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THAT chastity is not the only virtue of woman is most cer|tain; but still it is so essential to the perfection of every other virtue in her, that the loss or want of it, like the sin of idolatry among the Is|raelites, weakens the force and takes of the merit of them, imprinting such a stain upon the soul, as sullies every emanation of it.
THIS virtue of chastity has ever been esteemed so inseparably neces|sary
to every character, particularly the female character, that every civ|ilized people in the world have guuaded it with the greatest care.
THE chaste mind, like a polished plane, may admit foul thoughts, without receiving their tincture.
CHASTITY is a purity of thought, word and action.
I LOOK on cheerful|ness as on the health of virtue.
CHEERFULNESS, even to gaiety, is consistent with every species of virtue and practice of religion.—I think it inconsistent only with im|piety or vice.—The ways of heaven are pleasantness. We adore, we praise, we thank the Almighty, in hymns, in songs, in anthems—and those set to music too. Let "O! be joyful," be the christian's psalm— and leave the sad Indian to incant the devil with tears and screeches. It is this true sense of religion that has rendered my whole life so cheer|ful as it has ever so remarkably been—to the great offence of your religionists. Though why prithee, should priests be always so grave? Is it so sad a thing to be a parson?
BE ye as one of these, saith the Lord—that is, as merry little children. The Lord loveth a cheer|ful giver—and, Why not a cheer|ful
taker also? Plato and Seneca— and surely they were wise enough to have been consecrated—though that a sense of cheerfulness and joy should ever be encouraged in child|ren, from their infancy—not only on account of their healths, but as productive of true virtue.
BE very circumspect in the choice of your company; in the society of your equals you may en|joy pleasure; in the society of your superiors, you may find profit; but to be the best in company, is to be in the way of growing worse; the best means to improve, is, to be the least there. But above all, be the companion of those who fear the Lord and keep his precepts.
CONVERSATION can only subsist in good company; to explain the word:—Substract the impertinently talkative, the contemptuously silent, the illiterate and the ill bred; ban|ish pedantry, affectation and rude|ness, the remainder is good company: A set of people of liberal sentiments, solid sense and just imagination, whose wit is untinctured with in|delicacy, and their politeness clear of flattery. That person alone is fit for conversation, who is free of the extremes of pride and of meanness; never unseasonably talkative or mute, and has the faculty ever to entertain, or, at least, never to of|fend his company.
OUR pains should be to moderate our hopes and fears, to di|rect and regulate our passions, to bear all injuries of fortune or
men, and to attain the art of con|tentment.
TO be in a low condition, and contented, affords the mind an ex|quisite enjoyment of what the sen|ses are robbed of. If therefore thou wouldest be happy, bring thy mind to thy condition.
WHAT can he want who is already content; who lives within the lim|its of his circumstances, and who has said to his desires, "Thus far shall ye go and no farther." This is the end of all philosophy, and poor is the philosopher who has not gained that end.
CHARITY makes the best construction of things and per|sons, excuses weakness, extenuates
miscarriages, makes the best of eve|ry thing, forgives every one, and serves all.
ARE we not citizens of the world? Are we not all fellow subjects of the universal monarch? Is not the uni|verse our home? And is not every man a brother? Poor and illiberal is that charity, which is confined to any particular nation or society.— Should we not feel for the stranger, and him that hath no helper?
HE who is charitable from mo|tives of ostentation will never relieve distress in secret.
FOR farther thoughts on, or in|ducements to his virtue. I refer my readers to Spectator, 3d vol. No. 177.
OUR conversation should be such that youth may therein find
improvement, women modesty, the aged respect and all men civility.
TALKATIVENESS is usually called a feminine vice, but it is possible to go into masculine company, where it will be as hard to wedge in a word as at a female gossiping.
IN your discourse be cautious what you speak and to whom you speak; how you speak and when you speak; and what you speak, speak wisely, speak truly. A fool's heart is in his tongue, but a wise man's tongue is in his heart.
MODESTY in your discourse will give a lustre to truth, and an ex|cuse to your errors.
DEATH is no more than turning us over from time to eterni|ty. It leads to immortality, and that is recompense enough for suf|fering it.
As the tree falls so must it lie, as death leaves us so judgment will find us. If so, how importunate should every one of us be to secure the favour of the Almighty Judge, to be interested in the Redeemer's love, and among the number of his chosen people before it is too late.
DEATH is the end of fear and be|ginning of felicity. Death is the law of nature, the tribute of the flesh, the remedy of evils, and the path either to heavenly felicity, or eter|nal misery.
Friendship's a name to few confin'd The offspring of a noble mind; A generous warmth which fills the breast, And better felt than e'er exprest.
FRIENDSHIP is a sweet attraction of the heart towards the merit we esteem, or the perfections we admire; and produces a mutu|al inclination between two persons, to promote each other's interest, knowledge, virtue and happiness.
THERE is nothing so common as pretences to friendship; though few know what it means, and fewer yet come up to its demands. By talk|ing of it, we set ourselves off; but when we enquire into it, we see our defects; and when we engage in it, we must charge through abundance of difficulty. The veneration it has challenged in every age, (the most barbarous not excepted) is a
standing testimony of its excellence: And the more valuable it is, the more are we concerned to be in|structed in it.
MONSIEUR DE SACY in his essay upon friendship, treats to this effect: The friendship which is to be rec|ommended, is union of affections, springing from a generous respect to virtue, and is maintained by a harmony of manners. It is a great mistake to call every trifling com|merce by this serious name; or to suppose that empty compliments and visits of ceremony, when no more is intended than to pass the time, and shew the equipage, should pass for a real and well established friendship. The frequency of the practice will not wipe off the ab|surdity.—There is as wide a differ|ence between a bully and a man of honour.
IF gratitude is due from man to man, how much more from man to his Maker? The Supreme Being does not only confer upon us those bounties which proceed more immediately from his hand, but e|ver those benefits which are con|veyed to us by others. Every bless|ing we enjoy, by what means soev|er it may be derived upon us, is the gift of Him who is the great author of good, and Father of mercies.
GRATITUDE, when exerted to|wards one another, naturally pro|duces a very pleasing sensation in the mind of a grateful man; it ex|alts the soul into rapture, when it is employed in this great object of gratitude; on this beneficent Being who has given us every thing we already possess, and from whom we expect every thing we hope for.
HE only is worthy of esteem, that knows what is just and honest, and dares to do it; that is master of his own passions, and scorns to be slave to another's. Such an one in the lowest poverty, is a far better man, and merits more re|spect, than those gay things, who owe all their greatness and reputa|tion to their rentals and revenues.
THE difference there is between honor and honesty, seems to be chiefly in the motive, the mere hon|est man does that from duty, which the man of honor does for the sake of character.
THE more honesty a man has, the less he affects the air of a saint— the affectation of sanctity is a blotch on the face of piety.
THE man of honor is an internal, the person of honor an ex|ternal; the one a real, the other a fictitious character. I am therefore never surprised to see or hear such things attempted, said and done by a person of honor, which a man of honor would blush to think of.
THE bulk of mankind are caught by shew. The pompous sound of titles, and glitter of ornaments strike their senses, attract their attention, raise their admiration, and extort from them all that reverence which is due only to eminent and distin|guished merit; while real virtue and true honor pass silently through the
world, unheeded and unregarded, but by the happy and discerning few, who are sensible of its merit, or enjoy the blessed communication of its influence.
HONORS are in this world un|der no regulation; true quality is neglected, virtue is oppressed, and vice triumphant. The last day will rectify this disorder, and assign to every one a station suitable to the dignity of his character: Ranks will then be adjusted, and prece|dency set right.
WITHOUT constancy there is neither love, friendship, nor virtue in the world.
HE that loves on the account of virtue, can never be weary; because there are ever fresh charms to at|tract him, and entertain him.
OUR affections are the links which form society; and though, by being stretched or broken, they may give us pain, yet certainly we could have no pleasure without them.
MARRIAGES founded on assection are the most happy. Love (says Addison) ought to have shot its roots deep, and to be well grown before we enter into that state. There is nothing which more nearly concerns the peace of man|kind—it is his choice in this re|spect on which his happiness or misery for life depends.
THE best dowry to advance the marriage of a young lady is, when she has in her countenance, mild|ness; in her speech, wisdom; in her behaviour, modesty; and in her life, virtue.
BETTER is a portion in a wife, than with a wife.
AN inviolable fidelity, good hu|mour, and complacency of temper in a wise, outlive all the charms of a fine face, and make the decays of it invisible.
HAVE I obliged any body, or done the world any ser|vice? If so, the action has reward|ed me; this answer will encourage good nature, therefore let it always be at hand.
A man cannot be bound by one benefit to suffer all sorts of injuries,
for there are some cases wherein we lie under no obligation for a bene|fit, because a greater injury absolves it. As for example, a man helps me out of a law suit, and afterwards commits a rape upon my daughter; where the following impiety can|cels the antecedent obligation. A man lends me a little money, then sets my house on fire; the debtor is here turning creditor, because the injury out weighs the benefit; nay, if he does but so much as repent the good office done, and grow sour and insolent upon it, and up|braid me with it. If he did it only for his own sake, or for any other reason, than for mine, I am in some degree, more or less acquitted of the obligation.
THE infamous, though common practice of cursing and
swearing, upon the most trivial oc|casions, and of using the name of God irreverently, prevails shame|fully with many who are pleased to call themselves Christians; nor is this custom less ridiculous than im|pious, as it is the only crime which human nature is capable of com|mitting, that neither proposes pleas|ure nor profit for its end.
IN seeking virtue, if you find poverty, be not ashamed, the fault is not yours. Your honour or dishonour is purchased by your own actions; though virtue gives a ragged livery, she gives a golden cognizance. If her service make
you poor, blush not; your poverty may prove disadvantageous to you, but cannot dishonour you.
TO feel the extremity of want, and be always under discipline and mortification, must be very uncom|fortable: But then we are to con|sider, that the world will either mend or wear off, and that the dis|charge will come shortly, and the hardship turn to advantage; that the contest is commendable and brave, and that 'tis dangerous and dishonourable to surrender.
THERE is but one solid pleasure in life, and that is, our duty. How miserable then, how unwise, how unpardonable are they, who make that a pain.
HE that resigns the world, is in a constant possession of a serene mind▪
but he who follows the pleasures of it, meets with nothing but re|morse and confusion.
EVERY man, however little, makes a figure in his own eyes.
HE who thinks no man above him but for his virtue, none below him but for his vice, can never be obse|quious in a wrong place.
THAT is a mean and despicable kind of pride, that measures worth by the gifts of fortune, the greatest portion of which, is too often in the hands of the least deserving.
PROUD men never have friends; neither in prosperity, because they
know no body; nor in adversity, because then no body knows them.
RICHES cover a greater number of faults, than ever charity has done.
A great fortune in the hands of a fool, is a great misfortune. The more riches a fool has, the greater fool he is. All the treasures of the earth, are not to be compared to the least virtue of the soul.
O Sensibility! thou pa|rent of virtue—thou ornament of human nature! unhappy must that man be, who is void of thee. He must be a monster in the human form—he must forever be a stran|ger to those dispositions and affec|tions of mind which exalt our spe|cies, and which are the sources of the most refined pleasures.
—Secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools,
A PROPER secrecy is the only mys|tery of able men, mystery is the only secrecy of weak and cunning
ones. The man who tells nothing, or who tells all, will equally have nothing told him. If a fool knows a secret, he tells it because he is a fool; if a knave knows one, he tells it wherever it will be his interest to tell it. There are some occasions in which a man must tell half his secret, in order to conceal the rest; but there is seldom one in which a man must tell all. Great skill is necessary, to know how far to go, and where to stop.
TEN thousand are the vehicles in which the deadly poison of slander is prepared and commu|nicated to the world—and by some artful hands, it is done by so subtile and nice an infusion, that it is not to be tasted or discovered but by its effects. How frequently is the hon|esty
and integrity of a man disposed of, by a smile or a shrug.—How many good, generous actions have been sunk into oblivion, by a dis|trustful look—or stampt with the imputation of proceeding from bad motives, by a mysterious and sea|sonable whisper. Look into the companies of those whose gentle na|tures should disarm them, we shall find little better account.—How large a portion of chastity is sent out of the world by distant hints— nodded away, and cruelly winked into suspicion by envy. How of|ten does the reputation of a helpless creature, bleed from report—which the party who is at the pains to propagate it—hopes in God it is not true, but in the mean time is resolved to give the report her pass, &c.
LET it be your first object to do your duty, and not to be very anx|ious about any censure, but that of conscience.
HOW speedily will the consummation of all things com|mence! for yet a very little while, and the commissioned Archangel lifts up his hand to heaven, and swears by the Almighty name, that "Time shall be no longer." Then abused opportunities will never re|turn, and new opportunities will never more be offered. Then should negligent mortals wish ever so pas|sionately for a few hours—a few moments only—to be thrown back from the opening eternity; thous|ands of worlds would not be able to procure the grant.
A wise man counts his minutes. He lets no time slip, for time is life; which he makes long, by the good husbandry, of a right use and ap|plication of it.
MAKE the most of your minutes, says Aurelius, and be good for something while you can.
WE should read over our lives as well as books, take a survey of our actions, and make an inspection in|to the division of our time. King Alfred (that truly great and wise monarch) is recorded to have di|vided the day and night into three parts: Eight hours he allotted to eat and sleep in, eight for business and recreation, and eight he dedi|cated to study and prayer.
TIME is what we want most, but what we use worst; for which we must all account, when time shall be no more.
SHOULD the greatest part of peo|ple sit down, and draw a particular account of their time, what a shame|ful bill would it be? So much ex|traordinary for eating, drinking and sleeping, beyond what nature re|quires; so much in revelling and wantonness; so much for the re|covery
of last night's intemperance; so much for gaming, plays and masquerades; so much in paying and receiving formal and imperti|nent visits, in idle and foolish prat|ing, in censuring and reviling our neighbours; so much in dressing, and talking of fashions; and so much lost and wasted in doing nothing.
IT was a memorable practice of Vespasian, through the whole course of his life; he called himself to an account every night for the actions of the past day, and so often as he found he had skipped any one day without doing some good, he enter|ed upon his diary this memorial, "I have lost a day."
THE time we live ought not to be computed by the number of years, but by the use which has been made of it: It is not the ex|tent of ground, but the yearly rent which gives the value to the estate. Wretched and thoughtless creatures!
in the only place where covetous|ness were a virtue, we turn prodi|gals! nothing lies upon our hands with such uneasiness, nor has there been so many devices for any one thing, as to make time glide away imperceptibly and to no purpose. A shilling shall be hoarded up with care whilst that which is above the price of an estate, is flung away with disregard and contempt.