world more to the life, in its spirit, its maxims, its pursuits, and its illusions, than Pascal? Who has anatomized the human heart, traced the meanderings of its passions, and developed the secret workings of self-love, in all the various orders and conditions of mankind, with more exquisite ability than Nicole? And yet the latter lived always a recluse, and was a man of such extreme timidity as almost disqualified him for ordinary converse; and the former, at the age of fiveand-twenty, withdrew himself from society, and passed the remainder of his days shut up in his chamber, or prostrate at the foot of the altar. Such examples may serve to rebuke the conceited vanity of those men, who are forward to treat others as ignorant of the world, for no better reason than because they have lived abstracted from its tumult and its dissipa tions.

It is indeed matter of some patience to observe, with what airs of importance

many speak of the knowledge in question, when it is evident that nothing more is understood than what may easily be picked up from our ordinary journals. Some, it is true, proceed a step further, and by a detestable industry, rake together a vile mass of secret history and anecdote, too scandalous to be exposed to the public eye, and upon this found a claim to be considered as more eminently skilled in the science of life; which is just as reasonable as for a man to pretend to a superior acquaintance with the history of his coun try, from his gleanings in the annals of Newmarket, the Newgate calendar, or the registers of brothels and gamblinghouses.

This affectation of placing the knowledge of the world in the rare possession of the earliest intelligence of its follies or its villanies, is an extravagance which can only be exceeded by the notable discovery of some pretended philosophers, that every man, without exception, whether Christian

or pagan, civil or savage, is not only chargeable with some degree of folly or misconduct, (for this is not to be disputed,) but is radically and throughout either a fool or a knave; that one half of the world is the dupe of the other, and that all the seeming virtues which are scattered in it are only certain modifications of self-love, or, (as a great adept has taught us*,) the political offspring of flattery begot upon pride. What the world would be, if abandoned to its own corrupt propensities, I shall not dispute; or rather I am ready to grant, that in no very long period it would be as bad as any Hobbist or Machiavelian can suppose, and ripe for a second deluge; that men, like demons, would be inspired with mutual malignity, and, like beasts, in the eagerness of contention to gratify their sensitive appetites, would bite and devour one another. This, however is not the melancholy lot of man; God has never so forsaken the earth as to leave it without a seasoning of piety and virtue; he has * Mandeville.

always raised up a few witnesses to his name, and endued others with those abilities and accomplishments, which have rendered them the defence and ornament of the places and times in which they lived. Nor are there wanting many distinguished examples of both these characters at the present day; and he who does not discern them, or, if discerned, is unwilling to acknowledge them, has either no cause to deride the poor recluse for his ignorance, or none to applaud himself for his own candour.

III. To know the world in the third sense, or in respect to its value, is to know it as transitory, unsatisfying, and dangerous. This knowledge of the world, though evidently the most important of all, appears to have been attained by few, and ought therefore to engage our more particular

attention.

Whatever has an end is transitory; and its duration, though it should be extended

through millions of ages, shrinks to a moment in comparison with eternity. This is a truth no less obvious than it is overwhelming, but which makes little impression without the help of frequent and serious recollection. To a thoughtless young man, even the short period of the present life seems a kind of immortality; he sees no bounds to his pursuits and his enjoyments; one object rises after another in a long succession, while old age and death are lost in the obscurity of a far-distant horizon. Nay, so great is the illusion, that, after years of experience, the passing intervals of life are apt to swell into a large disproportion; a short series of prosperous or adverse fortune, a transient season of peace or disquiet, will so fill the imagination, and engage the heart, as to appear without limit or termination: such is the strange power we find in ourselves, and such is our disposition to give to our present state, whatever it be, a character of continuance. To correct this turn of mind, we should learn to view our situa