resolution; you will ever be designing to leave her, and never do it; or else leave her for another, with a constant longing after her. He is a very unhappy man who does not reserve the most pure and kind affections of his heart for his marriage-bed, he will otherwise be reduced to this melancholy circumstance, that he gave his mistress that kind of affection which was proper for his wife, and has not for his wife either that, or the usual inclination which men bestow upon their mistresses. After such an affair as this, you are a very lucky man if you find a prudential marriage is only insipid, and not actually miserable; a woman of as ancient a family as your own, may come into the house of the Lizards, murmur in your bed, growl at your table, rate your servants, and insult yourself, while you bear all this with this unhappy reflection at the bottom of your heart, "This is all for the injured

." The heart is ungovernable enough, without being biassed by prepossessions; how emphatically unhappy therefore is he, who besides the natural vagrancy of affection, has a passion to one particular object, in which he sees nothing but what is lovely, except what proceeds from his own guilt against it! I speak to you, my dear friend, as one who tenderly regards your welfare, and beg of you to avoid this great error, which has rendered so many agreeable men unhappy before you. When a man is engaged among the dissolute, gay, and artful of the fair sex, a knowledge of their manners and designs, their favours unendeared by truth, their feigned sorrows and gross flatteries, must in time rescue a reasonable man from the inchantment; but in a case wherein you have none but yourself to accuse, you will find the best part of a gene

rous mind torn away with her, whenever you take your leave of an injured, deserving woman, Come to town, fly from Olinda, to

Your obedient humble servant,

NESTOR IRONSIDE.'

N° 69. SATURDAY, MAY 30, 1713.

Jupiter est quodcunque vides

LUCAN.

Where'er you turn your eyes, 'tis God you see.

I HAD this morning a very valuable and kind present sent me of a translated work of a most excellent foreign writer, who makes a very considerable figure in the learned and Christian world. It is entitled, A Demonstration of the Existence, Wisdom, and Omnipotence of God, drawn from the knowledge of nature, particularly of man, and fitted to the meanest capacity, by the archbishop of Cambray, author of Telemachus, and translated from the French by the same hand that englished that excellent piece. This great author, in the writings which he has before produced, has manifested a heart full of virtuous sentiments, great benevolence to mankind, as well as a sincere and fervent piety towards his Creator. His talents and parts are a very great good to the world, and it is a pleasing thing to behold the polite arts subservient to religion, and recommending it from its natural beauty Looking over the letters of my correspondents, I find one

which celebrates this treatise, and recommends it to my readers.

TO THE GUARDIAN.

SIR,

"I THINK I have somewhere read, in the writings of one whom I take to be a friend of your's, a saying which struck me very much, and as I remember, it was to this purpose: "The existence of a God is so far from being a thing that wants to be proved, that I think it is the only thing of which we are certain." This is a sprightly and just expression; however, I dare say, you will not be displeased that I put you in mind of saying something on the Demonstration of the bishop of Cambray. A man of his talents views all things in a light different from that in which ordinary men see them, and the devout disposition of his soul turns all those talents to the improvement of the pleasures of a good life. His style clothes philosophy in a dress almost poetic; and his readers enjoy in full perfection the advantage, while they are reading him, of being what he is. The pleasing representation of the animal powers in the beginning of his work, and his consideration of the nature of man with the addition of reason in the subsequent discourse, impresses upon the mind a strong satisfaction in itself, and gratitude towards Him who bestowed that superiority over the brute-world. These thoughts had such an effect upon the author himself, that he has ended his discourse with a prayer. This adoration has a sublimity in it befitting his character, and the emotions of his heart flow from wisdom and knowledge. I thought it would be proper for a Saturday's paper, and have

translated it to make you a present of it. I have not, as the translator was obliged to do, confined myself to an exact version from the original, but have endeavoured to express the spirit of it, by taking the liberty to render his thoughts in such a way as I should have uttered them if they had been my own. It has been observed, that the private letters of great men are the best pictures of their souls; but certainly their private devotions would be still more instructive, and I know not why they should not be as curious and entertaining.

If you insert this prayer, I know not but I may send you, for another occasion, one used by a very great wit of the last age, which has allusions to the errors of a very wild life; and, I believe, you would think it written with an uncommon spirit. The person whom I mean was an excellent writer, and the publication of this prayer of his may be, perhaps, some kind of antidote against the infection in his other writings. But this supplication of the bishop has in it a more happy and untroubled spirit; it is (if that is not saying something too fond) the worship of an angel concerned for those who had fallen, but himself still in the state of glory and innocence. The book ends with an act of devotion, to this effect.

"O my God, if the greater number of mankind do not discover Thee in that glorious show of nature which thou hast placed before our eyes, it is not because Thou art far from every* one of us. Thou art present to us more than any object which we touch with our hands; but our senses, and the passions which they produce in us, turn our attention from Thee. Thy light shines in the midst of darkness, but the darkness compre.

man.

hends it not. Thou, O Lord, dost every way display thyself. Thou shinest in all thy works, but art not regarded by heedless and unthinking The whole creation talks aloud of Thee, and echoes with the repetitions of thy holy name. But such is our insensibility that we are deaf to the great and universal voice of nature. Thou art every where about us, and within us; but we wander from ourselves, become strangers to our own souls, and do not apprehend thy presence. O Thou, who art the eternal fountain of light and beauty, who art the ancient of days, without beginning and without end; O Thou, who art the life of all that truly live, those can never fail to find Thee, who seek for Thee within themselves. But alas! the very gifts which Thou bestowest upon us do so employ our thoughts, that they hinder us from perceiving the hand which conveys them to us. We live by thee, and yet we live without thinking on Thee; but, O Lord, what is life in the ignorance of Thee! A dead unactive piece of matter; a flower that withers; a river that glides away; a palace that hastens to its ruin; a picture made up of fading colours; a mass of shining ore; strike our imaginations, and make us sensible of their existence; we regard them as objects capable of giving us pleasure, not considering that thou conveyest, through them, all the ple sure which we imagine they give us. Such vain empty objects that are only the shadows of being, are proportioned to our low and groveling thoughts. That beauty which Thou hast poured out on thy creation, is as a veil which hides thee from our eyes. As Thou art a being too pure and exalted to pass through our senses, Thou art not regarded by men, who have debased their nature, and have made themselves like the beasts that perish.