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they seemed to converse with great earnestness. The aspect of the youth pleased me wonderfully; and if I had not suspected that he was my rival, I should have taken delight in his person and friendship.

They both of them often asked me if I were in reality a German; which when I continued to affirm, they seemed very much troubled. One day I took notice that the young lady and gentleman, having retired to a window, were very intent upon a picture; and that every now and then they cast their eyes upon me, as if they had found some resemblance betwixt that and my features. I could not forbear to ask the meaning of it; upon which the lady answered, that if I had been a Frenchman, she should have imagined that I was the person for whom the picture was drawn, because it so exactly resembled me. I desired to see it. But how great was my surprise, when I found it to qe the very painting whicto nad sent the queen five years before, and which she commanded me to get drawn to be given to my children! After I had viewed the piece, I cast my eyes upon the young lady, and then upon the gentleman I had thought to be her lover. My heart beat, and I felt a secret emotion which filled. me with wonder. I thought I traced in the two young persons some of my own features; and at, that moment I said to myself, Are not these my children?' The tears came into my eyes, and I was about to run and embrace them; but, constraining myself with pain, I asked whose picture it was? The maid, perceiving that I could not speak without tears, fell aweeping. Her tears absolutely confirmed me in my opinion; and falling upon her neck, Ah, my dear child,' said I, yes, I am your father.' I could say

no

no more. The youth seized my hands at the same time, and kissing bathed them with his tears. Throughout my life I never felt a joy equal to this; and it must be owned, that nature inspires more lively motions and pleasing tenderness than the passions can possibly excite."

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THERE is no passion which steals into the heart more imperceptibly, and covers itself under more disguises, than pride. For my own part, I think, if there is any passion or vice which I am wholly a stranger to, it is this; though at the same time, perhaps, this very judgment which I form of myself proceeds in some measure from this corrupt principle. I have been always wonderfully delighted with that sentence in holy writ, Pride was not made for man.' There is not indeed any single view of human nature, under its present condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish in us all the secret seeds of pride; and, on the contrary, to sink the soul into the lowest state of humility, and what the schoolmen call selfannihilation. Pride was not made for man, as he is, 1. A sinful,

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2. An ignorant,

3. A miserable being.

There is nothing in his understanding, in his will, or in his present condition, that can tempt any considerate creature to pride or vanity.

These three very reasons why he should not be proud, are notwithstanding the reasons why he is so. Were not he a sinful creature, he would not be sub

ject

ject to a passion which rises from the depravity of his nature; wue he not an ignorant creature, he would see that he has nothing to be proud of; and were not the whole species miserable, he would not have those. wretched objects of comparison before his eyes, which are the occasions of this passion, and which make one man value himself more than another.

A wise man will be contented that his glory be deferred till such time as he shall be truly glorified; when his understanding shall be cleared, his will rectified, and his happiness assured; or, in other words, when he shall be neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable.

If there be any thing which makes human nature appear ridiculous to beings of superior faculties, it must be pride. They know so well the vanity of those imaginary perfections that swell the heart of man, and of those little supernumerary advantages, whether in birth, fortune, or title, which one man enjoys above another, that it must certainly very much astonish if it does not very much divert them, when they see a mortal piffed up, and valuing himself above his neighbours, on any of these accounts, at the same tine that he is obnoxious to all the common calamities of the species.

To set this thought in its true light, we will fancy, if you please, that youder mole-hill is inhabited by reasonable creatures, and that every pismire (his shape and way of life only excepted) is endowed with human passions. How should we smile to hear one give us an account of the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles that reign among them! Observe how the whole svarm divide ani make way for the pismire that passes through them! You must understand he is an emrujt

of

of quality, and has better blood in his veins than any pismire in the mole-hill. Don't you see how sensible he is of it, how slow he marches forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their distance? Here you may observe one placed upon a little eminence, and looking down on a long row of labourers. He is the richest insect on this side the hillock, he has a walk of half a yard in length and a quarter of an inch in breadth, he keeps a hundred menial servants, and has at least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now chiding and beslaving the emmit that stands before him, and who, for all that we can discover, is as good an emmit as himself.

But here comes an insect of figure! Don't you take notice of a little white straw that he carries in his mouth? That straw, you must understand, he would not part with for the longest tract about the mole-hill. Did you but know what he has undergone to purchase it! See how the ants of all qualities and conditions swarm about him. Should this straw drop out of his mouth, you would see all this numerous circle of attendants follow the next that took it up, and leave the discarded insect, or run over his back, to come at his

successor.

If now you have a mind to see all the ladies of the mole-hill, observe first the pismire that listens to the emmit on her left hand, at the same time that she seems to turn away her head from him. He tells this poor insect that she is a goddess, that her eyes are brighter than the sun, that life and death are at her disposal. She believes him, and gives herself a thousand little airs upon it. Mark the vanity of the pismire on your left hand. She can scarce crawl with

age

ave; but you must know she values herself upon her birth, and, if you mind, spurns at every one that comes within her reach. The little nimble coquette that is running along by the side of her is wit. She has broken many a pismire's heart. Do but observe what a drove of lovers are running after her!

We will here finish this imaginary scene; but first of all, to draw the parallel closer, will suppose, if you please, that death comes down upon the mole-hili in the shape of a cock-sparrow, who picks up, without distinction, the pisoire of quality and his flatterers, the pisinire of substance and his day-labourers, the white-straw officer and his sycophants, with all the goddesses, wits, and beauties of the mole-hill.

May we not imagine that beings of superior natures and perfections regard all the instances of pride and vanity, among our own species, in the same kind of view, when they take a survey of those who inhabit the earth; or, in the language of an ingenious French poet, of those pismires that people this heap of dirt, which human vanity has divided into climates and regions?

JUDGMENT ÓF RHADAMANTHUS. No.159.

I was yesterday pursuing the hint which I mentioned in my last paper, and comparing together the industry of man with that of other creatures; in which I could not but observe, that notwithstanding we are obliged by duty to keep ourselves in constant employ, after the same manner as inferior animals are prompted to it by instinct, we fall very short of them in this particular. We are here the more inexcusable, be

cause

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