tained, would prevent many disappointments, often deplorable, often ridiculous, always remediless. We should not then see young spendthrifts allying themselves to females who are not so, only because they have had nothing to expend; nor old debauchees taking a blooming beauty to their bosom, when an additional flannel waistcoat would have been a bedfellow much more salutary and appropriate.

DXXXIII.

VILLAINY that is vigilant, will be an overmatch for virtue, if she slumber on her post; and hence it is that a bad cause has often triumphed over a good one; for the partizans of the former, knowing that their cause will do nothing for them, have done every thing for their cause; whereas, the friends of the latter are too apt to expect every thing from their cause, and to do nothing for themselves.

DXXXIV.

WAR is a game in which princes seldom win, the people never. To be defended is almost as great an evil as to be attacked; and the peasant has often found the shield of a protector an instrument not less oppressive than the sword of an invader. Wars of opinion, as they have been the most destructive, are also the most disgraceful of conflicts; being appeals from right to might, and from argument to artillery; the fomentors of them have considered the raw material man, to have been formed for no worthier purposes than to fill up gazettes at home, with their names, and ditches abroad with their bodies. But let us hope that true philosophy, the joint offspring of a religion that is pure, and of a reason that is enlightened, will gradually prepare a better order of things, when mankind will no longer be insulted by seeing bad pens mended by good swords, and weak heads exalted by strong hands.

DXXXV.

POWERFUL friends, and first-rate connections, do often assist a man's rise, and contribute to his promotion; but there are many instances wherein all these things have acted as impediments against him, " ipsa sibi obstat magnitudo;" for our very greatness may prevent its own aggrandizement, and may be kept down by its own weight, "mole ruit sua." It is well known that the conclave of cardinals were extremely jealous of permitting a jesuit to fill the apostolic chair, because that body was already too powerful and overbearing; and dignus sed jesuita est, was a common maxim of the Vatican; the fact is, that men like to retain some little power and influence even over those whom they aggrandize and advance; and hence it happens that great talents, supported by great connections, are not unfrequently passed over, for those that are less powerful, but more practicable, and less exalted, but more manageable and sub

servient.

DXXXVI.

ON reflecting on all the frauds and deceptions that have succeeded in duping mankind, it is really astonishing upon how very small a foundation an immense superstructure may be raised. The solution of this may, perhaps, be found in that axiom of the atomists: That there must ever be a much greater distance between nothing, and that which is least, than between that which is least, and the greatest.

DXXXVII.

MATCHES wherein one party is all passion, and the other all indifference, will assimilate about as well as ice and fire. It is possible that the fire will dissolve the ice, but it is most probable that will be extinguished in the attempt.

The talent for intrigue, which distinguished that society, became at length so brilliant, as to consume itself. Of this most extraordinary offspring of Loyola, many will be inclined to repeat, "urit enim fulgore suo;" but few will be ready to add, "extinctus amabitur idem."

Q

DXXXVIII.

IT is only when the rich are sick, that they fully feel the impotence of wealth.

DXXXIX.

THE keenest abuse of our enemies, will not hurt us so much in the estimation of the discerning, as the injudicious praise of our friends.

DXL.

THIS world cannot explain its own difficulties, without the assistance of another.

DXLI.

IN the constitution both of our mind and of our body, every thing must go on right, and harmonize well together to make us happy; but should one thing go wrong, that is quite enough to make us miserable; and, although the joys of this world are vain and short, yet its sorrows are real and lasting; for I will show you a ton of perfect pain, with greater ease than one ounce of perfect pleasure; and he knows little of himself, or of the world, who does not think it sufficient happiness to be free from sorrow; therefore, give a wise man health, and he will give himself every other thing. I say, give him health, for it often happens that the most ignorant empiric can do us the greatest harm, although the most skilful physician knows not how to do us the slightest good.

DXLII.

THE advocate for torture would wish to see the strongest hand joined to the basest heart, and the weakest head. Engendered in intellectual, and carried on in artificial darkness, torture is a trial, not of guilt, but of nerve, not of innocence, but of endurance; it perverts the whole order of things, for it compels the weak to affirm that which

is false, and determines the strong to deny that which is true; it converts the criminal into the evidence, the judge into the executioner, and makes a direr punishment than would follow guilt, precede it. When under the cloke of religion, and the garb of an ecclesiastic, torture is made an instrument of accomplishing the foulest schemes of worldly ambition, it then becomes an atrocity that can be described or imagined, only where it has been seen and felt. It is consolatory to the best sympathies of our nature, that the hydra head of this monster has been broken, and a triumph over her as bright as it is bloodless obtained, in that very country whose aggravated wrongs had well nigh made vengeance a virtue, and clemency a crime.

DXLIII.

A SEMI-CIVILIZED state of society, equally removed from the extremes of barbarity, and of refinement, seems to be that particular meridian under which all the reciprocities and gratuities of hospitality, do most readily flourish and abound. For it so happens that the ease, the luxury, and the abundance of the highest state of civilization, are as productive of selfishness, as the difficulties, the privations, and the sterilities of the lowest. In a community just emerging from the natural state to the artificial, and from the rude to the civilized, the wants and the struggles of the individual, will compel the most liberal propensities of our nature to begin at home, and too often to end where they began; and the history of our own country will justify these conclusions; for as civilization proceeded, and property became legalized, and extended, the civil and ecclesiastical impropriators of the soil, set an example of an hospitality, coarse indeed, and indiscriminating, but of unrivalled magnificence, from the extent of its scale, if not from the elegance of its arrangements. The possessor had no other mode of spending his vast revenues. The dissipations, the amusements, and the facilities of intercourse to be met with in large towns and cities, were unknown. He that wanted

society, and who that can have it, wants it not, cheerfully opened his cellars, his stables, and his halls; the retinue became as necessary to the lord, as the lord to the retinue; and the parade and splendour of the chace, were equalled only by the prodigality and the profusion of the banquet. But as the arts and sciences advanced, and commerce and manufactures improved, a new state of things arose. The refinements of luxury enabled the individual to expend the whole of his income, however vast, upon himself; and hospitality immediately yielded to parsimony, and magnificence The Croesus of civilization, can now wear a whole forest in his pocket, in the shape of a watch, and can carry the produce of a whole estate upon his little finger, in the form of ring; he can gormandize a whole ox at a meal, metamorphosed into a turtle, and wash it down with a whole butt of October, condensed into a flaggon of tokay; and he can conclude these feats by selling the whole interests of a kingdom for a bribe, and by putting the costly price of his delinquency in a snuff-box.

to meanness.

DXLIV.

MODERN criticism discloses that which it would fain conceal, but conceals that which it professes to disclose; it is, therefore, read by the discerning, not to discover the merits of an author, but the motives of his critic.

DXLV.

LIVING kings receive more flattery than they deserve, but less praise. They are flattered by sycophants, who, as they have their own interest at heart, much more than that of their master, are far more anxious to say what will be profitable to themselves, than salutary to him. But the high-minded and independent, although they will be the first to perceive, and the fittest to appreciate the sterling qualities of a sovereign, will be the last to applaud them, while he fills a throne. The reasons are obvious; their praises would