to tell them where I live-I would eat my

nails first.

angry folks can say, will never provoke meings had been made a sacrifice to support his carcase, and how much corn and wine had been mingled with those offerings. He had not quite lost all the arithmetic that he learned when he was a boy, and he set himself to compute what he had devoured since he came to the age of man.

My last adversary is J. Jn, philomat. who declares and protests (in his preface, 1741) that the false prophecy put in my almanac, concerning him, the year before, is altogether false and untrue: and that I am one of Baal's false prophets. This false, false prophecy he speaks of, related to his reconciliation with the church of Rome; which, notwithstanding his declaring and protesting, is, I fear, too true. Two things in his elegiac verses confirm me in this suspicion. He calls the first of November All-Hallows day. Reader, does not this smell of popery? Does it in the least savour of the pure language of Friends? But the plainest thing is, his adoration of saints, which he confesses to be his practice, in these words, page 4.

When any trouble did me befall,

To my dear Mary then I would call:

Did he think the whole world were so stupid as not to take notice of this? So ignorant as not to know, that all catholics pay the highest regard to the Virgin Mary? Ah! friend John, we must allow you to be a poet, but you are certainly no protestant. I could heartily wish your religion were as good as RICHARD SAUNDERS.

your verses.

The Waste of Life.

ANERGUS was a gentleman of a good estate, he was bred to no business, and could not contrive how to waste his hours agreeably; he had no relish for any of the proper works of life, nor any taste at all for the improvements of the mind; he spent generally ten hours of the four-and-twenty in his bed; he dozed away two or three more on his couch, and as many were dissolved in good liquor every evening, if he met with company of his own humour. Five or six of the rest he sauntered away with much indolence: the chief business of them was to contrive his meals, and to feed his fancy before-hand, with the promise of a dinner and supper; not that he was so very a glutton, or so entirely devoted to appetite; but chiefly because he knew not how to employ his thoughts better, he let them rove about the sustenance of his body. Thus he had made a shift to wear off ten years since the paternal estate fell into his hands and yet according to the abuse of words in our day, he was called a man of virtue, because he was scarce ever known to be quite drunk, nor was his nature much inclined to lewdness.

One evening as he was musing along, his thoughts happened to take a most unusual turn, for they cast a glance backward, and began to reflect on his manner of life. He bethought himself what a number of living be

"About a dozen feathered creatures, small and great, have one week with another (said he) given up their lives to prolong mine, which in ten years amounts to at least six thousand.

"Fifty sheep have been sacrificed in a year, with half a hecatomb of black cattle, that I might have the choicest part offered weekly upon my table. Thus a thousand beasts out of the flock and the herd have been slain in ten years time to feed me, besides what the forest has supplied me with. Many hundreds of fishes have in all their varieties, been robbed of life for my repast, and of the smaller fry as many thousands.

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"A measure of corn would hardly afford fine flour enough for a month's provision, and this arises to above six score bushels; and many hogsheads of ale and wine, and other liquors, have passed through this body of mine, this wretched strainer of meat and drink.

"And what have I done all this time for God or man? What a vast profusion of good things upon an useless life, and a worthless liver? There is not the meanest creature among all these which I have devoured, but hath answered the end of its creation better than I. It was made to support human nature, and it hath done so. Every crab and oyster I have eat, and every grain of corn I have devoured, hath filled up its place in the rank of beings with more propriety and honour than I have done: O shameful waste of life and time!"

In short, he carried on his moral reflections with so just and severe a force of reason, as constrained him to change his whole course of life, to break off his follies at once, and to apply himself to gain some useful knowledge, when he was more than thirty years of age; he lived many following years, with the character of a worthy man, and an excellent Christian; he performed the kind offices of a good neighbour at home, and made a shining figure as a patriot in the senate-house, he died with a peaceful conscience, and the tears of his country were dropped upon his tomb.

The world, that knew the whole series of his life, stood amazed at the mighty change. They beheld him as a wonder of reformation, while he himself confessed and adored the divine power and mercy, which had transformed him from a brute to a man.

But this was a single instance; and we may almost venture to write MIRACLE upon it. Are there not numbers of both sexes among

our young gentry, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to utter waste, without the least tendency to usefulness.

When I meet with persons of such a worthless character as this, it brings to my mind some scraps of Horace,

Nos numerus sumus, et fruges consumere nati.
-Alcinoique Juventus
Cui pulchrum fuit in Medios dormire dies, &c.

PARAPHRASE.

There are a number of us creep
Into this world, to eat and sleep;
And know no reason why they're born
But merely to consume the corn,
Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish,
And leave behind an empty dish:
Tho' crows and ravens do the same,
Unlucky birds of hateful name;
Ravens or crows might fill their places,
And swallow corn and carcasses.
Then, if their tomb-stone when they die,
Ben't taught to flatter and to lie,
There's nothing better will be said,
Than that the've eat up all their bread,
Drank up all their drink and gone to bed.
There are other fragments of that heathen
poet, which occur on such occasions; one in
the first of his satires, the other in the last of
his epistles, which seem to represent life only
as a season of luxury.

-Exacto contentus tempore vitæ
Cedat uti conviva satur-

Lusisti satus, edisti satis atque bibisti ;
Tempus abire tibi.

Which may be thus put into English.
Life's but a feast; and when we die
Horace would say, if he were by,
Friend, thou hast eat and drank enough,
'Tis time now to be marching off:
Then like a well-fed guest depart,
With cheerful looks, and ease at heart,
Bid all your friends good night, and say,
You've done the business of the day.

DIALOGUE I.

Between Philocles and Horatio meeting accidentally in the fields, concerning Virtue and Pleasure.-From the Pennsylvania Gazette, No. 84, June 23, 1730.

Philocles. My friend Horatio! I am very glad to see you; prithee how came such a man as you alone? and musing too? What misfortune in your pleasures has sent you to philosophy for relief.

Horatio. You guess very right, my dear Philocles: we pleasure-hunters are never without them; and yet, so enchanting is the game, we cannot quit the chace. How calm and undisturbed is your life, how free from present embarrassments and future cares; I know you love me, and look with compassion upon my conduct: show me then the path which leads up to that constant and invariable good, which I have heard you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully to possess.

Phil. There are few men in the world I value more than you, Horatio! for amidst all your foibles, and painful pursuits of pleasure,

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I have oft observed in you an honest heart, and a mind strongly bent towards virtue. I wish, from my soul, I could assist you in acting steadily the part of a reasonable creature: for, if you would not think it a paradox, I should tell you I love you better than you do yourself.

Hor. A paradox indeed! better than I do myself! when I love my dear self so well, that I love every thing else for my own sake. Phil. He only loves himself well, who rightly and judiciously loves himself.

Hor. What do you mean by that, Philocles? You men of reason and virtue are always dealing in mysteries, though you laugh at them when the church makes them. I think he loves himself very well and very judiciously too; as you call it, who allows himself to do whatever he pleases.

Phil. What, though it be to the ruin and destruction of that very self which he loves so well! That man alone loves himself rightly, who procures the greatest possible good to himself through the whole of his existence; and so pursues pleasure as not to give for it more than it is worth.

Hor. That depends all upon opinion. Who shall judge what the pleasure is worth? Suppose a pleasing form of the fair kind strikes me so much, that I can enjoy nothing without the enjoyment of that one object. Or, that pleasure in general is so favourite a mistress, that I will take her as men do their wives, for better, for worse; minding no consequences, nor regarding what is to come. Why should I not do it?

Phil. Suppose, Horatio! that a friend of yours entered into the world, about two and twenty, with a healthful vigorous body, and a fair plentiful estate of about five hundred pounds a year; and yet, before he had reached thirty, should, by following his pleasures, and not, as you say, duly regarding consequences, have run out of his estate, and disabled his body to that degree, that he had neither the means nor capacity of enjoyment left; nor any thing else to do but wisely shoot himself through the head to be at rest: what would you say to this unfortunate man's conduct? Is it wrong by opinion or fancy only? Or is there really a right and wrong in the case? Is not one opinion of life and action juster than another? Or one sort of conduct preferable to another? Or, does that miserable son of pleasure appear as reasonable and lovely a being in your eyes, as a man, who by prudently and rightly gratifying his natural passions, had preserved his body in full health and his estate entire, and enjoyed both to a good old age, and then died with a thankfu! heart for the good things he had received, and with an entire submission to the will of Him who first called him into being. Say, Horatio! are these men equally wise and happy?

And is every thing to be measured by mere fancy and opinion, without considering whether that fancy or opinion be right?

Hor. Hardly so neither, I think; yet sure the wise and good Author of nature could never make us to plague us. He could never give us passions, on purpose to subdue and conquer them; nor produce this self of mine, or any other self, only that it may be denied; for, that is denying the works of the great Creator himself. Self-denial then, which is what I suppose you mean by prudence, seems to me not only absurd, but very dishonourable to that supreme wisdom and goodness which is supposed to make so ridiculous and contradictory a creature, that must be always fighting with himself in order to be at rest, and undergo voluntary hardships in order to be happy are we created sick, only to be commanded to be sound? Are we born under one law, our passions, and yet bound to another, that of reason? Answer me, Philocles, for I am warmly concerned for the honour of nature, the mother of us all.

in truth, the kindest and most beautiful mistress in the world.

Hor. Prithee, Philocles, do not wrap your self in allegory and metaphor: why do you teaze me thus? I long to be satisfied, what is this philosophical self-denial; the necessity and reason of it; I am impatient, and all on fire; explain, therefore, in your beautiful natural easy way of reasoning, what I am to understand by this grave lady of yours, with so forbidding downcast looks, and yet, so absolutely necessary to my pleasures, I stand ready to embrace her; for you know, pleasure I court under all shapes and forms.

Phil. Attend then, and you will see the reason of this philosophical self-denial. There can be no absolute perfection in any creature; because every creature is derived from something of a superior existence, and dependant on that source for its own existence: no created being can be all-wise, all-good, and allpowerful, because his powers and capacities are finite and limited: consequently whatever is created must, in its own nature, be subject Phil. I find, Horatio, my two characters to error, irregularity, excess, and imperfecthave frighted you; so that you decline the fness. All intelligent rational agents find in trial of what is good, by reason: and had ra- themselves a power of judging what kind of ther make a bold attack upon Providence; beings they are: what actions are proper to the usual way of you gentlemen of fashion, preserve them; and what consequences will who, when, by living in defiance of the eter-generally attend them; what pleasures they nal rules of reason, you have plunged your- are formed for, and to what degree their na selves into a thousand difficulties, endeavour tures are capable of receiving them. All we to make yourselves easy, by throwing the bur have to do then, Horatio, is to consider, when den upon nature; you are, Horatio, in a very we are surprised with a new object, and miserable condition indeed; for you say, you passionately desire to enjoy it, whether the cannot be happy if you control your passions; gratifying that passion be consistent with the and you feel yourself miserable by an unre gratifying other passion and appetites equal, strained gratification of them; so that here is if not more necessary to us. And whether evil, irremediable evil either way. it consists with our happiness to-morrow, Hor. That is very true, at least it appears next week, or next year; for, as we all wish so to me; pray what have you to say, Philo to live, we are obliged, by reason, to take as cles, in honour of nature or Providence; me much care for our future, as our present hap thinks, I am in pain for her; How do you res-piness, and not build one upon the ruins of cue her poor lady!

the other but, if through the strength and power of a present passion, and through want of attending to consequences, we have erred and exceeded the bounds which nature or reason have set us; we are then, for our own sakes, to refrain, or deny ourselves a present momentary pleasure. for a future, constant, and durable one; so that this philosophical self-denial is only refusing to do an action, which you strongly desire; because it is inconsistent with your health, convenience, or circumstances in the world; or, in other words, because it would cost you more than it was worth. You would lose by it, as a man of pleasure. Thus you see, Horatio, that self-denial is not only the most reasonable, but the most pleasant thing in the world

Phil. This, my dear Horatio, I have to say that what you find fault with and clamour against, as the most terrible evil in the world, self-denial, is really the greatest good, and the highest self-gratification. If indeed you use the word in the sense of some weak sour moralists, and much weaker divines; you will have just reason to laugh at it; but, if you take it, as understood by philosophers, and men of sense, you will presently see her charms, and fly to her embraces, notwith standing her demure looks, as absolutely necessary to produce even your own darling sole good, pleasure; for, self denial is never a duty, or a reasonable action, but as it is a natural means of procuring more pleasure than you can taste without it, so that this grave Hor. We are just coming into town, so that saint-like guide to happiness, as rough and we cannot pursue this argument any farther dreadful as she has been made to appear, is at present; you have said a great deal for na

Phil. That can never be the good of a creature, which when present, the creature may be miserable, and when absent, is certainly so.

Hor. I think not; but pray explain what you mean: for I am not much used to this abstract way of reasoning.

Phil. I mean, all the pleasures of sense. The good of man cannot consist in the mere pleasures of sense; because, when any one of those objects which you love is absent, or cannot be come at, you are certainly miserable: and if the faculty be impaired, though the object be present, you cannot enjoy it. So that this sensual good depends upon a thousand things without and within you, and all out of your power. Can this then be the good of man! Say, Horatio, what think you, is not this a chequered, fleeting, fantastical good? Can that, in any propriety of speech, be called the good of man, which even, while he is

consists in acting up to their chief faculty, or that faculty which distinguishes them from all creatures of a different species. The chief faculty in man is his reason; and consequently, his chief good; or, that which may be justly called his good consists not merely in action, but in reasonable action. By reasonable actions, we understand those actions, which are

tasting, he may be miserable; and which, when he cannot taste, he is necessarily so? Can that be our good, which costs us a great deal of pains to obtain; which cloys in possessing; for which we must wait the return of appetite, before we can enjoy again? Or, is that our good which we can come at without difficulty; which is heightened by possession; which never ends in weariness and disappoint-preservative of the human kind, and naturally ment; and which, the more we enjoy, the better qualified we are to enjoy on?

Hor. The latter, I think; but why do you torment me thus? Philocles, show me this good immediately.

tend to produce real and unmixed happiness; and these actions, by way of distinction, we call actions morally good.

Hor. You speak very clearly, Philocles; but, that no difficulty may remain upon your mind, pray tell me, what is the real difference between natural good and evil, and moral good and evil; for I know several people who use the terms without ideas.

and pain: moral good and evil, are pleasure or pain produced with intention and design. For, it is the intention only that makes the agent morally good or bad.

Hor. But may not a man, with a very good intention, do an evil action?

Phil. I have showed you what it is not; it is not sensual, but it is rational and moral good. It is doing all the good we can to others, by acts of humanity, friendship, generosity, and benevolence: this is that constant Phil. That may be: the difference lies only and durable good, which will afford content-in this, that natural good and evil, are pleasure ment and satisfaction always alike, without variation or diminution. I speak to your experience now, Horatio. Did you ever find yourself weary of relieving the miserable? Or of raising the distressed into life or happiness? Or rather, do not you find the pleasure grow upon you by repetition; and that it is greater in reflection that in the act itself? Is there a pleasure upon earth to be compared with that which arises from the sense of making others happy? Can this pleasure ever be absent, or ever end but with your being Does it not always accompany you? Doth not it lie down and rise with you, live as long as you live, give you consolation in the article of death, and remain with you in that gloomy hour, when all other things are going to forsake you, or you them?

Hor. How glowingly you paint, Philocles; methinks Horatio is amongst the enthusiasts. I feel the passion: I am enchantingly convinced; but I do not know why: overborn by something stronger than reason. Sure, some divinity speaks within me; but prithee Philocles, give me coolly the cause, why this rational and moral good so infinitely excels the mere natural or sensual.

Phil. I think, Horatio, that I have clearly shown you the difference between merely natural or sensual good, and rational or moral good. Natural or sensual pleasure continues no longer than the action itself; but this di vine or moral pleasure continues when the action is over, and swells and grows upon your hand by reflection: the one is inconstant, unsatisfying, of short duration, and attended with numberless ills; the other is constant, yields full satisfaction, is durable, and no evils preceding, accompanying, or following it. But if you inquire farther into the cause of this difference, and would know why the moral pleasures are greater than the sensual; perhaps the reason is the same, as in all other creatures, that their happiness or chief good

Phil. Yes; but then he errs in his judgment, though his design be good: if his error is invincible, or such as, all things considered, he could not help, he is inculpable; but, if it arose through want of diligence in forming his judgment about the nature of human actions, he is immoral and culpable.

Hor. I find, then, that in order to please ourselves rightly, or to do good to others morally, we should take great care of our opinions.

Phil. Nothing concerns you more; for, as the happiness or real good of men consists in right action; and right action cannot be produced without right opinion; it behoves us, above all things in this world, to take care that our own opinions of things be according to the nature of things. The foundation of all virtue and happiness is thinking rightly. He who sees an action is right, that is, naturally tending to good, and does it because of that tendency, he only is a moral man; and he alone is capable of that constant, durable, and invariable good which has been the subject of this conversation.

Hor. How, my dear philosophical guide, shall be able to know, and determine certainly, what is right and wrong in life?

Phil. As easily as you distinguish a circle from a square, or light from darkness. Look, Horatio, into the sacred book of nature; read your own nature, and view the relation which other men stand in to you, and you to them, and you will immediately see what constitutes human happiness, and consequently, what is right.

Hor. We are just coming into town, and can say no more at present. You are my good