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considerably affected by our worldly circumstances, and sometimes in a very great degree; but if they are such that we are able to supply ourselves with all the real necessaries and essential comforts of life, it is not our circumstances but our tempers that are in fault, if we are not too happy to complain and too grateful to repine. The root of our uneasiness is altogether in our own minds, and without a thorough change there, no change of place or of outward circumstances could quiet us. What though all our present ideal wants were satisfied? Other ideal wants would presently start up, and we should still be weaving for ourselves the web of misery. A temper that inclines to be satisfied with its present lot, is worth more than thousands a year; whereas restlessness of temper is one of the greatest of misfortunes. A full half of human troubles would vanish, and the rest be lightened, if there were a thorough cure of this one disease of the heart.

Our false theories of worldly happiness constitute another class of troubles of our own making: and the effects of these false theories are the more deplorable, inasmuch as the disappointments inevitably resulting from them sour the disposition, and thereby enhance the numbers of the wretched victims of temper. Corporeal enjoyments are few and simple: neither wealth, nor any of the arts of refinement, can add considerably to their number, or any thing to their relish. The pleasures of sense are limited by narrow boundaries, which never can be passed without instantly turning pleasure to pain and however much we may refine upon the pleasures of sense, our refinements can increase them but very little. The most refined epicure, for example, has scarcely any more enjoyment of the pleasure of the table, than one who confines himself to the plainest viands. Nothing therefore, is more plain and easy of comprehension than the true notion of mere worldly happiness :—the whole sum of it results from health, competence, the friendly society of neighbors and acquaintance, and the pure joys of domestic life. He that has these, though he have neither wealth nor rank, enjoys about all the world can bestow. But these real and unsophisticated enjoyments, which are bestowed in

full as large measures upon the peasant as upon the prince, are too vulgar for the fastidious taste of very many; they must find a something that is quite above and beyond the common blessings of life, else, they are determined not to enjoy themselves at all. Thus they lose the good that lies fairly within their reach, by endeavoring to grasp an abstract something, that is conceivable indeed, but not attainable-a flitting meteor, which the eye plainly sees, but which evades the touch and baffles all pursuit.

The last brood of artificial troubles which I proposed to notice, are those that are generated by the influence of opinion; I mean not one's own opinion, but the opinion of others. We are such strange and unaccountable creatures, that we are more solicitous to appear happy than really to be so; and hence we willingly abridge our real enjoyments for the sake of seeming to possess enjoyments superior to those that are altogether com mon to mankind. Now the general opinion of society (a very erroneous one indeed) makes the pomp of show à prerequisite for being deemed happy, or at least for obtaining the credit of refined enjoyment; and this general opinion, how much soever we may despise it in our judgments, has an astonishing influence upon our conduct and our feelings: an influence that precipitates many thousands from a condition of competence to that of poverty.

That apt Remarker, Dr. Franklin, observes, "The eyes of other people are the eyes that ruin us. If all but myself were blind, I should want neither fine clothes, fine houses, nor fine furniture.”—It is even so: and it is this supreme regard to the eyes of others, that leads multitudes into extravagant and ruinous expenses.Without adequate funds, they build them fine houses and purchase them fine furniture, and array themselves with costly apparel, that others may gaze upon them as persons possessed of taste and of refined enjoyments; and by these means they are presently stripped of the necessaries of life.

CHAP. V.

Of greedy ambitiousness after wealth-ominously the master passion of the times.

AMBITION'S thorny path is too narrow for two to go abreast. Each struggles hard to get forward of each; and the one that is foremost of all must press onward with eagerness, else some other will rush by him. He that stumbles is trampled over by the crowd behind him. It is all a scramble, in which the successful competitors are greeted with shouts of applause, and the unsuccessful ones assailed with the hisses of derision and scorn.

In a former age it was the ambition of the celebrated Cardinal de Retz, to be first in the hearts of his fellow I citizens, the Parisians. His munificence exceeded all former example: his liberalities were unbounded. The courtesy of his manners and the fascinating charms of his address, won him universal friendship and admiration. At home he was crowded with visitants; when he rode through the streets he was accompanied with a splendid retinue of nobility and gentry, all proud to do him honor; and whenever he entered the parlament, marked respect and homage were paid him there.

But there happened an incident that put this friendship to the test, and proved it light as air. Upon a time, the Cardinal was thought to be on the eve of ruin. In that situation he went to the parliament, to clear himself of heavy charges which his enemies had raised against him; and the account of his reception there is thus given in his Memoirs written with his own hand.

"We went to the parliament. The princes had there near a thousand gentlemen with them; and I may say hardly one from the court was missing there. I was in my church habit, and went through the great hall with my cap in my hand, saluting every body; but I met with but few that returned me that civility, so strongly was it believed that I was an undone man.

Neither is this a solitary example, nor one of rare occurrence. History abounds with examples, that in the falling fortunes of the great and noble of the earth,

their friends fall off like leaves from the trees in the first frosts of autumn. Sir Walter Raleigh, alike celebrated as a scholar, a gentleman, a statesman, a soldier, and a man of genius, in his last letter to his wife after his most unjust condemnation to death, says, "To what friend to direct you I know not; for all mine have left me in the true time of need."

But not any longer to dwell on the scenes of high life, with which the generality of my readers have as little concern as myself, I will turn, now, to the commonalty.

In countries where distinction of orders is established by law, ambition runs in two different channels. With not a few, its main object is rank, titles, stars, garters, and ribands; these baubles being by them preferred greatly to mere wealth, which is eagerly pursued by those chiefly who can have little or no expectation of attaining to the high distinctions of civil, ecclesiastical, or military rank. Whereas in this free country of ours, where there is no distinction of orders and no established rank of one family above another, the undivided current of ambition is towards wealth. Avarice is the general and the ruling passion. The pursuit of gain is the only secular pursuit that is much valued or thought of; because, in the common estimation, the grand point of honor is to be rich. Mammon is the idol, to which every thing else is made to bend. Offices are sought after 'for their emoluments chiefly. Nay, the august seats of legislation are unhesitatingly deserted for public employments, barren of honor, but of greater profit. Men are appraised, and rated high or low, according to the magnitude of their property. The common question, What is he worth? is answered only in one way. If his estate be small, he is worth but little; if he have no estate left, he is worth nothing. It is but of small account, though he have an ample fund of moral and intellectual worth; the worth that is most eagerly sought, most highly prized, and most generally esteemed, is pecuniary worth.

In the scramble of such multitudes after riches, very many must needs be unsuccessful: for in no country whatever can more than a comparative few arrive at wealth. By far the greater part of the candidates, fall

ing short of their expectations, endure the pangs of disappointment, and pine under the corrodings of envy. With some, avarice defeats its own aim. Their greediness of gain, if it impel them not to deeds of fraud or violence, which bring them to shame and ruin, yet it spurs them on to engage in rash and ruinous adventures. The estates of others, as Franklin's Poor Richard says, are spent in the getting.-Fondly anticipating a fortune, they dash away is if they really had it in hand. Others again, counterfeit the splendor of riches, that they may put themselves and their families in the ranks of honor; and, against the clear and pungent convictions of their own minds, they persist in this ruinous course, lest, as it happened to the Cardinal, when he was thought an undone man, they should be degraded at the court of Fashion, and deserted by their fashionable familiars.

Industry and frugality are republican virtues, and it is laudable to endeavor to be above want; but a scrambling for money as the chief good, is of bad omen. It produces meanness of sentiment and sordidness of disposition. A free people, whose passions are set altogether on the pursuit of gain, can hardly remain free very long; because the necessary consequence of such a spirit of avarice, is fraud in private life, and venality and corruption in the higher departments.

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An able author, while treating incidentally of the fall of the Roman republic, remarks:-"The course that a free nation runs, is from virtuous industry to wealth from wealth to luxury; from luxury to an impatience of discipline and corruption of morals: till by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, being grown ripe for des truction, it falls at last a prey to some hardy oppressor, and with the loss of liberty, loses every thing else that is valuable."

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Dr. Middleton on the Life of Cicero.

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