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aside, when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather an embryo state, a préparation for living, A man is not completely born until he be dead. Why then should we grieve that a new child is born among the immortals, a new member added to their happy society? We are spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure assist us in acquiring knowledge, or do. ing good to our fello w-creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an incumbrance, and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by which we may get rid of them. Death is that way. We ourselves, in some cases, prudently choose a partial death. A mangled painful limb, which cannot be restored, we wil. lingly cut off. He who plucks out a tooth, parts with ic. frecly, since the pain goes with it: and he who quits the whole body, parts at once with all pains, and possibilities of pains and diseases, it was liable to, or capable of making him suffer. .
Our friend and we were invited abroad on a party of pleasure, which is to last for ever. His chair was ready first; and he is gone before us. We could not all conveniently start together: and why should and I be grieved at this, fince we are foon to follow, and know where to find zim?
MIL TO, THE LATE
T RECEIVED your kind letter, with your exI cellent advice to the United States, which I read with great pleasure, and hope it will be duly regarded. Such writings, though they may be lightly passed over by many readers, yet, if they make a deep impression on one active mind in a hundred, the effects may be considerable.
Permit me to mention one little instance, which, though it relates to myself, will not be quite unin. teresting to you. When I was a boy, I met with a book entitled, “ Essays to do good," which I think was written by your father. It had been so little regarded by a former poffeffor, that several leaves of it were torn out; but the remainder gave me such a turn of thinking, as to have an influence on my conduct through life : for I have always let a greater value on the character of a doer of good, than any other kind of reputation; and if I have been, as you seem to think, a useful citizen, the public owes the advantage of it to that book.
You mention your being in your seventy-eighth year. I am in my seventy-ninth. We are grown old together. It is now more than sixty years lince I left Boston; but I remember well both your father and grandfather, having heard them both in the pulpit, and seen them in their houses. The last tiorę I saw your father was in the beginning
of 1724 when I visited him after my first trip to Pennsylvania : he received me in his library; and on my taking leave, Thewed me a shorter way out of the house, through a narrow passage, which was · crossed by a beam over head. We were still talk
ing as I withdrew, he accompanying me behind, and I turning partly towards him, when he said hastily, “Stoop, Stoop!" I did not underland hin till 'I felt my head hit against the beam. He was a man who never missed any occasion of giving instruction: and upon this he said to me: " You are young and have the world before you : ftoop as you go through it, and you will miss many hard thumps." This advice thus beat into my heart, has frequently been of use to me; and I often think of it, when I see pride mortified, and misfortunes brought upon people by their carrying their heads too high.
I long much to see again my native place; and once hoped to lay my bones there. I left it in 1723. I visited it in 1733, 1743, 1753, and 1763 and in 1773 I was in England. In 1775. I had a fight of it, but could not enter, it being in poffefa fion of the enemy. I did hope to have been there in 1783, but could not obtain a. dismission from this employment here; and now I fear I shall ne ver have that happiness. My best wishes however attend my dear country, " esto perfetua.” It is now. blessed with an excellent constitution : may it last for ever!..
This powerful monarchy continues its friendship for the United states. It is a friendship of the utmost importance to our security, and should be carefully cultivated. Britain has not yet wel! digested the loss of its dominion over us; and his still at times fome flattering hopes of recovering it. Accidents may increase thofe hopes, and encourage dangerous attempts. - A breach between us and France would infallibly bring the English again upon our backs : and yet we have some wild beasts among our countrymen, who are endeavouring to weaken that connection.
Let us preserve our reputation, by performing our engagements; our credit, by fulfilling our contracts; and our friends, by gratitude and kindness : for we know not how soon we may again have occasion for all of them.
With great and sincere esteem,
most humble servant, Passy, May 12,2 ! 1784 Š . B. FRANKLIN.
A TRUE STORY.
WRITTEN RO HIS NEPHEW. ITTHEN I was a child, at seven years old, my
VV friends, on a holiday, filled my pocket with coppers I went directly to a shop where thcy told toys for children; and being charmed with the found of a whistle, that I met by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my money for one. I then came home, and went a whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and fifters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was wurth. This put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of my money; and they laugh. ed at me so much for my folly, that I cried with vexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure.
This however was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind: so that often, * when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing,
I said to myself, Dont give too much for the whistle; and so i faved my money..
As I grew up, came into the world, and observe! ed the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the wbifile.
When I saw any one too ambitious of court fa. vours, facrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to myself, This man gives too much for his whistle.
When I saw another fond of popularity, conftantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that ne lect: He pays, indeed says I too much for his whifle.
If I knew a miser who gave up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the eítcein of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accuinulating wealth: Poor man, says I you do indeed pay too much for your whistle.. .