I shall not repeat to you, my dear, the cautions which I gave you, for I see you will not need to be put again in remembrance: only reverence truth, be acquainted with no one till you know that he deserves it, and avoid bad women.

If it can give you any satisfaction, (I am sure it will do so), to hear every thought of your heart has my perfect approbation, you hear it truly; but although there is not any, the least part, of your conduct that does not give me pleasure, there is, although you will be surprised to hear it, something in your brother's with respect to you that gives me pain. He told me of your asking his advice upon an inconsiderable subject, and his giving it to you rather honestly than elegantly. Dear child, take care of your heart, and you may be less uneasy about your expressions; let your thoughts be good, and never be uneasy about the words you put them in. The books recommended to you may be good or not, but you have no occasion for them; nor is it a pin-matter in the affairs of life, whether you put every single word where it ought to be. But this is all a trifle, nor shall I pretend to enter into the matter; if it be worth any consideration, he is the best judge, so pray mind him; but what I speak of, is the manner in which you say he wrote of your cousin.

My dear, always respect your elders, and do not let any little school-boy's lesson put you above them in your own opinion, because they have forgotten it: nor because your cousin is a plain man, do you suppose he is less capable to advise you. He is a person of undoubted probity and uprightness of heart, and that is worth all the Greek and Latin of Westminster and Eton: He has made his way to a plen

tiful fortune, and he has the respect and esteem of all that he ever was concerned with. Would you wish for a better character or better fortune? God send you may conduct yourself through the world just as he has done: I, that would weary Heaven with prayers for you, wish you nothing better. I do not pretend to say your brother is wrong in his judgment about this matter, for I do not understand the nature of it; all that I know is, you will never write a let ter that will please me more than this you have sent alrea dy; and I think had I been in his place, I would not have put any thing in your mind upon an occasion of such little consequence, that should have abated your regard for a person whose advice will be of service to you. But I know you will not do so. Preserve, I desire you, that respect for him which his years and his integrity, and his success in the world, require; and whatsoever you may think about this trifle, do not let it lessen your esteem for one whom your mother recommends to you.

My dear, I have said the more upon this subject, because it seems the only one by which you are in danger to err; and I have thought it the more necessary to say so, because the regard I desired you to pay to your brother might have rendered it a kind of duty to go into this errour. I have spoke to him about it, and he desires me to say, that he is perfectly of my opinion,

Farewell, my dearest boy; you have a very easy task be fore you, seeing you need only go on in the same path you have begun, to make all that love you happy.

-Sir,

I am, your affectionate mother.

LETTER XXV.

To a Friend, against waste of Time.

CONVERSE often with yourself, and neither lavish your time, nor suffer others to rob you of it. Many of our hours are stolen from us, and others pass insensibly away, but of both these losses, the most shameful is that which happens through our own neglect. If we take the trouble to observe, we shall find, that one considerable part of our life is spent in doing evil, and the other in doing nothing, or in doing what we should not do. We don't seem to know the value of time, nor how precious a day is, nor do we consider

that every moment brings us nearer to our end. Reflect upon this, I entreat you, and keep a strict account of time. Procrastination is the most dangerous thing in life. Nothing is properly ours but the instant we breathe in, and all the rest is nothing; it is the only good we possess: but then it is fleeting, and the first comer robs us of it. Men are so weak, that they think they oblige by giving of trifles, and yet reckon that time is nothing, for which the most grateful person in the world can never make amends.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXVI.

Answer to a Friend.

sir, TO tell you, in answer to yours, what I think of prosperity, is, that I take it to be more dangerous to our virtue than adversity. It is apt to make us vain and insolent, regardless of others, and forgetful of God, ambitious in our pursuits, and intemperate in our enjoyments. Thus it proved to the wisest on earth, I mean Solomon. But I much admire what you say of silence, and wish I could practise that passive virtue, which is the first step of wisdom, the nurse of peace, and the guardian of virtue. Words do but ruffle and discompose the mind, betraying the soul to a thousand vanities. I hope you will, in our next meeting, find me greatly improved in what you so much recommend

to me.

I am, Sir, yours, &c.

LETTER XXVII.

From a Young Lady, in answer to a Letter she had receiv ed from her Mother, advising her to persevere in the Christian duties she had been instructed in.

Honoured Mother,

I AM at a loss for words to express the joy I felt at the receipt of your letter; wherein you are pleased to acquaint me, that nothing ever gave my dear mamma greater pleasure and satisfaction, than the account I have given her of the condust I observe in my spiritual affairs; and that I

may still add to that comfort (which shall ever be my study) when an opportunity offers itself, I presume to continue the information.

When I have endeavoured to discharge my duty to that Divine Being, to whom I am indebted for my existence, I repair to my toilet; but not with an intent to clothe my body (which I know must sooner or later fall into corrup tion) with vain attire, but with such as are decent or innocent; regarding fine robes as the badges of pride and vanity; keeping those enemies, to our sex in particular, at too great a distance ever to dare an attempt upon my mind.

When publick prayers and breakfast are over, I apply my thoughts to the duty of the school; and divide the time appointed for them, as equally as possibly I can between the several branches of education I am engaged in, both before and after dinner.

When school is finished for the day, I, accompanied by a young lady who is my bed-fellow, and of a like disposition, retire to our room, where we improve ourselves by reading. Books of piety are our most common choice. These warm our will, and enlighten our understandings; they instruct us in the cause of our misconduct, and prescribe to us a remedy; they neither flatter a dignified title, nor insult the peasant who tills the ground; but, like painted busts, look upon every one alike. In fine, they refresh the memory, enlarge the understanding, and inflame the will; and, in a delightful manner, cultivate both virtue and wisdom.

Having finished our reading, either of piety or history, which we prefer next, (especially such as relates to our country) and supper and prayers being over, I retire alone to my room, to take an impartial view of the actions of the day. If my conscience does not accuse me of having committed any thing criminal, I give glory to God; and with bended knees, and an humble heart, return him unfeigned thanks for protecting me against those temptations which the enemy of mankind is ready to allure us with; for I am persuaded it was not my strength of virtue that withstood the temptations, but His assisting grace that enabled me to overcome them and if I am conscious of having done amiss, I sue for pardon, and lay not my body to rest, till I have procured peace to my soul.

If at any time I am permitted to pay a visit (which liberty your indulgence allowed) I take care to time it properly; for there are certain times when visits become rather trouble