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ing upon Death, would be exceeding loath to be taken at his word; and while he wishes destruction to every part of his body, would be highly concerned to have a limb rot away, his nose fall off, or an eye drop out of the socket. It would therefore be advisable to substitute some other terms equally unmeaning, and at the same time remote from the vulgar cursing and swearing.
It is recorded to the honour of the famous Dean Stanhope, that in his younger days, when he was chaplain to a regiment, he reclaimed the officers, who were much addicted to this vulgar practice, by the following method of reproof: One evening, as they were all in company together, after they had been very eloquent in this kind of rhetoric, so natural to the gentlemen of the army, the worthy dean took occasion to tell a story in his turn; in which he frequently repeated the words bottle and glass, instead of the usual ex. pletives of God, devil, and damn, which he did not · think quite so becoming for one of his cloth to make free with. I would recommend it to our people of fashion to make use of the like innocent phrases whenever they are obliged to have recourse to these substitutes for thought and expression. Bottle and glass' might be introduced with great energy in the table-talk at the King's Arms or St. Alban's taverns.
The gamester might be indulged, without offence, in swearing by the 'knave of clubs, or the curse of Scotland; or he might with some propriety retain the old execration of the deuce take it. The beau shoald be allowed to swear by his gracious self, which is the god of his idolatry; and the common expletives should consist only of upon my word and upon my honour,' which terms, whatever sense they might formerly bear, are at present understood only as words of course, without mean
THE FOLLY OF ANGER, The maxim of Periander of Corinth, one of the seven sages of Greece, left as a memorial of his knowledge and benevolence, was, Be master of thy anger. He considered anger as the great disturber of human life, the chief enemy both of public happiness and private tranquillity, and thought that he could not lay on posterity a stronger obligation to reverence his memory, than by leaving them a salutary caution against this outrageous passion.
There is in the world a certain class of mortals, known, and contentedly known, by the appellation of passionatè men, who imagine themselves entitled by this distinction to be provoked on every slight occasion, and to vent their rage in vehement and fierce vociferations, in furious menaces, and licentious reproaches.
Men of this kind are not always treated with the severity which their neglect of the ease of all about them might justly provoke; they have obtained a kind of prescription for their folly, and are considered by their companions as under a predominant influence that leaves them not masters of their conduct or language, as acting witi
out consciousness, and rushing into mischief with a mist before their eyes; they are therefore pitied rather than censured, and their sallies are passed over as the involuntary blows of a man agitated by the spasms of a convulsion.
It is surely not to be observed without indigna: tion, that men may be found of minds mean enough to be satisfied with this treatment; wretches who are proud to obtain the privilege of madmen, and can, without shame and without regret, consider themselves as receiving hourly pardons from their companions, and giving them continual opportunities of exercising their patience and boasting their clemency.
Pride is undoubtedly the origin of anger ; but pride,like every other passion, if it once break loose from reason, counteracts its own purposes. A passionate man, upon the review of his day, will have very few gratifications to offer to his pride, when he has considered how his outrages were borne, and in what they are likely to end at last.
These sudden bursts of rage generally break out upon small occasions; for life, unhappy as it is, cannot supply great evils as frequently as the man of fire thinks it fit to be enraged; therefore the first reflection upon his violence must show him that he is mean enough to be driven from his post by every petty incident, that he is the mere slave of casualty, and that his reason and virtue are in the power of the wind.
One motive there is of these loud extravagancies, which a man is careful to conceal from others, and does not always discover to himself. He that finds his knowledge varrow, and his argu
ments weak, is sometimes in hope of gaining that attention, by his clamours, which he cannot otherwise obtain, and is pleased with remembering, that at least he nude himself heard, that he had the power to interrupt those whom he could not confute, and suspend the decision which he could not guide.
But it does not appear that a man can by nproar and tumult alter any one's opinion of his understanding, or gain influence, except over those whom fortune or nature has made his dependents. He may fright his children or harrass his servants, but the rest of the world will look on and laugh: and he will at length perceive, that he lives only to raise contempt and hatred, and that he has given up the felicity of being loved, without gaining the honour of being reverenced.
When a man bas once suffered his mind to be thus vitiated, he becomes one of the most hateful and unhappy of beings. He can give no security to himself that he shall not at the next interview alienate, by some sudden transport, his dearest friend; or break out, upon some slight contradiction, into such terms of rudeness, as can never be perfectly forgotten. Whoever converses with liim lives with the suspicion and solicitude of a man that plays with a tame tiger, always under a necessity of watching the moment in which the capricions savage shall begin to growl.
It is related by Prior, of the duke of Dorset, that bis servants used to put themselves in his way when he was angry, because he was sure to recompence them for any indignities which he made
them suffer. This is the round of a passionate man's life; he contracts debts when he is furious, which his virtue, if he has any, obliges him to discharge at the return of reaso.. He spends his time in outrage and acknowledgment; in injury and reparation.
Nothing is more miserable or despicable than the old age of a passionate man; his rage sinks by decay of strength into habitual peevishness; the world falls off from around him, and he is left to prey upon his own heart in solitude and contempt.
CLEANLINESS may be recommended under the three following heads : as it is a mark of politeness; as it produces love; and as it bears analogy to purity of mind.
First, It is a mark politeness; for it is universally agreed upon, that no one unadorned with this virtue can go into company without giving a manifest offence. The different nations of the world are as much distinguished by their cleanliness, as by their arts and sciences. The more they are advanced in civilization, the more they. consult this part of politeness.
Secondly, Cleanliness may be said to be the foster-mother of love. Beauty commonly produces love, but cleanliness preserves it. Age itself is not unamiable while it is preserved clean and unsullied: like a piece of metal constantly kept smooth and bright, we look on it with more