when they do see them, they are often neglected to follow their own peculiar interests. Justice exalts her voice, but she finds it difficult to be heard amidst the tumult of the passions.

Men often commit injustice, because it is their interest; and they choose rather to satisfy themselves than others. Their actions always tend to their own emolument: no one is wicked for nothing; some reason must sway him, and that reason is always a reason of interest.

We ought to love justice, because, by that means, we resemble the Divine Being, of whom we have so lovely an idea; because he must inevitable be just. And, though we were destitute of revelation, we should be still under the government of equity.

This induces me to believe that justice is eternal, and does not depend upon human conventions; and if it did depend upon them, it would be a fatal truth, which we should conceal even from ourselves.

We are encompassed by men stronger than ourselves; they may hurt us a thousand different ways, and generally with impunity. What a comfort is it to us, to know that there is in the heart of all those men an inward principle, that exerts itself in our behalf, and protects us from their violence.

Were it not for this, we should have reason to live in a scene of perpetual horror and fear; we should be as much terrified at meeting a man as a lion; and we should never, one single moment, be secure of our lives, our estates, or our honor.

When I reflect on these things, my indignation is inflamed against those persons, who represent God as a being that makes a tyrannical use of his power; who tell us, he acts after a manner which we ourselves would not for fear of offending him; who accuse him of all the imperfections which he punishes in us; and, in their contradictory opinions, describe him at one time as an unjust being, and at another, as a being who hates and punishes injustice.

When a man examines himself, what a satisfaction is it to find he has an upright heart! This pleasure, severe as it is, must fill him with rapture: he looks upon himself as a being so much above those who are destitute of it, as he is above the brute creation.

There is one thing common at the assizes which troubles me very much, and that is, the diversion of all sorts carried on at such times of solemnity. To see a fellow creature going to the place of execution, whilst the people are engaged

at play, is a practice of so inhuman a nature, that I scarce know by what name to call it. If ever seriousness was to be found amongst mortals, surely such are the times. It ough always to remind us of two things, the corruption of human nature, which renders those executions necessary, and the last day, when we shall all appear before the Judge who can not be deceived. But, I doubt not, you have long since considered those things, and therefore I shall conclude with my assurance of being Your real friend.

LETTER XII.-From a Gentleman in the Country, to his Friend in London, on Retirement.

Sir, You know I was sick of the hurry and confusion in London, and therefore retired into the country to enjoy a calm tranquillity, and feast my eyes with nature clothed in the blooming garments of the spring. Here, I often contemplate the wonders of creation undisturbed, and I think my. self happier in solitude, than the gaudy courtier, àmidst the splendor, noise, and hurry of a court.

This is safety's habitation; silence guards the door against the strife of tongues, and all the impertinences of idle conversation. The swarm of temptations that beset us amidst the gaieties of life, are banished from these scenes of retirement here, without disturbance, I can survey my own thoughts, and ponder the secret intentions of my own heart. In short, here I can learn the best of sciences, that of "knowing myself."

The other evening I strayed into the fields, and, pleasing myself with a variety of objects that presented themselves on every side, night overtook me before I was aware of it. The whole face of the ground was soon overspread with shades, only a few of the lofty eminences were clothed with streaming silver, and the tops of the waving groves and summits of the mountains were irradiated with the smiles of departing day. The clouds expanding their purple wings, were tipped with a ray of gold, while others represented a chain of lofty mountains, whose craggy summits overshadowed the vales below, and along their inaccessible sides there appeared vari› ous pits and romantic caves.

A calm tranquillity and undisturbed repose spread over the whole scene. The gentle gales fanned themselves to sleep, so that not one single leaf was in motion. Echo herself slept anmo.ested, and the expanded ear could only catch the liquid :

lapse of a murmuring stream. The beasts departed to their grassy couch, and the village swains to their pillows; even the faithful dog forgot his post, and slumbered with his master.

Darkness was now at its height, and the different objects were only rendered visible by the faint glimmering of the stars. This solemn scene brought to my remembrance the terrors which often invade timorous minds; this, I said to myself, is the time when the ghosts are said to make their appearance, and spirits visit the solitary dwellings of the dead. But what should terrify me, when I know I am encompassed by the hand of my Maker, and that in a short time I shal enter a whole world of unembodied beings? Nor is it unreasonable to suppose that numbers of invisible beings are, at this instant, patrolling the same retreat, and joining with me in contemplating the works of the Almighty Creator.

When I reflect on the benefit of retirement, I am ready to plead in behalf of those religious recluses who left the world, and shut themselves up in cells and cloisters. For although man is a social being, yet he must at least find some retirement beneficial to his health, and conducive to his eternal interest. I am, dear Sir, your sincere friend.

LETTER XIII.-From a Lady who had formerly kept a Boarding-School, to another of the same profession, on Female Education.

Madam,

I RECEIVED your letter, containing the following inquiry, viz. What are the most proper methods to be used in con ducting the education of young ladies, so as to avoid extrava gance on the one hand, and meanness on the other? This is a very important question, and perhaps above my poor abili ties to answer. However, as I have had many years' experience in female education, I shall tell you my thoughts on the subject with the greatest freedom.

It is the misfortune of the present age, that almost al' ranks of people are so much infatuated as to strive who shall outdo each other in extravagance; and a daughter of an ordinary tradesman can scarcely be distinguished from a lady of rank. If we inquire into the cause from which those effects flow, we shall find that they are partly owing to the conduct of the mothers, and partly to those intrusted with their education. I shall mention a few things concerning both, and leave you to judge of their propriety.

Mothers should, on every occasion, teach their daughters that it is a duty incumbent on them not to have aspiring

views beyond that station in which Providence has placed them; that humble unaffected modesty in a stuff gown, wil be preferred by every sensible person before either silk o Brussels lace; that it is a greater accomplishment for a tradesman's daughter to wash a floor, than to dance on it; and much more useful to be able to dress a joint of meat, than point out the particular merits of an actress, and applaud or condemn a song.. But the keepers of boarding-schools are still more culpable than parents. No sooner is Miss placed in one of these seminaries, than she is taught to consider herself a young lady, and even honored with that high appellation. Thus the seeds of vanity are sown in the first rudiments of learning, and continue to operate on her conduct as she advances in years,

Grow with her growth, and strengthen with her strength.—POPE.

It is almost impossible for those who are any way ac quainted with human nature, to imagine that the girl who is taught to consider herself as a lady, can ever be a proper wife for a tradesman, and common sense teaches her that she has not anything greater to expect.

But there is something still worse. She is not only unfit to be the wife of an honest industrious tradesman, but she often occasions his ruin. She expects to be supported in the same extravagant manner as at the boarding-school: dissipation takes the place of prudence, public diversions are more attended to than domestic duties; and the unhappy husband, to enjoy peace, is often obliged to leave his business, that his lady may be honored with his company. The fatal effects of such extravagance are soon felt, and the woman who formerly considered herself as a lady, finds by woful experience, that she had assumed an improper name. The best, nay, the only way to educate children, consistently with their own station in life, is, on all occasions, to teach them not to expect more than their birth entitles them to. It would likewise be very beneficial to the nation, if those women who keep boarding-schools were to instruct the girls in useful employments, rather than in such useless arts as cannot be of any real benefit to them in the world.

I am, dear Madam, your sincere friend.

LETTER XIV.-On Sickness, from a Lady to her Friend, lately recovered from a dangerous Illness.

Madam,

AFTER So long, so strict a friendship as has been inviolably preserved betwixt us, I hope it is not necessary for me

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to assure you how eagerly I wished to spend the summer a your house: but wherever I am, my heart is entirely yours; that heart, which, by a thousand obligations, is tied for ever to you. I know your husband's and mother's tenderness would render my care almost unnecessary; and indeed my present desire to see you since your recovery, is to know the state of your health from my own observation, rather than from the reports of others, lest they should flatter me in pity to my trembling expectations.

Whilst we continue in this world, we are subject to a variety of afflictions, and when God sees fit to lay us under severe afflictions either of body or of mind, we ought to submit with a becoming resignation; but alas! in cases of that nature, we are but miserable comforters to each other. Riches and honors, as tempting as they appear to the greatest votaries when well, yet in sickness, if they are accompanied with their usual train of visitors instead of doing us good, by gratify. ing our ambition, they help to foment the disorder, without ever producing a cure. As crowned heads are no more exempt from the sword of the destroying angel, than the poorest beggars, how little ought we to value grandeur, which can give us no assistance in our extremities! A down-bed is not a better insurer of sleep in such a case, than a heap of straw; and a king that groans under the agonies of an incurable disease, is soon made sensible that it takes its commission from a higher power than his.

Sickness multiplies all our grievances, and the weakness of the body has such an effect on the mind, that it sinks under those troubles that would not move us at another time; out our judgment decaying with us, we shall too soon find its place occupied by wild chimeras of our own fancy, and startle every moment at giants of our own invention; every hasty word affrights, and every whisper gives us an alarm; nay, sometimes we are so unjust as to charge our best friends with want of love and respect, when they have toiled about us, to a degree that we cannot mention without blushing at our own ingratitude; and when the want of ability to help ourselves forces us to become burdensome to others, instead of excusing the trouble, we are too apt to increase their uneasiness by continual fretting. This is the common method which the sick use to afflict and confuse their brains. Mourning over our misery is indeed so very natural, that of ourselves we cannot forbear it, though we know it leads us to doubt of the great goodness of that God whose mercies are daily new to us. A disturbed conscience is certainly the worst circumstance