characters of dignity which the Creator has universally impressed upon the mind. This, at least, was the principle which many of the ancient philosophers laboured to inculcate; as there is not, perhaps, any single topic in ethics that might be urged with more truth, or greater efficacy.

It is upon this generous and exalted notion of our species, that one of the noblest precepts of the excellent Pythagoras is founded: Παντων δε μαλιστα (says that philosopher) αισχύνεο σαυτον. The first and leading disposition to engage us on the side of virtue, was, in that sage's estimation, to preserve, above all things, a constant reverence to our own mind, and to dread nothing so much as to offend against its native dignity. The ingenious Mr. Norris, I remember, recommends this precept as one of the best, perhaps, that was ever given to the world. May one not justly, then, be surprised to find it so seldom enforced in our modern systems of morality? To confess the truth, 1 am strongly inclined to suspect, that much of that general contempt of every manly principle, which so remarkably distinguishes the present times, may fairly be attributed to the humour of discarding this animating notion of our kind. It has been the fashion to paint human nature in the harshest and most unpleasing colours. Yet there is not, surely, any argument more likely to induce a man to act unworthily, than to persuade him that he has nothing of innate worthiness in his genuine disposition; than to reason him out of every elevated notion of his own grandeur of soul; and to destroy, in short, every motive that might justly inspire him with a

principle of self-reverence, that surest internal guard Heaven seems to have assigned to the human virtues. Farewell. I am, &c.

XXXV. TO CLEORA.

THOUGH it was not possible for me to celebrate with you, as usual, that happy anniversary which we have so many reasons to commemorate, yet I could not suffer so joyful a festival to pass by me without a thousand tender reflections. I took pleasure in tracing back that stream to its rise, which has coloured all my succeeding days with happiness; as my Cleora, perhaps, was at that very in stant running over in her own mind, those many moments of calm satisfaction which she has derived from the same source.

My heart was so entirely possessed with the seutiments which this occasion suggested, that I found myself raised into a sort of poetical enthusiasm ; and I could not forbear expressing, in verse, what I have often said in prose, of the dear author of my most valuable enjoyments. As I imagined Teraminta would, by this time, be with you, I had a view to her harpsichord in the composition, and I desire you would let her know, I hope she will show me, at my return, to what advantage the most ordinary numbers will appear, when judiciously accompanied with a fine voice and instrument.

I must not forget to tell you, it was in your favourite grove, which we have so often traversed together, that I indulged myself in these pleasing reveries; as it was not, you are to suppose, with

out having first invoked the Genius of the place, and called upon the Muses in due form, that I broke out in the following rhapsody:

ODE FOR MUSIC.

AIR I.

Thrice has the circling earth, swift pacing, run,

And thrice again around the sun,

Since first the white-robed priest, with sacred band,
Sweet union! join'd us hand in hand.

CHORUS.

All Heaven, and every friendly Power,
Approved the vow and bless'd the hour.

RECITATIVE.

What though in silence sacred Hymen trod,
Nor lyre proclaim'd, nor garland crown'd the god;
What though nor feast nor revel dance was there;
(Vain pomp of joy the happy well may spare !)
Yet Love unfeign'd, and conscious Honour, led
The spotless virgin to the bridal bed;

Rich, though despoil'd of all her little store.
For who shall seize fair virtue's better dower?

AIR II.

Bless'd with sense, with temper bless'd,
Wisdom o'er thy lips presides;

Virtue guards thy generous breast,
Kindness all thy actions guides.

AIR III.

Every home-felt bliss is mine,
Every matron grace is thine;
Chaste deportment, artless mien,
Converse sweet, and heart serene.

Sinks my soul with gloomy pain?
See, she smiles!-'tis joy again!
Swells a passion in my breast?
Hark, she speaks! and all is rest.

Oft as clouds my paths o'erspread,
(Doubtful where my steps should tread)
She, with judgment's steady ray,
Marks and smoothes the better way.

CHORUS.

Chief amongst ten thousand she;
Worthy, sacred Hymen! thee.

While such are the sentiments which I entertain of my Cleora, can I find myself obliged to be thus distant from her, without the highest regret? The truth, believe me, is, though both the company and the scene wherein I am engaged are extremely agreeable; yet I find a vacancy in my happiness, which none but you can fill up. Surely those who have recommended these little separations as necessary to revive the languor of the married state, have ill understood its most refined gratifications: there is no satiety in the mutual exchange of tender offices.

There seems to have been a time, when a happiness of this kind was considered as the highest glory, as well as the supreme blessing of human life. I remember, when I was in Italy, to have seen several conjugal inscriptions upon the sepulchral monuments of ancient Rome, which, instead of running out into a pompous panegyric upon the virtues of the deceased, mentioned singly, as the most significant of encomiums, how many years the parties had lived together in full and uninter

rupted harmony.-The Romans, indeed, in this, as in many other instances, afford the most remarkable examples; and it is an observation of one of their writers, that, notwithstanding divorces might very easily be obtained among them, their republic had subsisted many centuries, before there was a single instance of that privilege ever having been exerted. Thus, my Cleora, you see, however unfashionable I may appear in the present generation, I might have been kept in countenance in a former; and by those too, who had as much true gallantry and good sense as one usually meets with in this. But affections which are founded in truth and nature stand not in need of any precedent to support them; and I esteem it my honour, no less than my happiness, that I am, &c.

XXXVI. TO CLYTANDER.

DID you imagine I was really in earnest, when I talked of quitting * * * and withdrawing from those gilded prospects which ambition had once so strongly set in my view? But my vows, you see, are not in the number of those which are made to be broken; for the retreat I had long meditated, is now, at last, happily executed. To say truth, my friend, the longer I lived in the high scenes of action, the more I was convinced that nature had not formed me for bearing a part in them; and though I was once so unexperienced in the ways of the world, as to believe I had talents, as I was sure I had inclination to serve my country, yet every day's conversation contributed to wean me, by degrees, from that flattering delusion.