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well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will generally insure
Would you, for instance, be rich? Do you think that single point worth sacrificing everything else to? You may then be rich. Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings, by toil and patient diligence, and attention to the minutest articles of expense and profit; but you must give up the pleasures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free, unsuspicious temper. If you preserve your integrity, it must be a coarse-spun and vulgar honesty. Those high and lofty notions of morals which you brought with you from schools must be considerably lowered, and mixed with a baser alloy of a jealous and worldly-minded prudence. You must learn to do hard, if not unjust things; and as for the nice embarrassments of a delicate and ingenuous spirit, it is necessary for you to get rid of them as fast as possible. You must shut
your heart against the Muses, and be content to feed your understanding with plain household truths. In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas, or polish your taste, or refine your sentiments; but keep on in one beaten track, without turning aside either to the right or to the left. “But I cannot submit to drudgery like this, I feel a spirit above it.” 'Tis well : be above it then; only do not repine that you are not rich.
Is knowledge the pearl of price? That, too, may be purchased by steady application and long solitary hours of study and reflection. Bestow these, and you shall be wise. "But," says the man of letters, “ what a hardship is it, that many an illiterate fellow, who cannot construe the motto of the arms on his coach, shall raise a fortune and make a figure, while I have little more than the common conveniences of life.” Et tibi magna satis !_Was it in order to raise a fortune that you consumed the sprightly hours of youth in study and re
tirement ? Was it to be rich that you grew pale over the
of Providence that such a one, who is a mean, dirty fellow, should have amassed wealth enough to buy a nation ?" Not in the least. He made himself a mean dirty fellow for that very end. He has paid his health, his conscience, his liberty for it; and will you envy him his bargain ? Will you hang your head and blush in his presence, because he outshines you in equipage and show? Lift up your brow with a noble confidence, and say to yourself, “I have not these things, it is true; but it is because I have not sought, because I have not desired them. It is because I possess something better. I have chosen my lot. I am content and satisfied.”
You are a modest man-you love quiet and independence, and have a delicacy and reserve in your temper which renders it impossible for you to elbow your way in the world, and be the herald of your own merits. Be content, then, with a modest retirement, with the esteem of your
intimate friends, with the praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate ingenuous spirit; but resign the splendid distinctions of the world to those who can better scramble for them.
The man whose tender sensibility of conscience, and strict
regard to the rules of morality, makes him scrupulous and fearful of offending, is often heard to complain of the disadvantages he lies under in every path of honor and profit. “ Could I but get over some nice points, and conform to the practice and opinion of those about me, I might stand as fair a chance as others for dignities and preferment." And why can you not? What hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of yours which stands so grievously in your way? If it be a small thing to enjoy a healthful mind, sound at the very core, that does not shrink from the keenest inspection, inward freedom from remorse and perturbation, unsullied whiteness and simplicity of manners, a genuine integrity,“ pure in the last recesses of the mind," if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense for what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a slave-merchant, a director, or—what you please. If these be motives too weak, break off by times; and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of virtue, be wise enough not to forego the emoluments of vice.
I much admire the spirit of the ancient philosophers, in that they never attempted, as our moralists often do, to lower the tone of philosophy, and make it consistent with all the indulgences of indolence and sensuality. They never thought of having the bulk of mankind for their disciples, but kept themselves as distinct as possible from a worldly life; they plainly told men what sacrifices were required, and what advantages they were which might be expected.
Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omissis
If you would be a philosopher, these are the terms. You must do thus and thus. There is no other way. If not, go and be one of the vulgar.
There is no one quality gives so much dignity to a character as consistency of conduct. Even if a man's pursuits be
wrong and unjustifiable, yet if they are prosecuted with steadiness and vigor, we cannot withhold our admiration. The most characteristic mark of a great mind is to choose some one important object and pursue it through life. It was this made Cæsar a great man. His object was ambition; he pursued it steadily, and was always ready to sacrifice to it every interfering passion or inclination.
There is a pretty passage in one of Lucian's dialogues, where Jupiter complains to Cupid that though he has had so many intrigues, he was never sincerely beloved. “In order to be loved,” says Cupid,“ you must lay aside your ægis and your thunderbolts, and you must curl your hair and place a garland on your head, and walk with a soft step, and assume a winning obsequious deportment.” “But," replied Jupiter, “ I am not willing to resign so much of my dignity.” “Then," returns Cupid, “ leave off desiring to be loved.”—He wanted to be Jupiter and Adonis at the same time.
The Enchantments of the Wizard Juduleure, aud Exploits
of the Knight əir Industry.
FROM THE "CASTLE OF INDOLENCE," BY THOMSON.
The sequestered mansion in which, either in reality or in imagination, we may be reading this poem, must not itself be a Castle of Indolence ; yet everybody delights occasionally in being indolent, or in fancying that he shall have a right to be so some day or other. We please ourselves with pictures of perfect rest, even when we can neither enjoy them, nor mean to do so. We would fain have the luxury without the harm or the expense; there is a corner in every one's mind in which we nestle to it; and hence the enjoyment of such poems as this by Thomson, in which every delight of the kind is set before us. The second part is not so good as the first. Thomson found himself more inspired by the vice than by its consequences. And we secretly feel as he and his fellow-idlers did, when Sir Industry first interrupted them. We resent the termination of our pleasures, and look upon the reforming knight as a dull and meddling fellow. Why should he wake us from such a pleasant dream? On reflection, however, we see that the fault is not his, but our own; that we should wake up in a far worse manner, if Sir Industry did not
There is beautiful poetry in the second part, even exquisite indolent bits, or places at least in which we might be indolent; in fine, we congratulate ourselves on our virtue, and begin, like the knight, to abuse the old rascally wizard who had pretended to make as his victims. We have retained the best passages in both parts, and