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In things without. His hopes and fears all hang upon the world. He partakes in all its vicisitudes; and is moved and shaken by every wind of fortune. This is to be, in the strict est sense, a slave to the world.

Religion and virtue, on the other hand, confer on the mind, principles of noble independence. "The upright man is satisfied from himself." He despises not the advantages of fortune, but he centres not his happiness in them. With a moderate share of them he ment is felicity. Happy in his own integrity, conscious of the esteem of good men, reposing firm trust in the providence, and the promises of God, he is exempt from servile dependence on other things. He can wrap himself up in a good conscience, and look forward, without terror, to the change of the world. Let all things shift around him as they please, he believes that, by the divine ordination, they shall be made to work together in the issue for his good and therefore, having much to hope from God, and little to fear from the world, he can be easy in every state. One who possesses within himself such an establishment of mind, is truly free, But shall I call that man free, who has nothing that is his own, no property assured; whose very heart is not his own, but rendered the appendage of external things, and the sport of fortune? Is that man free, let his outward condition be ever so splended, whom his imperious passions detain at their call, whom they send forth at their pleasure, to drudge and toil, and to beg his only enjoyment from the casualties of the world? Is he free, who must flatter and lie to compass his ends; who must bear with this man's caprice, and that man's scorn; must profess friendship where he hates, and respect where he contemns; who is not at liberty to appear in his own colours, nor to speak his own sentiments; who dares not be honest, lest he should be poor?-Believe it, no chains bind so hard, no fetters are so heavy, as those that fasten the corrupted heart to this treacherous world; no dependence is more contemptible than that under which the voluptuous, the cov etuous, or the ambitious man, lies to the means of pleasure, gain, or power. Yet this is the boasted liberty, which vice promises, as the recompense of setting us free from the salu tary restraints of virtue.

bbe contented; and content

SECTION XIII

THE MAN OF INTEGRITY.

BLAIR,

Ir will not take much time to deliniate the character of the man of integrity, as by its nature it is a plain one, and

easily understood. He is one, who makes it his constant rule to follow the road of duty, according as the word of God, and the voice of his conscience point it out to him. He is not guided merely by affections, which may sometime give the colour of virtue to a loose and unstable character. The upright man is guided by a fixed principle of mind, which determines him to esteem nothing but what is honourable; and to abhor whatever is base or unworthy in moral conduct. Hence we find him ever the same; at all times, the trusty friend, the affectionate relation, the conscientious man of business, the pious worshiper, the public spirited citizen. He assumes no borrowed appearance. He seeks no mask to cover him; for he acts no studied part; but he is indeed what he appears to be, full of truth, candour and humanity. In all his pursuits, he knows no path but the fair and direct one; and would much rather fail of success, than attain it by reproachful means. He never shows us a smiling countenance, while he meditates evil against us in his heart. He never praises us among our friends; and then joins in traducing us among our enemies. We shall never find one part of his character at variance with another. In his manners, he is simple and unaffected; in all his proceedings, open and consistent.

SECTION XIV.

ON GENTLENESS.

ELAIR.

I BEGIN with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That passive tameness, which submits, without opposition, to every encroachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part of Christian duty; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order.That unlimited complaisance, which, on every occasion, falls. in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It overthrows all steadiness of principle; and produces that sinful conformity with the world, which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted state of human nanners, always to assent and to comply, is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occasions, even though we should stand alone. That gentleness therefore which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just right From fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. H

is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.

It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity to pride and arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that part of the great virtue of charity, which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions; Gandour our severe judgments. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners; and, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office therefore is extensive. It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on peculiar emergencies; but it is continually in action, when we are engaged in intercourse with men. It ought to form our address, to regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.

We must not, however, confound this gentle "wisdom which is from above," with that artificial courtesy, that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments, the most frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful, as a snare; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling, as a cover to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid observing the homage, which, even in such instances, the world is constrained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable, it is found necessary to asume somewhat, that may at least carry its appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been reduced into an art; and, in the commerce of life, the first study of all who would either gain the esteem, or win the hearts of others, is to learn the speech, and to adopt the manners, of candour, gentleness, and humanity. But that gentleness, which is the characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart; and let me add, nothing, except what flows from the heart, can render even external manners truly pleasing. For no assumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm infinitely more powerful, than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier!

True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to HIM who made us, and to the common nature of which we all share. It arises from reflection on our own failings and wants; and from just views of the condition, and the duty of man. It is native feeling, heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels for every thing that is human; and is backward and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its de meanor ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others; breathing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long suffering to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation; administers reproof with tenderness; confers favors with ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to allay dissension, and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others It delights above all things to alleviate distress; and, if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the grieving heart. Where it has the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It seeks to please rather than to shine and dazzle; and conceals with care that superiority, either of talents, or of rank, which is oppressive to those who are beneath it. In a word, it is that spirit and that tenure of manners, which the gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us to bear one another's burdens; to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep; to please every one his neighbour for his good; to be kind and tender hearted; to be pitiful and courteous; to sup port the weak, and to be patient towards all men.”

BLAIR

CHAPTER VI.

PATHETIC PIECES

SECTION I.

TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF THE EARL OF STRAFFORD, WHO FELL A SACRIFICE TO THE VIOLENCE OF THE TIMES,

THE

IN THE REIGN OF CHARLES THE FIRST.

THE Earl of Strafford defended himself against the accusations of the house of Commons, with all the presence

of mind, judgment, and sagacity, that could be expected from innocence and ability. His children were placed beside him as he was thus defending his life, and the cause of his royal master. After he had, in a long and eloquent speech, delivered without premeditation, confuted all the accusations of his enemies, he thus drew to a conclusion. "But, my lords, I have troubled you too long: longer than I should have done, but for the sake of these dear pledges, which a saint in heaven has left me." Upon this he paused; dropped a tear; looked upon his children; and proceeded. "What I forfeit for myself is a trifle: that my indiscretions should reach my posterity, wounds me to the heart. Pardon my infirmity. Something I should have added, but I am not able; and therefore I let it pass. And now, my lords, for myself. I have long been taught, that the afflictions of this life are overpaid by the eternal weight of glory, which awaits the innocent. And so, my lords, even so, with the utmost tranquility, I submit myself to your judgment, whether that judgment be life or death: not my will, but thine, O God, be done!"

His eloquence and innocence induced those judges to pity, who were the most zealous to condemn him. The king himself went to the house of lords, and spoke for some time in his defence; but the spirit of vengeance, which had been chained for eleven years, was now roused; and nothing but his blood could give the people satisfaction. He was condemned by both houses of parliament; and nothing remained but for the king to give his consent to the bill of attainder. But, in the present commotions, the consent of the king would very easily be dispensed with; and imminent danger might attend his refusal. Charles, however, who loved Strafford tenderly, hesitated, and seemed reluctant; trying every expedient to put off so dreadful an office, as that of signing the warrant for his execution-While he continued in this agitation of mind, and state of suspense, his doubts were at last silenced by an act of great magnanimity in the condemned lord. He received a letter from that unfortunate nobleman, desiring that his life might be made a sacrafice to make reconiliation between the king and his people: adding, that he was prepared to die; and that to a willing mind there could be no injury. This instance of noble generosity was but ill repaid by his master, who complied with his request. He consented to sign the fatal bill by commission; and Strafford was beheaded on tower-hill;

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