to make himself the object of scorn and contempt. And indeed we must hold the man in the utmost contempt, whom we hear and see in his progress to excess; at first, teasing you with his contentious. ness and impertinence; mistaking your meaning and hardly knowing his own; then faultering in his speech; unable to get through an entire sentence; his hands trembling; his eyes swimming; his legs too feeble to support him; till at length you only know the human creature by his shape.

I cannot but add, that were a person of sense to have a just notion of all the silly things he says or does, of the wretched appearance he makes in a drunken fit, he could not want a more powerful argument against repeating the crime.

But as none of us are inclined to think ill of ourselves, so none of us will know how far our vices expose us. We allow them excuses which they meet not with from any but ourselves.

This is the case of all: it is particularly so with drunkards: many of whom their shame would undoubtedly reform, could they be brought to conceive how much they do of which they ought be ashamed.

Nor is it improbable that it is the very consideration, how much drunkenness contributes to make a man the contempt of his wife, his children, his servants, of all sober spectators, which hath proved the cause that it hath seldom been the reigning vice of any people possessed of refinement of manners. Nay, drunkenness prevails most amongst the savage and uncivilized, amongst those of ruder understandings and less delicacy of sentiment. Crimes, as they are in men, there must be · in all nations; but the more civilized have perceived drunkenness to be such an offence against common decency, such a prostitution of one's self to the ridicule and scoffs of the meanest, that in whatever else they might transgress, they would not do it in this particular; but leave a vice of such a degrading nature to the wild and uncultivated, to the stupid and undistinguishing part of mankind, to those who had no notion of propriety of character, and decency of conduct. How late this vice became the reproach of our countrymen, we find in Camden's annals. Under the year 1581, he has this observation: "The English, who hitherto had, of all the northern nations, shown themselves the least addicted to immoderate drinking, and been commended for their sobriety, first learned in these wars in the Netherlands, to swallow a large quantity of intoxicating liquor, and to destroy their own health by drinking that of others."

There is hardly any vice which entails more complicated miseries upon the unhappy wretch that is a slave to it, than drunkenness. it gradually undermines the strength and vigor both of body and mind. We every day see the most deplorable effects of this most shameful vice, in the ruined health, constitution, and fortune of vast numbers of our fellow creatures. How many ingenious and industrious persons has this rendered useless and worthless! How many happy families does this daily reduce to indigence and beggary! How many innocent sufferers doth it involve in its deplorable consequences! How many have I known who began life creditably and reputably, with a basis, on which through industry and virtue, to rear the structure of an ample fortune; by contracting these fatal and cursed habits have ruined themselves and

their families forever! For of all the vices there is none so incurable as this, when it is once contracted. Other vices leave us with age; this fixes its roots deeper, and acquires strength and firmness with revolving years. It kindles an infernal spark which is absolutely inextin

"guishable.

Besides, drunkenness is an inlet to all kinds of wickedness. For, when a man has no reason to direct him, he is prepared for any enormity. It gives every species of temptation power over us, by disqualifying us for consideration, and by extinguishing in us all regard to prudence and caution.

It stimulates us to follow the rashest advice of our companions, because not allowing us to reason upon it, and incapacitating us for self government, it of course abandons us to the guidance of those with whom we are the most pleased, of those who countenance all our ex

cesses.

It certainly lays us open to the greatest crimes; because when we are thoroughly heated by the inebriating draught, we are then enamored f what is daring and extravagant, we then aspire to bold and desperate undertakings, and that which is the most licentious then carries with it the appearance of a great and glorious enterprise adapted to a courageous and intrepid mind. Hence rapes, adulteries, murders, acts of the last inhumanity and barbarity have been perpetrated: actions, for which, if the very thoughts of them could have entered their minds in their sober moments, they would justly have abhorred themselves. Alexander the Great, at the instigation of a drunken harlot, issued from his cups, with torches, and burnt Persepolis, the metropolis of the Persian empire, one of the most stately cities in the whole world.

The most fatal mischief, from which one branch of the medical profession derives its principal support, very frequently results from a state of intoxication. Young persons, when inflamed with wine, hesitate not to throw themselves, in this state of inebriety, into the arms of the very lowest class of prostitutes, with whom all great cities swarm in the midnight hours-creatures covered with filth, itch, and rags, putrid with disease, and devoured with vermin, whom in their senses and sober hours they would have regarded with the utmost detestation and horror I am your affectionate uncle.

LETTER 44.

From a younger to an older Brother.

DEAR BROTHER,

Beside the inclination that I have to write to you concerning every thing that happens to me here, I find it is a duty. My mother tells me, that having now no father, I am to look upon you as one; I do not know whether it will be to my advantage or not; but of this I am sure, that I shall find in you all the indulgence, and none of the severity.

My mother gave me her commands, when she parted from me, that I should consider you in this double light; she bade me not lose that respect which was due to your years, and more due to the care which she nad desired you to take of me, in that familiarity we used to live together as acquaintance; I am sure I shall obey her You may remem.

ber that she followed me to the stage, but you cannot know the reason; I suppose affection did not want its part, but there was something beside; she took that opportunity of giving me this command, being willing to say these things rather before strangers than yourself.

hope I have not, brother, been bred up with so good a person as you, to be ignorant of that respect which is due to a parent. 1 should have obeyed the command had it been delivered in any manner, but I could see her hold up her handkerchief many times when she spoke to me. O brother, every tear she shed has cost me a thousand! but do not speak of it to give her uneasiness; I only name it to you to show how seriously I received her instructions; he that can disregard a parent's command, deserves nothing of that length of life which is promised to the obedient; but if there be any who can slight a mother's tears, the world ought to disown him.

I do assure you, I am resolved to obey her perfectly; and I give yc" this account as an engagement to that obedience; perhaps you will say, it is a first fruit of it; but, however that be, you have it to reproach me withal, if ever I forget to obey you as a father, while I love you as a brother

I am,

with the most true affection and respect, Your obedient brother.

LETTER 45

From a Merchant's Widow to a Lady, a distant relation, in`behalf of her two Orphans,

MADAM,

When you look at the subscription of this letter, I doubt not of your being much surprised with its contents; but it is more on account of your amiable character, than that I have the honor of being your relation, that I have presumed to trouble you with this.

My late husband, whom you know was reputed to be in affluent circumstances, has been dead about six months; his whole accounts have been settled with his creditors; and because of many losses and bad debts, there is not above one thousand dollars left for myself; I have a son just turned of fourteen, whom I want to bind apprentice to a reputable trade; and a daughter near seventeen, whose education has rendered her incapable of acting as a menial servant, but who would willingly be the companion of some young lady, where she might be treated with familiarity and tenderness. In circumstances so distressing, I have presumed to address myself to you; your long acquaintance with the world will enable you to direct me how to proceed, and I doubt not but your unbounded generosity will induce you to comply with a request dictated by the severity of affliction.

MADAM,

I am, with respect, your humble servant.

LETTER 46.

The Lady's Answer.

I know not whether I am more affected with the modest representation of your affliction, or pleased that I have it in my power to assist

You see, madam, that all human expectations are vair, and often attended with deception. When we think our circumstances are independent, there is generally some latent mischief hidden under the specious appearance; and this should teach us continually to look to that Providence which superintends the affairs of this lower world, and orders all for the good of its creatures. With respect to your two children, I have proposed the following scheme for their benefit.

Let the boy think of some trade, to which his inclinations lead aira, and I will provide him with every necessary during his apprenticeship; and at the expiration of that term, if his behaviour is agreeable, advance something to set him up in business. As for the girl, let her be sent immediately to my house, where she shall be brought up along with ny daughters, and every thing in my power done to serve her.

I expect, that from time to time, you will communicate to me an account of your circumstances, that I may be happy in alleviating every calamity. I am, &c

MY SON,

LETTER 47.

From an indulgent Father to a profligate Son.

Your continued ill courses oblige me to write this letter to you. I flattered myself that your solemn promise of amendment might have been better depended on; but I see, to my great mortification, that all I have done for you, and all I have said to you, are thrown away. Perhaps this remaining with you, if you will now and then seriously peruse it, may, in some happy moment, give you reflection, and, by God's grace, bring on your repentance and amendment. Consider then, I beseech you, in time, the evil of your ways, that your present courses must impair a good constitution, destroy your health, and undoubtedly shorten your life. No family, which values their own honor and the welfare of their child, will suffer your addresses to a daughter worthy of being sought after for a wife, should you incline to marry. In that case the worst of the sex only will accept of you as a companion for life, which will make you completely miserable, when you had it in your power to be as happy. As to another world, beyond this transitory one, my heart trembles for what most probably will be the consequence to your poor soul; for the human mind is seldom at a stop.

Do not, my dear son, let your poor mother and I have the mortification to think, that we have been the unhappy means of giving life to a child of perdition instead of glory; consider, my dear son, we do not want any thing of you but your own good. Let us but have reason to hope, that when we are dead and gone, you will support our name with credit, and be no burden to your poor sisters, nor disgrace to our memories. Let them think of you as a protector in my stead, rather than as an ungrateful spoiler amongst them. My dear son, I conjure you by our hopes and fears from infancy to manhood, to think of all these things; reflect on the instability of all worldly enjoyments. Your good mother, who mingles her tears so often with mine, to deplore the sad prospect your ill courses give us, joins also her prayers to mine that this my last

effort may be attended with success, and that you will at last listen to the advice of Your indulgent and afflicted father.

LETTER 48.

From a Daughter to a Father, wherein she dutifully expostulates against a match he had proposed to her, with a Gentleman much older than herself.

HONORED SIR,

Though your injunctions should prove diametrically opposite to my own secret inclinations, yet I am not insensible that the duty which I owe you binds me to comply with them. Besides, I should be very ungrateful, should I presume, in any point whatever, considering your numberless acts of parental indulgence towards me, to contest your will and pleasure. Though the consequences thereof should prove ever so fatal, I am determined to be all obedience, in case what I have to offer in my own defence should have no influence over you, or be thought an insufficient plea for my aversion to a match, which, unhappily for me, you seem to approve of. It is very possible, sir, the gentleman you recom.nend to my choice, inay be possessed of that substance, and all those good qualities, that bias you so strongly in his favor; but be not angry, dear sir, when I remind you that there is a vast disproportion in our years. A lady of more experience and of a more advanced age, would, in my humble opinion, be a more fit helpmate for him. To be ingenuous (permit me, good sir, to speak the sentiments of my heart without reserve for once) a man, almost in t's grand climacterick, can never be an agreeable companion for me: nor can the natural gaiety of my temper, which has hitherto been indulged by yourself in every innocent amusement, be over agreeable to him. Though his fondness at first may connive at the little freedoms I shall be apt to take, yet as soon as the edge of his appetite shall be abated, he will grow jealous, and forever torment me without a cause. I shall be debarred of every diversion suitable to my years, though ever so harmless and inoffensive; permitted to see no company; hurried down perhaps to some melancholy rural recess; and there, like my lady Grace in the play, sit pensive and alone under a green tree. Your long experienced goodness, and that tender regard which you have always expressed for my ease and satis faction, encourage me thus freely to expostulate with you on an affai of so great importance. If, however, after all, you should judge the inequality of our age an insufficient plea in my favor, and that want of affection for a husband is but a trifle, where there is a large fortune and a coach and six to throw into the scale; if, in short you lay your peremptory commands upon me to resign up all my real happiness and peace of mind for the vanity of living in pomp and grandeur, I am ready to submit to your superior judgment. Give me leave, however, to observe, that it is impossible for me ever to love the man into whose arms I am to be thrown, and that my compliance with so detested ǝ proposition is nothing more than the result of the most inviolable duty io a father, who never made the least attempt before to thwart the in clinations of His ever obedient daughter