LETTER 183.

The countess of Hertford to Dr. Burnett, occasioned by some meditations which he had sent her on the death of her son.

SIR,

I am very sensibly obliged by the kind compassion you express for me, under my heavy affliction. The meditations you have furnished me with, afford the strongest motives for consolation that can be offered to a person under my unhappy circumstances. The dearly lamented son I have lost, was the pride and joy of my heart; but I hope I may be the more easily excused for looking on him in this light, since he was not so from the outward advantages he possessed, but from the virtues and rectitude of his mind. That which flattered me, in regard to him, was not drawn from his distinguished rank, nor the beauty of his person, but from the hopes that his example would have been serviceable to the cause of virtue, and would have shown the younger part of the world, that it was possible to be cheerful without being foolish or vicious, and to be religious without severity or melancholy. His whole life was one interrupted course of duty and affection to his parents; and, when he found the hand of death upon him, his only regret was to think on the agonies which must rend their hearts; for he was perfectly contented to leave the world, as his conscience did not reproach him with any presumptuous sins, and he hoped his errors would be forgiven. Thus he resigned his innocent soul into the hands of a merciful Creator, on the evening of his birth day, which completed his nineteenth year. You will not be surprised, sir, that the death

of such a son should occasion the deepest sorrow; yet, at the same time, it leaves us the most comfortable assurance, that he is happier than our fondest wishes and care could have made him, which must enable us to support the remainder of years which it shall please God to allot to us here, without murmuring or discontent, and quicken our endeavors to prepare ourselves to follow to that happy place, where our dear, valuable child is gone before I beg the continuance of your prayers, and am, Your grateful humble servant.

us.

LETTER 184.

Mr. Gray (author of the Elegy in a country Churchyard) to his uncle, on the death of his aunt.

DEAR SIR,

The unhappy news I have just received from you equally surprises and afflicts me. I have lost a person I

loved very much, and have been used to from my infancy; but am much more concerned for your loss, the circumstances of which I forbear to dwell upon, as you must be too sensible of them yourself; and will, I fear, more and more need a consolation that no one can give, except He who has preserved her to you so many years, and at last, when it was his pleasure, has taken her from us to himself; and perhaps if we reflect on what she left in this life, we may look on this as an instance of his goodness both to her and to those who loved her. She might have languished many years before your eyes in a continual increase of pain and totally helpless; she might have long wished to end her misery without being able to attain it; or perhaps even lost all sense, and yet continued to breathe;

a sad spectacle to such as must have felt more for her than she could have done for herself. However you maydeplore your own loss, yet think that she is at last easy and happy; and has now more occasion to pity us than we her. I hope, and beg you will support yourself with that resignation which we owe to Him, who, we have reason to believe, gave us our being for our good, and whe deprives us of it with the same intention.

It will be a source of melancholy but pleasing consolaion to you to reflect on the many virtues which your de ceased partner possessed, the benevolent actions in which she was engaged, and the many pleasant hours which you have passed together.

I would come to you directly, but you do not say whether you desire I should or not; if you do, I beg I may know it, for there is nothing to hinder me, and I am in very good health.

Yours sincerely.

PART V..

MISCELLANEOUS LETTERS.

LETTER 185.

From J. J. Rousseau, to a friend who had asked his opinion of duelling.

DEAR SIR,

Do not confound the sacred name of honor with this. brutal prejudice, which places all the virtues in the point of the sword, and is proper only to make brave villains.

In what does this prejudice consist? In the most extravagant and barbarous opinion that ever entered into the human mind; namely, that all the duties of society are supplied by bravery; that a man is no longer a knave, a villain, or a slanderer; is humane, polite, and has every good quality, when he will fight; that a lie becomes truth, robbery becomes lawful, perfidy becomes honesty, and infidelity laudable, when supported sword in hand; that an affront is always repaired by a lunge, and that a man is never injured, provided he is killed. There is, I acknowledge, another kind, in which, gentility is mixed with cruelty, and where persons are killed by chance only, I mean fighting till blood is drawn only. Till blood

is drawn! Good God! and what wouldst thou do with this blood? Cruel brute! wouldst thou drink it?

If

The most valiant heroes of antiquity never dreamed of revenging their personal injuries by single combat; did Cæsar ever send a challenge to Cato, or Pompey to Cæ sar, for so many reciprocal affronts ? or was the greatest captain of Greece dishonored by suffering himself to be threatened with a cane? Different times, different customs: I know it; but, are there now none but good ones; and may we not inquire, whether these customs are such as real honor requires? No; honor is invariable; it does not depend on prejudices, it can neither decay nor be revived; it has an eternal source in the heart of the just man, and in the unalterable rule of his duties. the most enlightened, bravest, and most virtuous people in the world, had no knowledge of it, I insist it is not an institution of honor; but a detestable, barbarous fashion, worthy of its savage original. It remains to inquire, whether, when his own or another's life is at stake, an honest man follows the fashion; and whether there is not more true courage in braving, than in complying with it. What would a man do, who is willing to comply with it, in places where a contrary custom prevails? At Messina or Naples, he would wait for a man at the corner of a street, and stab him behind; in these countries this is called bravery, and honor does not consist in being killed yourself by your enemy but in killing him.

'The just man whose life is spotless, and who will never show the least mark of cowardice, will refuse to soil his hands with manslaughter, and will on that account be the more honored; ever ready to serve his country, protect the helpless, fulfil the most dangerous duties, and defend, on every just and honorable occasion, what is dear