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of the pulpit. He was so renowned, as well for the fanc. tity of his life as his manner of preaching, that he had often a congregation of twenty thousand people ; the men placing themselves on the one side of his pulpit, and the women on the other, they appeared, to use the fimilitude of an ingenious writer, like a forest of cedars with their leads reaching to the clouds. He so warmed and animated the people against this monstrous oro nament, that it lay under a kind of persecution ; and whenever it appeared in public, was pelted down by the rabble, who flung stones at the persons that wore it. But, notwithstanding this prodigy vanished while the preacher was among them, it began to appear again fome months after his departure, or, to tell it in Monsieur Paradin's own words, “ The women, that, like “snails in a fright, had drawn in their horns, shot them

out again as toon as the danger was over.” , This extravagance of the womens head-dresses in that age is taken notice of by Monsieur d'Argentré in the history of Bretagne, and by other biftorians as well as the per. son I have here quoted..

It is usually oblerved, that a good reign is the only proper time for the making of laws against the exorbi. tance of power; in the same manner an excessive headdress may

be attacked the most effectually when the fahion is against it. I do therefore recommend this per to.my female readers by way of prevention.

I would desire the fair sex to consider how impoffible it is for them to add any thing that can be ornamental to what is already the mafter-piece of nature. The liead has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest Station, in a human figure. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face ; she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it : the seat of Inuiles and blushes, lighted it up and enlivened it with the brightness of the eyes, hung it on each Tide with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces that cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing fhade of hair, as fets all its beauties in the molt agreeable light: in fhort, the feenis to bave designed the head as the cupola to the most glorious of her works; and, when we load it with such a pile of super,

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mumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the kuman figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye' from great and real beauties, to childilh gewgaws, ribbands, and bone lace.

XII. On the prefent and a future State. A LEWp young fellow keeing

an aged hermit go by him barefoot, " Father,” lays he, “ you are in a very miserable condition if there is not another world." ** True, son," faid the liermit ; " but what is thy con dition if there is!--Man is a creature designed for two different states of being, or rather for two different lives. His first life is short and transient ; his second permanent and lasting. The question we are all concerned in is this, In which of these two lives it is our chief inte rest to make, ourlelves happy ? Or, in other words, Whether we should endeavour to secure to ourselves the pleasures and gratifications of a life which is uncertain and precarious, and at its utmost length of a very inconsiderable duration; or to secure to ourselves the pleasures of a life which is fixed and settled, and will never end? Every man, upon the first hearing of this que. ftion, knows very well which side of it he ought to close with. But, however right we are in theory, it is plain that in practice we adhere to the wrong lide of the question. We make provision for this life as though it were never to have an end; and for the other life, as though it were never to have a beginning.

Should a spirit of fuperiour rank, who is a stranger to human nature, accidentally alight upon the earth, and take a survey of its inhabitants; what would his notions of uş be? Would not he think that we are a fpecies of beings made for quite different ends and purposes than what we really are ? Must not he imagine ibat we were placed in this world to get riches and ho- . nours ? Would not he think that it was onr duty to toil after wealth, and station, and title? Nay, would not he believe we were forbidden poverty by threats of eternal punilhment, and enjoined to pursue our pleasures under pain of damination ? He would certainly imagine that we were infinenced by a feleme of duties quite oppofite to those which are indeed preforibed to us.

truly,

truly, according to such an imagination, he must conclude, that we are a species of the most obedient creatures in the univerfe ; that we are constant to our duty; and that we keep a steady eye on the end for which we were sent hither.

But how great would be his astonishment, when he learnt that we were beings not designed to exist in this world above threescore and ten years; and that the greatest part of this busy species fall short even of that. age? How would he be lost in horrour and admiration, when he should know that this set of creatures, who lay" out all their endeavours for this life, which scarce deserves the name of existence, when, I say, he thould, know that this set of creatures are to exist to all eternity in another life, for which they make no preparations? Nothing can be a greater disgrace to reason, than that men, who are persuaded of these two different states of being, fhould be perpetually employed in providing for a life of threescore and ten years, and neglecting to make provision for that, which, after many myriads of years, will be still new, and still beginning; especially when we consider that our endeayours for making ourselves great, or rich, or honourable, or whatever elle we place our happiness in, may after all prove unsuccessful; whereas if we constantly and sincerely endeavour to make ourfelves happy in the other life, we are sure that our endeavours will succeed, and that we shall not be disappointed of our hope.

The following question is started by one of the schoolmen. Supposing the whole body of the earth were a great ball or mass of the finest fand, and that a single grain or particle of this fand should be annihilated every thousand years ? Supposing then that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of land was conluming by this flow method until there was not a grain of it left, on condition you were to be iniferable for ever after? or; supposing that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would 'be miferable until the whole mass of fand were thus annihilated at the rate of one fand in a thousand years ; which of these two cales would

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PART IS of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though in reality they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does to the greatest number which you cau put together in figures, or as one of those fards to the suppofed leap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hefita. tion, which would be the better part in this choice. However, as I have before intimated, our reason might, in such case, be so overset by the imagination, as to dilo pofe fome perfons to fink under the confideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that fecond duration which is to fucceed it: the mind, I say, might give itself up to that happinels which is at hand, considering that it is so very near, and that it would, lait so very long. But when the choice we actually have before us is this-Whether we will choose to be happy for the space of only threescore and ten, nay perhaps of only twenty or ten years, I miglit say of only a day or an hour, and milerable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity-wliat words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration which in fuch a case makes a wrong choice!

I here put the case even at the worst, by supposing wliat leldom happens, that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life : but if we suppose, as it generally happens, that virtue would niake us more happy even in this life than a contrary course of vice ; how can we fufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those perfons who are capable of making fu absurd a choice !

Every wise man therefore will consider this life only as it may conduce to the happiness of the other, and -cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years to those of an eternity.

XIII. Uncle Toby's Benevolence. My uncle Toby was a man patient of injuries-nor

from want of courage. I have told you in a former chapter, that he was a man of courage ; and I will add her that, where just occafions presented or called it forth, I know no man under whose arm I would have fooner taken felter. Nor did this arise from any intenfi.

bility or obtufeness of his intellectual parts, for he felt as feelingly as a man could do. But he was of a peaceful, placid nature; no jarring element in him: all was mixed up fo kindly within him, my uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly.

Go-fays he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time, and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last as it flew by him-IH not hurt thee-says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the roon with the fly in his hand I'll not hurt a hair of thy head : Go--says be, lifting up the fash, and opening his hand as he spoke to let it escape--go, poor devil; get thee gone ; why hould I hurt thee? This world surely is wide enougla to hold both thee and me.

This leflon of universal good-will, taught by my uncle Toby, may serve instead of a 'whole volume upon the subject.

XIV, Story of the Siege of Calais. EDWARD III. after the battle of Creffy, laid siege to

Calais. He had fortified his camp in so impreg. nable a manner, that all the efforts of France proved ineffectual to raise the fiege, or throw fuccours into the

city. The citizens, under Count Vienne, their yallant governour, made an admirable defence:-France had now pụt the fickle into her second harvest, fince Edward, with his victorious army, lát down before the town. The eyes of all Europe were intent on the itdie. At length, famine did more for Edward than arms.-After fuffering unheard-of calamities, they refolved to ate tempt the enemy's camp. They boldly fallied forth : the English joined battle ; and, after a long and defperate engagement, Count Vienne' was taken prisoner, and the ci.izens who furvived the Naughter retired within their gates. The command devolving upon Euftace St Pierre, a man of mean 'birth but of exalted virtue, he offered to capitulate with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart with life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cruelty, confented to spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided they delivered up to

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