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ture's favor, that she has notjulgerl amiss in makan. ing as dsire it. Lite marriages are often atiende's ed, 100, with this further inconvenience, that there is not the same chance that the parents shall live to see their offspring educated. “Lite children,' says the Spanish proverb, “are early orphans.”— A melancholy reflection to those whose case it may be! With us in America, marriages are generally in the morning of life ; our children are therefore educated and settled in the world by noon; and thus our busines3 being done, we have an afternoon. and evening of cheerful leisure to ourselves, suche as our friend at present enjors. By these early marriages we are blessed with more children; and from the mode among us, founded by nature, of ea very mother suckling and nursing her own child, more of them are raised. Thence the swift progress of population among us, unparalleled in Eva rope. In fine, I am glad you are married, and congratulate you most cordially upon it. You are, now in the way of becoming a useful citizen; and you have escaped the unnatural state of celibacy for life-the fate of many here, who never intend. ed it, but who having too long postponed the chance of their condition, find, at length, that it is too late to think of it, and so live all their lives in a situation that greatly lessens a man's value. An old volume of a set of books bears not the value of its propose tion to the set: what think you of the old half of a pair of scissors? it can't well cut any thing; it may possibly serve to scrape a trencher.
Pray make my compliments and best wishes ace ceptable to your bride. I am old and heavy, or I should ere this have presented them in person. I shall make but small use of the old man's privilege, that.of giving advice to younger friends. Treat!
your wife always with respect; it will procure res. pect to you, not only from her, but from all that observe it. Never use a slighting expression to her, even in jest : for slights in jest, after frequent bandvings, are apt to end in angry earnest. Be stu. dious in your profession, and you will be learned. Be industrious and frugal, and you will be rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy. Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy. At least, you will, by such conduct, stand the best chance for such consequences. I pray God to blesa, you both! being ever your affectionate friend,
On the death of his brother, Mr. John Frankliita
:. TO MISS LIUBB ARD.. I condole with you. We have lost a most dear and valuable relation. But it is the will of God and nature, that these mortal bodies be laid aside, when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather an embryo state, a preparation for living. A man is not completely born untii he be dead. Why then should we grieve that a new child is born among the immortals, a new member added to their socie. ty? We are spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure, assist us in. acquiring knowledge, or doing good to our fellow.. creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of an aid become an incumbrance, and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally, kind and benevolent that a way is provided by
which we may get rid of them. Death is that way. We ourselves, in some cases, prudently choose a partial death. A mangled painful limb, which cans not be restored, we willingly cut off. He who plucks out a tooth, parts with it freely, since the pain goes with it : and he who quits the whole body, parts at once with all pains, and possibilities of pains and diseases, it was liable to, or capable of making him suffer.
Our friend and we were invited abroad on a party of pleasure, which is to last forever. His chair was ready first; and he is gone before us. We could not all conveniently start together : and why should you and I be grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, and know where to find him?
To the late I octor Mather, of Boston. REV. SIR,
I received your kind letter, with your excellent advice to the United States, which I read with great pleasure, and hope it will be duly re. garded. Such writings, though they may be lighte ly passed over by many readers, yet, if they make a deep impression on one active mind in a hundred, the effects may be considerable. .
Permit me to mention one little instance, which, though it relates to myself, will not be quite unin. teresting to you. When I was a boy, I met with a book entitled “ Essays to do good,” which I think was written by your father. It had been so little regarded by a former possessor, that several leaves of it were torn out; but the remainder gave
me such a turn for thinking, as to have an influence on my conduct through life : for I have always set a greater value on the character of a doer of good, than any other kind of reputation; and if I have been, as you seem to think, a useful citizen, the pub. lic owes ihe advantage of it to that book. · You mention your being in your seventy-eighth year. I am in my seventy-ninth. We are grown oli together. It is now more than sixty years since I left Boston ; but I remember well both your fath, er and grandfather, having heard them both in the pulpii, and seen them in their houses. The last time I saw your father was in the beginning of 1724, when I visited him after my first trip to Pennsyl. vania: he received me in his library; and on my taking leave, shewed me a shorter way out of the house, through a narrow passage, which was cross. ed by a beam over head. We were still talking as I withdrew, he accompanying me behind, and I turning partly towards him, when he said hastily, “Stoop, Stoop!”. I did not understand him till I felt my head hit against the beam. He was a man who never missed any occasion of giving instruction : and upon this he said to me: "Y ,u are young, and have the world before you : stoop as you go through it, and you will miss many hard thumps." This advice, thus beat into my heart, has frequently been of use to me; and I often think of it, when I see pride mortified, and misfortune brought upon people by their carrying their heads too high. .
I long much to see again my native place; and once hoped to lar my bones there. I left it in 1723. I visited it in 1733, 1743, 1753, and 1763; and in 1773 I was in England. Iv 1775 I had a sight of it, but could not enter, it heing in possession of the enemy. I did hope to have been there in 1783, but could not obtain my dismission from this eman ployment here ; and now I fear I shall never have that happiness. My best wishes however attend my dear country, “esto perpetua." It is now bless. ed wih an excellent constitution : may it last for ever!
This powerful monarchy continues its friendship for the United States. It is a friendship of the ute most importance to our security, and should be carefully cultivated. Britain has not yet digested the loss of its dominion over us; and has still at times some fiattering hopes of recovering it. Ac. cidents may increase those hopes, and encourage dangerous attempts. A breach between us and France would infallibly bring the English again upon our backs : and yet we have some wild beasts among our country men, who are endeavoring to weaken that connection.
Let us preserve our reputation, by performing our engagements; our credit, by fulfilling our contracts ; and our friends, by gratitude and kindness : for we know not how soon we may again have oca casion for all of them.
With great and sincere esteem,