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pected and beloved by others, and happy in themelves, they should leave off looking at the ugly leg.


With the Soliloquy of one advanced in Age.


You may remember, my dear friend, that when we lately spent that happy day, in the delightful garden and sweet society of the Moulin Joly, I stopt a little in one of our walks, and staid some time behind the company. We had been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little fly, called an Ephemera, whose successive generations, we were told, were bred and expired within the day. I hapFened to see a living company of them on a leaf, who appeared to be engaged in conversation. You know I understand all the inferior animal tongues; my too great application to the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the little progress I have made in your charming language. I listened through curiosity to the discourse of these little creatures; but as they, in their national vivacity, spoke three or four together, I could make but little of their conversation. I found, however, by some broken expressions that I heard now and then, they were disputing warmly on the merit of two foreign musicians, one a cousin, the other a muscheto; in which dispute they spent their time, seeming as regardless of the short ness of their life as if they had been sure of living month. Happy people, thought I, you live certainly under a wise, just, and mild government, since yo have no public grievances to complain of, nor any other subject of contention but the perfections or imperfections of foreign music. I turned my head from them to an old grey-headed one, who was single on another leaf, and talking to himself. Being amused wun his soliloquy, I put it down in writing, in hopes

h will likewise amuse her to whom I am so much indebted for the most pleasing of all amusements, her delicious company and heavenly harmony.

"It was," says he, "the opinion of learned phi. losophers of our race, who lived and flourished long before lay time, that this vast world, the Moulin Joly could not itself subsist more than eighteen hours. and I think there was some foundation for that opi nion; since, by the apparent motion of the great lu minary, that gives life to all nature, and which i my time has evidently declined considerably toward the ocean at the end of the earth, it must then finish its course, be extinguished in the waters that surround us, and leave the world in cold and darkness, accessarily producing universal death and destruction. I have lived 7 of those hours; a great age, being no less than 420 minutes of time! How very few of us continue so long? I have seen generations born, flourish, and expire. My present friends are chil. dren and grand-children of the friends of my youth, who are now, alas, no more! And I must soon folLow them; for, by the common course of nature, hough still in health, I cannot expect to live above even or eight minutes longer. What now avails all ny toil and labour, in ainassing the honey-dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to enjoy. What ny political struggles I have been engaged in, for the good of my compatriot inhabitants of this bush, or ny philosophical studies, for the benefit of our race n general: for in politics (what can laws do withsut morals?) our present race of ephemera will in a Sourse of minutes became corrupt, like those of other and older bushes, and consequently as wretched! And in philosophy how small our progress. Alas art is long, and life is short! My friends would com ort me with the idea of a name, they say, I shall eave behind me; and they tell me I have lived long nough to nature and to glory. But what will fame ne to an ephemera who no longer exists? and what will become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when the world itself, even the whole Moulin Joly, small come to its end, and be buried in an universal pin?”

To me, after all my eager pursuits, no solid plea sures now remain, but the reflection of a long life spent in meaning well, the sensible conversation of a few good lady ephemeræ, and now and then a kind smile and a ture from the ever amiable Brilliant. B. FRANKLIN.


PLAYING at chess is the most ancient and univer sal game known among men; for its original is beyond the memory of history, and it has, for numberless ages, been the amusement of all the civilized nations of Asia, the Persians, the Indians, and the Chinese. Europe has had it above a thousand years; the Spaniards have spread it over their parts of America, and it begins to make its appearance in these States. It is so interesting in itself, as not to need the view of gain to induce engaging in it; and thence it is never played for money. Those, therefore, who have leisure for such diversions, cannot find one that is more innocent; and the following piece, written with a view to correct (among a few young friends) some little improprieties in the prac tice of it, shows, at the same time, that it may, in its effects on the mind, he not merely innocent, but advantageous, to the vanquished as well as the victor.

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The game of chess is not merely an idle amusement. Several very valuable qualities of the mind useful in the course of human life, are to be acquirea or strengthened by it, so as to become habits, ready on all occasions. For life is a kind of chess, in which we have points to gain, and competitors or adversaries to contend with, and in which there is a vast variety of good and ill events, that are, in some degree, the effects of prudence or the want of it. By playing at chess then, we learn,

I. Foresight, which looks a little into futurity, considers the consequences that may attend an ac tom: for it is continually occurring to the player,

*If I move this piece, what will be the advantage of my new situation? What use can my adversary make of it to annoy me? What other moves can I make to support it, and to defend myself from his attacks!"

II. Circumspection, which surveys the whole chessboard, or scene of action, the relations of the several pieces and situations, the dangers they are respec Lively exposed to, the several possibilities of their aiding each other, the probabilities that the adver sary may take this or that move, and attack this or the other piece, and what different means can be used to avoid his stroke, or turn its consequences against him.

III. Caution, not to make our moves too hastily. This habit is best acquired by observing strictly the laws of the game, such as, "If you touch a piece, you must move it somewhere; if you set it down you must let it stand:" and it is therefore best that these rules should be observed; as the game thereby be comes more the image of human life, and particularly of war; in which, if you have incautiously put yourself into a bad and dangerous position, you cannot obtain your enemy's leave to withdraw your troops, and place them more securely, but you must abide all the consequences of your rashness.



And, lastly, we learn by chess the habit of not being discouraged by present bad appearances in the state of our affairs, the habit of hoping for a favourable change, and that of persevering in the search of resources. The game is so full of events, there is such a variety of turns in it, the fortune of it is so subject to sudden vicissitudes, and one so frequently, after long contemplation, discovers the means of exricating one's self from a supposed insurmountable difficulty, that one is encouraged to continuo the con test to the last, in hope of victory by our own skill, or at least of giving a stale mate, by the negligence of our adversary. And whoever considers, what in chess he often sees instances of, that particular pieces of success are apt to produce presumption, and its consequent inattention, by which the loss may be re covered, will learn not to be too much discouraged by

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the present success of his adversary, nor to despair of final good fortune, upon every little check he receives n the pursuit of it.

That we may, therefore, be induced more fre quently too choose this beneficial amusement, in preference to others, which are not attended with the same advantages, every circumstance which may increase the pleasure of it should be regarded; and every action or word that is unfair, disrespectful, or that in any way may give uneasiness, should be avoided, as contrary to the immediate intention of both the players, which is to pass the time agreeably.

Therefore, first, If it is agreed to play according to the strictest rules; then those rules are to be exactly observed by both parties, and should not be insisted on for one side, while deviated from by the otherfor this is not equitable.

Secondly, If it is agreed not to observe the rules exactly, but one party demands indulgences, he should then be as willing to allow them to the other.

Thirdly, No false move should ever be made to extricate yourself out of a difficulty, or to gain an advantage. There can be no pleasure in playing with a person once detected in such unfair practices.

Fourthly, If your adversary is long in playing, you ought not to hurry him, or to express any uneasiness at his delay. You should not sing, nor whistle, nor look at your watch, nor take up a book to read, nor make a tapping with your feet on the Boor, or with your fingers on the table, nor do any thing that may disturb his attention. For all these things displease; and they do not show your skill in playing, but your craftiness or your rudeness.

Fifthly, You ought not to endeavour to amuse and deceive your adversary, by pretending to have made bad moves, and saying that you have now lost the game, in order to make him secure and careless. and inattentive to your schemes; for this is fiaud and deceit, no: skill in the game.

Sixthly, You must not, when you have gained a Victory, use any triumphing or insulting expression,

or show too much pleasure; but endeavour to console your adversary, and make him less dissatisfied

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