to marry, none of these chimerical notions will give you any pain; nay, they will very quickly appear as ridiculous in your own eyes, as they probably always do in the eyes of your husband. They have been sentiments which floated in your imaginations, but have never reached your hearts. But if these sentiments have been truly genuine, and if you have had the singularly happy fate to attach those who understand them, you have no reason to be afraid.

I have thus given you my opinion on some of the most important articles of your future life, chiefly calculated for that period when you are just entering the world. But in writing to you I am afaid my heart has been too full and too warmly interested to allow me to keep this resolution. This may have produced some embarrassment, and some seeming contradictions. What I have written has been the amusement of some solitary hours, and has served to divert some melancholly reflections. I am conscious I undertook a task to which I was very unequal; but I have discharged a part of my duty. You will at least be pleased with it, as the last mark of your father's love and attention. I am your affectionate father.

PART IV.

LETTERS ON FRIENDSHIP.

LETTER 148.

The following Letter on Friendship was written by a Gentleman lately deceased, and found amongst his papers.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

It was a strange notion of Paschal, that he would never admit any man to a share of his friendship. Had that great man been a misanthrope, or an enemy to his fellow creatures, I should not have been much surprised; but as his love to mankind extended as far as either his knowledge or influence, it is necessary to consider his reasons for a conduct apparently so strange. Paschal had such elevated notions of the Deity on the one hand, and so low an opinion of human nature on the other, that he thought if he placed his affections on any created being it would be a sort of insult to the Creator, and a robbing him of that worship which was due to him alone. But whatever were the notions of that great man, yet there is such a thing as real friendship, and there is also a necessity for it. It is true, indeed, that God is our only friend, and that on him our affections ought principally to be fixed. But those who are acquainted with human nature well know that we are such a composition of flesh and spirit, that however we may wish to keep up an

intercourse with the Deity, yet our inclinations are such that we are more desirous of being conversant with those of our own species, to whom, at all times, we can be able to unbosom ourselves.

Friendship is as old as the first formation of society, and there is not one ancient writer now extant who has not said something in praise of it. Of this we have a fine example in the story of David and Jonathan, as recorded in the second book of Samuel. In the same sacred oracles we are told that love is stronger than death; and even the great Redeemer of the world had a beloved disciple.

But whatever the wise or learned may say, yet, we know that man is a social being, and consequently has a capacity, and even a desire for friendship, which is in its own nature so necessary, that I know not how a social being can exist without it.

Are we by any providential occurrence raised from poverty to affluence, to whom can we communicate the delightful news but our friend? On the other hand, are we reduced from the highest pinnacle of grandeur to the most abject state of poverty, to whom can we look for conIsolation but God and our friend? Indeed there is not one state or condition in life where friendship is not necessary. What wretched mortals would men be were they not empowered with so noble a principle!

Friendship is of a very delicate nature, and either the happiness or misery of both parties may, in some sense, be said to depend on it.Friendship is somewhat like marriage; it is made for life; or, as Cesar said, "The die is cast" Mrs. Rowe, in one of her letters to the Countess of Hertford, says, "When I contract a friendship it is for eternity." Her notions were always elevated, and the chief business of her life seems to have been promoting the interest of her fellow creatures. Friendship obliges the parties engaged to open their minds to each other; there must not be any concealment. There is not an endearing attribute of the Deity, not an amiable quality in man, but what is included in the word Friendship. Benevolence, mercy, pity, compassion, &c. are only parts of it.

From all this we may learn, that great care ought to be had in the choice of friends; and should they unhappily betray the sacred trust reposed in them, yet we ought not to pursue them with unrelenting fury.

In the course of my experience I remember two instances of the breach of friendship, which were attended with very different effects.Two gentlemen contracted a friendship for each other, which lasted some years. At last one of them unhappily revealed a secret to his wife, who told it to the wife of the other, in consequence of which an unhappy division took place in the family of the latter. The injured person upbraided his friend with infidelity, told him of the fatal effects occasioned by this imprudence; but, says he, although I cannot be your friend any longer, yet I will never be your enemy. My heart will pity you, whilst my hand shall be open to relieve your necessities. Such a declaration was consistent with the prudence of a man, and the piety of a Christian; but that of the other was of a nature totally opposite, and in my opinion truly diabolical. A difference of a similar nature happened, attended with the like circumstances; but the injured person, instead of sympathizing with the weakness of his friend, pursued him with unrelenting cruelty, nor ever ceased until he had accomplished his ruin,

and even triumphed over it. You may make what comments you please; I can only assure you that both are facts. How different, my friend, has our conduct to each other been? During these thirty years no breach has ever happened; and it seems as new this day as at the beginning. As this is probably the last letter you will ever see in my hand writing, accept of my sincere thanks for the many benefits I have received from your faithful admonitions, and your benevolent consolations; and when we meet in the regions of bliss, our happiness will then remain uninterrupted. I am yours sincerely.

LETTER 149.

From a young Woman to a Lady, with whom she had formerly lived as a Companion.

MADAM,

The precipitate manner in which I left your family may seem inconsistent with the great tenderness you always treated me with. To remove, therefore, every imputation of ingratitude, I embrace this first opportunity of appearing in my own vindication, although for your sake I am sorry to descend to particulars, especially to mention names. But my reputation, which is dearer to me than life itself, is at stake, and as a woman, I doubt not but you will bear with me.

When I first came into your service, I was determined to act in such a manner as not to give offence to the meanest of your domestics; well knowing that good nature and affability always procure respect; and 1 appeal to every person in your family, whether my conduct was not consistent with my plan. In this manner I remained enjoying an uninterrupted state of felicity for some time. I obeyed your commands with alacrity, and even servitude became a pleasure. But this was too happy a state to last long without interruption. But I scarce know how to proceed. Whilst I am vindicating my own conduct to my most generous benefactress, I am obliged to impeach that of her dearest and most beloved relation.

When your son George returned from the university, where he had been finishing his studies, I had no thoughts that he would ever have made an attempt on my virtue. But alas! I was wretchedly deceived. He had only been a few days at home when he laid hold of every opportunity of being in my company. At first I did not take any notice, as I had not the least suspicion of his intentions. But I was soon convinced of my error, when he told me, that in consequence of my prostituting myself to his unlawful pleasure, he would make me a handsome settlement. This, madam, was a strong temptation, but blessed be God who preserved me innocent. You have often told me that young women ought to fly from every appearance of sin; and if so, how great was my necessity of avoiding the evil? Had I laid snares to entrap your son for a husband, it might have destroyed your peace of mind, and been considered as a dishonor to your family. Had I submitted to his unlawful desires, I should have forfeited every title to respect in this world, and highly offended that God who has graciously preserved me hitherto. He became more and more assiduous, till for his, for yours, and for my own sake, I was obliged to retire in as silent a manner as

possible. I am now at the house of a distant relation in Milbank, whe takes in plain work, where I hope your ladyship will be pleased to send my clothes. With respect to wages, you know I always left that to your own discretion, and your humanity exceeded my utmost expectations. Therefore, I again leave that matter to yourself. Let me beg, that if you mention this unhappy affair to the young gentleman, it may be with your usual tenderness. I would willingly impute his folly to the irregularities of youthful passion, rather than to any premeditated scheme; and I doubt not when reason resumes her throne in his heart, he will be sorry that ever he attempted to ruin one who was scarce worthy of his notice. I am, madam, with gratitude and respect, Your affectionate well wisher.

DEAR LAURA,

LETTER 150.

The Lady's Answer.

Whilst I lament the conduct of my unhappy child, I lift my eyes with thankfulness to that gracious Being who has preserved you from ruin. You was left an orphan under my care; and when I first took you into my family it was with a design to promote your interest. Blessed be God that the precepts which I endeavored to instil into your mind have so operated on your conduct. Your behavior in that unhappy affair ought to be laid down as a pattern for all young women to copy after, if they would be respected in this world, or enjoy happiness in the next. I have just been reading your letter to my son, and he was filled with the utmost shame and confusion. The truth of your narrative forced his conscience to make a genuine confession of his guilt; and unless I judge with the partiality of a mother he is really a sincere penitent. laid open to him the nature of his crime, and its aggravating circumstances, arising from the obligations which his elevated rank subjected him to, to be an example of virtue to those in a lower sphere of life. I told him, that however trifling such actions might appear in the eyes of his graceless companions, yet there was a God who beheld his inmost thoughts, and would reward him according to his merits. He declares himself fully sensible of his folly, and says he is determined never to attempt such a thing for the future. The bearer will deliver your clothes, together with a bank note of an hundred dollars. Be assured of my constant assistance; and may that God who has preserved you in such imminent danger be your continual comfort in time and in eternity. I am your sincere well wisher.

LETTER 151.

From a Gent 'eman on his Travels abroad, to his Friend in London, on Arbitrary Power and Popish Superstition.

DEAR SIR,

It is now above two years since I left England; and if I have not been pleased, I have had at least many opportunities of acquiring knowledge. You know when we parted I told you my principal design was to inquire whether the subjects of those countries through which I was

to pass were more happy in respect to their lives, and enjoyment of their property, than those of Great Britain? Or, second, whether vir tue was more conspicuous in the conduct of those people than in our own at home? With respect to the first, I need not hesitate one moment in declaring, that the meanest subject in England, or any part of the British dominions, enjoys more real liberty than a Spanish grandee, or a peer of France. But what I have chiefly in view is the case of the middling and lower ranks of people.

You are well acquainted with the forms of process in the English courts, both in criminal and civil causes. All matters of law are determined in open court by the judges, who are responsible for their conduct to the people; and all facts are determined by the verdict of twelve men, strangers to both parties, and hindered from speaking with any person during the trial. How different is the case here and in the other countries through which I have travelled! When a person is injured in his property, he commences a suit at great expense, and after a long train of pleadings on both sides the determination both of law and fact is left to the judge, who may possibly be biassed in favor of one party, or, which is still worse, may be corrupted. But in criminal prosecutions the unhappy defendant labors under stil! more deplorable circumstances. When a man is apprehended on suspicion of murder, or any other capital offence, he is immediately shut up a close prisoner, and the witnesses against him are examined, not viva voce, but perhaps a mile distant, and their evidence written at large in a journal kept for the purpose. All this is done, and even the judgment agreed on by the court, whilst the prisoner is confined in a dungeon. The witnesses are ordered to attend on another day, when the prisoner is brought into court; the evidence is then read to him, and thus, for the first time, he knows who are his accusers. He is then asked if he is guilty of the facts sworn against him; if he confesses he receives judgment of death, but if he denies the whole, or any part, he is immediately put to the torture, where, perhaps, by the extremity of pain, he may be forced to confess crimes he never committed, and afterwards suffer death. Again; the property of individuals may be seized by an arbitrary tyrant, to reward the iniquity of a favorite, or gratify the ambition of a mistress. Happy England, where the cottager is as secure in the enjoyment of the fruits of his honest industry, as the prince in the possession of his revenues on the throne!

I come now to speak of their religion, which triumphs with as much rigor over the mind and conscience as the civil power over the body. Religion has been justly defined, "A dedication of the whole man to the will of God." But popery, so far from answering the above de scription, seems to be a slavish submission to the dictates of idle, useless priests, who rule the consciences of the vulgar, and bend them to whatever purpose they please. And indeed there is no great wonder, when we consider that auricular confession puts them in possession of every family secret in their parishes. I am already sufficiently tired with the sight of their follies. The accounts which you have read of the inquisition are far from being exaggerated. I intend to return in an English vessel bound for Marseilles, and from thence hasten to England.