In merely being rich and great;

Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign;
A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being poor to hold in fee.

9. Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last;
Both, children of the same dear God,
Prove title to your heirship vast
By record of a well-filled past;

A heritage, it seems to me,
Well worth a life to hold in fee.

EXERCISE XLIV.

TRUE ESTIMATE OF CHARACTER.

TATTLER.

1. It is to me a very great meanness, and something much below a philosopher, which is what I mean by a gentleman, to rank a man among the vulgar for the condition of life he is in, and not according to his behavior, his thoughts, and sentiments, in that condition. For, if a man be loaded with riches and honors, and in that state of life has thoughts and inclinations below the meanest artificer; is not such an artificer, who, within his power, is good to his friends, moderate in his demands for his labor, and cheerful in his occupation, very much superior to him who lives for no other end but to serve himself, and assumes a preference in all his words and actions to those who act their part with much more grace than himself?

2. Epictetus has made use of the similitude of a stage-play to human life with much spirit. "It is not," says he, "to be considered among the actors, who is prince, or who is beggar,

but who acts prince or beggar best." The circumstance of life should not be that which gives us place, but our be havior in that circumstance is what should be our solid distinction.

3. Thus, a wise man should think no man above him or below him, any further than it regards the outward order or discipline of the world; for, if we conceive too great an idea of the eminence of our superiors, or subordination of our infe riors, it will have an ill effect upon our behavior to both. He who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obsequious or assuming in a wrong place; but will frequently emulate men in rank below him, and pity those above him.

4. This sense of mankind is so far from a leveling principle, that it only sets us upon a true basis of distinction, and doubles the merit of such as become their condition. A man in power, who can, without the ordinary prepossessions which stop the way to the true knowledge and service of mankind, overlook the little distinctions of fortune, raise obscure merit, and discountenance successful indesert, has, in the minds of knowing men, the figure of an angel rather than a man; and is above the rest of men in the highest character he can be, even that of their benefactor.

EXERCISE XLV.

NOVELTY.

HENRY GROVE

1. One advantage of our inclination for novelty is, that it annihilates all the boasted distinctions among mankind. Look not up with envy to those above thee! Sounding titles, stately buildings, fine gardens, gilded chariots, rich equipages, what are they? They dazzle every one but the possessor; to him that is accustomed to them, they are cheap and regardless things: they supply him not with brighter images or

more sublime satisfactions, than the plain man may have, whose small estate will just enable him to support the charge of a simple, unencumbered life. He enters heedless into his rooms of state, as you or I do under our poor sheds.

2. The noble paintings and costly furniture are lost on him; he sees them not; as how can it be otherwise, when, by custom, a fabric infinitely more grand and finished, that of the universe, stands unobserved by the inhabitants, and the everlasting lamps of heaven are lighted up in vain, for any notice that mortals take of them? Thanks to indulgent Nature, which not only placed her children originally upon a level, but still, by the strength of this principle, in a great measure preserves it, in spite of all the care of man to introduce artificial distinctions.

3. To add no more-is not this fondness for novelty, which makes us out of conceit with all we already have, a convincing proof of a future state? Either man was made in vain, or this is not the only world he was made for; for there can not be a greater instance of vanity than that to which man is liable, to be deluded from the cradle to the grave with fleeting shadows of happiness. His pleasures, and those not considerable neither, die in the possession, and fresh enjoyments do not rise fast enough to fill up half his life with satisfaction.

4. When I see persons sick of themselves any longer than they are called away by something that is of force to chain down the present thought; when I see them hurry from country to town, and then from the town back again into the country, continually shifting postures, and placing life in all the different lights they can think of: "Surely," say I to myself, "life is vain, and the man beyond expression stupid or prejudiced, who, from the vanity of life, can not gather that he is designed for immortality."

EXERCISE XLVI.

A PITIABLE PATIENT.

PHYSICIAN AND LADY.

Phys. Madam, you look exceedingly well this morning: I hope you feel yourself recovered from your indisposition.

Lady (rather warmly). I am astonished, sir, that a gentleman of your skill should be deceived by appearances: I was never worse in my life.

Phys. (smiling). Indeed! will you favor me with some account of the symptoms of your illness?

Lady. Really, I can do no such thing: all I feel assured of is, that I am altogether in a state of torture.

Phys. What! madam, are you in bodily pain?

Lady. No. I have a horrid freedom from any pain. Phys. Some painful object, perhaps, affects your mind? Lady. No, sir. My agony is, that I have not one subject which can, in the smallest degree, interest me: I would give a hundred pounds for some serious cause of grief, something over which I could weep profusely.

Phys. Your case is certainly pitiable, but I hope not without remedy. Will you allow me to ask you, madam, how you have spent the last week?

Lady. Upon my word, sir, it is out of my power to comply with your request. I really keep no journal, and my memory has not such a prodigious tenacity as you suppose. I will endeavor to give you an account of the last two days. Aye-this is Wednesday. Well, sir, I rose on Monday morning, and— Phys. May I ask at what hour you rose?

Lady (with a slight blush). It was rather late: two o'clock, I believe; but I had been at a party during almost the whole of the preceding night. As soon as I was dressed, I rode to the Park.

Phys. You have not mentioned your breakfast. I hope you did not omit that essential meal.

Lady (a little vexed). I-I took my breakfast in bed. Well, sir, the Park was so crowded that my carriage could hardly inove along this would not have annoyed me much, but unfortunately it was a very cold day, and, having a slight rheumatism in my face, I could not venture to put down the window; so that, sir, I had no opportunity of showing my new French head-dress and shawl. You will allow, sir, that this was a very mortifying circumstance.

Phys. Be assured, madam, of my sympathy.

Lady. Well, sir: I returned home in expectation of finding Professor B-, who had promised to dedicate a concerto to me: the traitor was not there, but in his stead a letter of apology, in which he pretended to recollect that he was under a previous obligation to dedicate the thing to Lady Belville; but I understand the whole affair-she has been bribing him.

I flung away the letter in contempt; but what was I to do with my spare time? It wanted nearly three hours to dinner, and as my toilet only occupies two, I had an hour upon my hands. It was impossible to have recourse to my music, having been so recently ill treated by one of its professors; books I cannot read; even French tales have become insipid. Luckily I fell asleep.

In the evening, I went to Mrs. Merton's rout; but, such is my ill fortune, that I really think that there is a conspiracy to reduce me to a state of apathy. Would you believe it, sir, that, although I played till three o'clock in the morning; I could neither win nor lose, though I made every effort in my power by extravagant betting and careless playing. You see that my case is hopeless.

Phys. Tolerably bad; but I trust not incurable.

Lady. You will change your opinion when you hear more. I was determined yesterday morning to indemnify myself for the vexations of the preceding day: I ordered my carriage by two o'clock, and had already put on my favorite French bonnet and shawl, when a servant came in and announced my mischievous cousin, Lady Courton.