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erns, at least to the Parisians; which to prove, I need use but one plain simple argument. They are as well-instructed, judicious, and prudent a people as exist any where in the world, all professing, like myself, to be lovers of economy; and, from the many heavy taxes required from them by the necessities of the state, have surely reason to be economical. I say it is impossible that so sensible a people, under such circumstances, should have lived so long by the smoky, unwholesome, and enormously expensive light of candles, if they had really known that they might have had as much pure light of the sun for nothing I am, &c.



a true story.


When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, which I saw by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth. This put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and they laughed at me so much for iny folly, that I cried with vex

ation; 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 Don't give too much for the whistle; and so I saved my money.

As I grew up, I came into the world, and observing the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle.

When I see any one too ambitious of court favours, sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I say to mye self, This man gives too much for his whistle. When I see another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting bis own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect: He pays, indeed, say I, too much for his whistle. If I know a miser, who gives up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth ; Poor man! say I, you do indeed pay too much for your whistle. When I meet a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere coporeal sensa. țions; Mistaken man, say I, you are providing pain for yourself instead of pleasure : you give too much for your whistle. If I see one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine equipage, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in prison; Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. When I see a beautiful sweet tempered girl, married to an ill-natured brute



of a husband; What a pity it is, say I, that she has paid so much for a whislle !

In short, I conceived that great part of the iniseries of mankind were brought upon them by the false estimate they had made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles.


There are two sorts of people in the world, who, with equal degrees of health and wealth, and the other comforts of life, become, the one happy, and the other miserable. This arises very much from the different views in which they consider things, persons, and events; and the effect of those different yiews upon their own minds.

In whatever - situation men can be placed, they may find conveni

encies and inconveniences: in whatever company, they may find persons and conversation more or less pleasing: at whatever table, they may meet with

meats and drinks of better and worse taste, dishes s better and worse dressed: in whatever climate, they

will find good and bad weather: under whatever government, they may find good and bad laws, and good and bad administration of those laws: in whata ever poem or work of genius, they may see faults and beauties: in almost every face, and every person, they may discover fine features and defects, good and bad qualities. Under these circumstances, the two sorts of people above-mentioned, fix their ata tention; those who are disposed to be happy, on the conveniencies of things, the pleasant parts of convere sation, the well dressed dishes, the goodness of the

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wines, the fine weather, &c., and enjoy all with cheerfulness. Those who are to be unhappy, think and speak only of the contraries. Hence they are continually discontented themselves, and, by their re marks, sour the pleasures of society; offend personally many people, and make themselves every where disagreeable. If this turn of mind was founded in nature, such unhappy persons would be the more to be pitied. But as the disposition to criticise, and to be disgusted, is, perhaps, taken up originally by imitation, and is, unawares, grown into a habit, which, tho' at present strong, may nevertheless be cured, when those who have it are convinced of it's bad effects on their felicity; I hope this little admonition may be of service to them, and put them on changing a habit, which, tho' in the exercise it is chiefly an act of imagination, yet has serious consequences in life, as it brings on real griefs and misfortunes, For as many are offended by, and nobody loves, this sort of people; no one shews them more than the most common civility and respect, and scarcely that; and this frequently puts them out of humour, and draws them into disputes and contentions. If they aiın at obtaining some advantage in rank or fortune, nobody wishes them success, or will stir a step, or speak a word to favour their pretensions. If they incur public censure or disgrace, no one will defend or excuse, and many join to aggravate their misconduct, and render them completely odious, If these people will not change this bad habit, and condescend to be pleased with what is pleasing without fretting themselves and others about the contraries, it is good for others to avoid an acquaintance with them, which is always disagreeable, and sometimes

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very inconvenient, especially when one finds one's self entangled in their quarrels. An old phiJosophical friend of mine was grown, from experience, very cautious in this particular, and carefully avoided any intimacy with such people. He had, like other philosophers, a thermometer to shew him the heat of the weather; and a barometer, to mark when it was likely to prove good or bad; but there being no instrument invented to discover, at first sight, this unpleasing disposition in a person, he for that purpose made use of his legs; one of which was remarkably handsome, the other, by some accident, crooked and deformed. If a stranger, at the first interview, regarded his ugly leg more that his handsome one, he doubted him. If he spoke of it, and took no notice of the handsome leg, that was sufficient to determine my philosopher to have no further acquaintance with him. Every body has not this two-legged instrument; but every one, with a little attention, may observe signs of that carping, fault: finding disposition, and take the same resolution of avoiding the acquaintance of those infected with it. I therefore advise those critical, querulous, discon tented, unhappy people, that if they wish to be rey spected and beloved by others, and happy in them. selves, they should leave off looking at the ugly leg.



Playing at Chess is the most ancient and most universal game known among men; for it's original is beyond the memory of bistory, and it has, for num, berless ages, been the amusement of all the civilized

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