periors; and it is only to be counteracted by a mixture of free fociety with equals. Akin to this is the fear of giving pain. It inspires an infuperable repugnance to the delivery of difagreeable truths, or the undertaking of unpleasant offices: things which in the commerce of life are often neceffary to the difcharge of our duty. In particular, one whofe office it is to apply medicine to the mind, muft, as well as the phyfician of the body, conquer his reluctance to give temporary pain, for the fake of affording lafting benefit. Excefs of politenefs deviates into this weakness. It makes no diftinction between faying an unpleasant thing, and faying a rude one. A courfe of fentimental reading is like wife apt to fofter fuch an extreme delicacy of feeling, as makes the painful duties of the heart infupportable. The most effectual remedy in this ftate of morbid fenfibility, is an unavoidable neceffity of mixing in the bufinefs of the world, and encountering all its roughneffes. To perfons of a retired condition, the best fubfti tute tute is ftrengthening the mind with the dictates of a mafculine and high-toned philofophy. The defire of pleafing all mankind, which is the counterpart of the two former principles, is a fertile fource of weakness and mutability in fome of the beft difpofitions. It is the quality commonly termed good nature, and perhaps it is in fome measure national to Englishmen. Young perfons are not only themselves prone to fall into excefs of eafy good nature, but it is the quality that most readily captivates them in the choice of an early friend. It is impoffible here to blame the difpofition, although it be highly important to guard against the indulgence of it; for it leads to the very fame imbecility of conduct that falfe fhame and cowardice do. In the courfe of our duties we are almoft as frequently called upon to undergo the cenfure and enmity of mankind, as to cultivate their friendship and good opinion. Cicero, in enumerating the caufes which induce men to defert their duty, very pro perly c perly mentions an unwillingness " fufcipere inimicitias," to take up enmities. This is, indeed, one of the severest trials of our attachment to principle; but it is what we must be ready to fuftain when occafion requires, or renounce every claim to a ftrong and elevated character. When young in life, in life, I derived much fatisfaction from thinking that I had not an enemy in the world. A too great facility in giving up my own intereft, when it involved a point of contention, and a habit of affenting to, or at leaft not oppofing the various opinions I heard, had, in fact, preserved me from direct hostilities with any mortal, and, I had reason to believe, had conciliated for me the paffive regard of most of those with whom I was acquainted. But no fooner did different views of things, and a greater firmnefs of temper, incite me to an open declaration refpecting points which I thought, highly interefting to mankind, than I was made sensible, that my former source of fatisfaction must be exchanged for felf-approbation probation and the eftegn of a few. The event gave me at first fome furprise and more concern; for I can truly fay, that in my own breast, I found no obitacle to the point of agreeing to differ. It was even fome time before I could conftrue the eftranged looks of thofe, who meant to intimate that they had renounced private friendship with me, upon mere public grounds. But enough! At present, I can fincerely affure you, that I feel more compunction for early compliances, than regret for the confequences of later affertions of principle. And it is my decided advice to you, who are beginning the world, not to be intimidated from openly espousing the cause you think a right one, by the apprehenfion of incurring any man's difpleasure. 1 fuppofe this to be done. within the limits of candour, modefty, and real good temper. These being observed, you can have no enemies but those who are not worthy to be your friends. Adieu! LETTER LETTER III. ON ATTACHMENT TO THE ANCIENTS, DEAR SON, You cannot but have remarked, that, even at this period, there are many whose attachment to the writers of antiquity is little inferior to that of the critics and commentators who immediately fucceeded the revival of literature. Wrapt up in profound admiration of them, they spend. their whole time in studying their works, in which they find every species of excellence in its moft exquifite degree; and they look down upon the best performances of the moderns, as only humble imitations of the great models which the ancients have fet before them. Every de viation |