conduct in his office, whatever it may be. Is it necessary to remark that a subaltern might gain respect, where the commanding officer might look for it in vain ? There is much sound sense in an observation of Epaminondas, who, when appointed to a commission beneath his rank, said, That no office could give dignity to him that held it; but that he who held it might give dignity to any office." I read in the life of Plutarch a passage which, from its quaintness, and at the same time as illustrating that philosopher's view of the question, I shall take the liberty to quote. It appears that he had just returned home, after having been laden with honours in Rome, the friend and preceptor of Emperors; and having chosen to reside in his little city of Choronea, he had been appointed to some office of a very subordinate and derogatory character. "It is not unentertaining (says his biographer) to hear our philosopher apologise for his employment, when he discharges the office of commissioner of sewers and public buildings. I make no doubt (says he) that the citizens of Choronea often smile when they see me employed in such offices as these. On such occasions I generally call to mind what is said of Antisthenes. When he was bringing home in his own hands a dirty fish from the market, some who observed it expressed their surprise: 'It is for myself (says Antisthenes) that I carry this fish.' On the contrary, for my own part, when I am rallied for measuring tiles, or for calculating a quantity of stones and mortar, I answer, that it is not for myself I do these things, but for my country. For in all things of this nature, the public utility takes off the disgrace; and the meaner the office you sustain may be, the greater is the compliment that you pay to the public.' If all were of Plutarch's mind, how few candidates would there be for the office of my Lord Mayor! Mr. John Reynolds might have undisturbed enjoyment of that dignity "ad libitum." 999 I trust the few words I have written may have the happy effect of guarding persons against indulging this odious, too common vice; and yet what can I hope to achieve, when, although it has been denounced and stigmatised by wise men, and divines, and poets, and satirists, we have abundant examples of it in every village, in every nook and corner of our land. Solomon says of it, "It is the rottenness of the bones." It is pretty well known that the Sicilian tyrants were adepts in the invention of tortures; yet the poet tells us that their ingenuity never contrived any more dreadful than this-which men so often voluntarily inflict upon themselves, and harbour in their own bosoms "The man who envies, must behold with pain A greater torment than an envious mind." Æsop's fable of the man who was content to lose one eye, so that his companion might lose both; Quintillian's well-known story of the rich man, who poisoned the flowers in his garden, thereby cautiously and effectually providing that his neighbour's bees should get no more honey from them: these, and such like, contain a poignancy of satire more efficacious than a hundred essays. There is a point connected with this in which we are all of us very apt to err-I mean, comparing ourselves with those above us; instead of looking beneath at the thousands and tens of thousands with blessings and advantages far inferior to ours, and yet fully as deserving, it may be much more so in many cases, of the favours of the great God and Father of us all. And who made us to differ? "In such a world, so thorny, and where none B Against the law of love, to measure lots So sings the Christian poet. And is not this true philosophy? O, if we could but bring ourselves to think so, how we would disarm at once some of the busy tormentors of our peace! But this is a lesson not to be learned in the Porch, or the Academy, in the School of Socrates, or of Plato, or of Epictetus "The Christian has an art unknown to them." We read of a man who once endured far more labours and sufferings than fall to the ordinary lot of humanity, and who left on record a pathetic and memorable summary of his own afflictions. In what school was this man instructed? He was a disciple of the first school of Christian Philosophy-the school founded by the Great Master and Teacher who came from God, whose name was Christ. The language of that man is thus "I have learned in whatsoever state I am, expressep, therewith to be content." CHAPTER III. ON BOOKS OF FICTION, AND LOVE OF NOVEL-READING. A SHORT time ago my bookseller sent me his catalogue, with the hope of inducing me to make some purchases: and, on looking over the contents, I found the section devoted to novels and works of fiction by far the most considerable. This threw me into a train of reflection, that the appetite of the public for this kind of reading must be very great, when so many caterers were employed to gratify it: and I began to examine into the nature of the food thus supplied. The love of mankind for stories of fiction, tales of woe, hair-breadth 'scapes and adventures, wonderful transitions from the deepest gloom to the brightest sunshine, all stories of all kinds-grave and merry, cheerful and sad--have found their admirers and readers, beyond number. The old romances filled with knights and ladies, with manners and dresses equally grotesque, but with sentiments of an elevated cast, and worthy of a better connection than that in which they are found, of magicians, dragons, and giants, invulnerable men, winged horses, enchanted armour, and enchanted castles, form the first chapter in this curious inquiry. If these have done no service to mankind, as I am sure they have not, yet there is one unintentional benefit which they have produced, which is infinitely counterbalanced by all their extravagancies and all their nonsense, by bringing into existence the immortal Don Quixote, to subdue their enchantments, and demolish their air-built castles. I cannot do more at present than merely glance at this; and remark that the imitations of both bane and antidote are numerous among our English writers. There comes next a second race, with, perhaps, Richardson at their head, who, in his "Sir Charles Grandison," and "Clarissa Harlowe," has gained the applause of the great critic of his day, and has attempted to do for virtue what graver writers essayed in vain : "An author," says Johnson, "who has enlarged the knowledge of human nature, and taught the passions to move at the command of virtue." This is, beyond doubt, the over-wrought dictum of a friend and panegyrist. Richardson's manners, as pourtrayed in the best characters of his interminable novels, are inflated and strained, alway on stilts, and resting their virtues (which he unquestionably wishes to recommend to imitation) on a miserably defective foundation. He abounds, too, in details of delicacies of situation, softnesses of sentimental expression, which either never occur at all in real life, or, if they do, had much better be covered with a mantle, and nothing said. About the same time, or shortly after, there appeared two writers, nearly contemporary, who gave a new direction to the English novel-Fielding and Smollett; men of surpassing wit and genius, but from whose contact every friend of virtue will shrink. Their common aim seems to have been to paint vice in the most glowing colours, and embellish her with the most engaging form. The following lines might serve as a motto for their works, as descriptive of their moral effect : : "Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, Fielding, who probed and delineated human nature with the more delicate hand, Smollett, coarser and more offensive in his licentiousness, are equally seductive, and the young cannot be too strongly guarded against them. If we would protect our children, and those over whom we have any control, from improper and dangerous associates, surely, with equal care and anxiety, ought we to guard them from writers who would corrupt their |