to show, in several instances, where some of the most renowned philosophers have been grossly defective in their lessons of morality.

Thales, the founder of the Ionic sect, so celebrated for morality, being asked how a man might bear ill fortune with greatest ease, answered, "By seeing his enemies in a worse condition." An answer truly barbarous, unworthy of human nature, and which included such consequences as must destroy all society from the world.

Solon, lamenting the death of a son, one told him, "You lament in vain." "Therefore," said he, "I lament, because it is in vain.” This was a plain confession how imperfect all his philosophy was, and that something was still wanting. He owned that all his wisdom and morals were useless, and this upon one of the most frequent accidents in life. How much better could he have learned to support himself, even from David, by his entire dependence upon God; and that before our Saviour had advanced the notions of religion to the height and perfection wherewith he hath instructed his disciples!

Plato, himself, with all his refinements, placed happiness in wisdom, health, good fortune, honour, and riches, and held that they who enjoyed all these were perfectly happy; which opinion was indeed unworthy its owner, leaving the wise and good man wholly at the mercy of uncertain chance, and to be miserable without resource.

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His scholar, Aristotle, fell more grossly into the same notion, and plainly affirmed, That virtue, without the goods of fortune, was not sufficient for happiness; but that a wise man must be miserable in poverty and sickness." Nay, Diogenes himself, from whose pride and singularity one would have looked for other notions, delivered it as his opinion, "That a poor old man was the most miserable thing in life."

Zeno, also, and his followers, fell into many absurdities, among which nothing could be greater than that of maintaining all crimes to be equal; which, instead of making vice hateful, rendered it as a thing indifferent and familiar to all men.

Lastly, Epicurus had no notion of justice, but as it was profitable; and his placing happiness in pleasure, with all the advantages he could expound it by, was liable to very great exception: for although he taught that pleasure did consist in virtue, yet he did not any way fix or ascertain the boundaries of virtue as he ought to have done, by which means he misled his followers into the greatest vices, making their names to become odious and scandalous, even in the heathen world.

I have produced these few instances, from a great many others, to show the imperfection of heathen philosophy, wherein I have confined myself wholly to their morality. And surely we may pronounce upon it, in the words of St. James, that "this wisdom descended not from above, but was earthly and sensual." What if I had produced their absurd notions about God and the soul it would then have completed the character given it by that Apostle, and appeared to have been devilish too. But it is easy to observe, from the nature of these few particulars, that their defects in morals were purely the flagging and fainting of the mind, for want of a support by revelation from God.

I proceed, therefore, in the third place, to show the perfection of Christian wisdom from above; and I shall endeavour to make it appear, from those proper characters and marks of it by the Apostle above-mentioned, in the 3rd chapter, and 15th, 16th and 17th verses.

The words run thus:

"This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish, "For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.

"But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and

easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy."

"The wisdom from above is, first, pure." This purity of the mind and spirit is peculiar to the gospel. Our Saviour says, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." A mind free from all pollution of lusts shall have a daily vision of God, whereof unrevealed religion can form no notion. This it is that keeps us unspotted from the world; and hereby many have been prevailed upon to live in the practice of all purity, holiness, and righteousness, far beyond the examples of the most celebrated philosophers.

It is "peaccable, gentle, and easy to be entreated." The Christian doctrine teacheth us all those dispositions that make us affable and courteous, gentle and kind, without any morose leaven of pride or vanity, which entered into the composition of most heathen schemes; so we are taught to be meek and lowly. Our Saviour's last legacy was peace; and he commands us to forgive our offending brother unto seventy times seven. Christian wisdom is full of mercy and good works, teaching the height of all moral virtues, of which the heathens fell infinitely short. Plato, indeed (and it is worth observing), has somewhere a dialogue, or part of one, about forgiving our enemies, which was, perhaps, the highest strain ever reached by man without Divine assistance; yet, how little is that to what our Saviour commands us! "To love them that hate us; to bless them that curse us; and to do good to them that despitefully use us."

Christian wisdom is "without partiality;" it is not calculated for this or that nation of people, but the whole race of mankind; not so the philosophic. schemes, which were narrow and confined, adapted to their peculiar towns, governments, or sects: but, "in every nation, he that feareth God and worketh righteousness is accepted with him."

Lastly, It is "without hypocrisy ;" it appears to be what it really is; it is all of a piece. By the doctrines of the gospel, we are so far from being allowed to publish to the world those virtues we have not, that we are commanded to hide even from ourselves, those we really have, and not to let our right hand know what our left hand does; unlike several branches of the heathen wisdom, which pretended to teach insensibility and indifference, magnanimity and contempt of life, while, at the same time, in other parts, it belied its own doctrines.

I come now, in the last place, to show that the great examples of wisdom and virtue among the Grecian sages were produced by personal merit, and not influenced by the doctrine of any particular sect; whereas, in Christianity, it is quite the contrary.

The two virtues most celebrated by ancient moralists were fortitude and temperance, as relating to the government of man in his private capacity, to which their schemes were generally addressed and confined; and the two instances wherein those virtues arrived at the greatest height were Socrates and Cato. But neither those, nor any other virtues possessed by these two, were at all owing to any lessons or doctrines of a sect. For Socrates himself was of none at all; and, although Cato was called a Stoic, it was more from a resemblance of manners in his worst qualities, than that he avowed himself one of their disciples. The same may be affirmed of many other great men of antiquity. Whence I infer that those who were renowned for virtue among them were more obliged to the good natural dispositions of their own minds than to the doctrines of any sect they pretended to follow.

On the other side, as the examples of fortitude and patience among the primitive Christians have been infinitely greater and more numerous, so they were altogether the product of their principles and doctrine; and were such as the same persons, without those aids, would never have arrived to. Of this truth, most of the Apostles, with rany thousand martyrs, are a cloud of witnesses beyond exception.

THE following scene between a gentle wife, driven to despair by her most captious and irritating husband, is as beautifully managed as anything we could compare with it in the whole compass of that dramatic poetry which may be called domestic. The whole play is full of grace and tenderness-the work of a true artist.]

Gin. (cheerfully). The world seems glad after its hearty drink

Of rain. I fear'd, when you came back this morning,

The shower had stopp'd you, or that you were ill.

Ago. You fear'd! you hoped. What fear you that I fear,

Or hope for that I hope for? A truce, madam,

To these exordiums and pretended interests,

Whose only shallow intent is to delay,

Or to divert, the sole dire subject,-me.

Soh! you would see the spectacle! you, who start
At openings of doors, and falls of pins,

Trumpets and drums quiet a lady's nerves;
And a good hacking blow at a tournament

Equals burnt feathers or hartshorn, for a stimulus
To pretty household tremblers.

Gin.

I express'd

No wish to see the tournament, nor indeed
Anything, of my own accord; or contrary
To your good judgment.

Ago.
Oh, of course not. Wishes
Are never express'd for, or by, contraries;
Nor the good judgment of an anxious husband
Held forth as a pleasant thing to differ with.

Gin. It is as easy as sitting in my chair,
To
say I will not go and I will not.

Be pleased to think that settled.

Ago. You are correct as to those three. How many
Open'd?-Your look, madam, is wondrous logical;
Conclusive by mere pathos of astonishment;
And cramm'd with scorn, from pure unscornfulness.
4TH QUARTER,

I have, 'tis true, strong doubts of your regard
For him, or any one ;-of your love of power
Noue, as you know I have reason ;-tho' you take
Ways of refined provokingness to wreak it.
Antonio knows these fools you saw but now,
And fools have foolish friendships, and bad leagues
For getting a little power, not natural to them,
Out of their laugh'd-at betters. Be it as it may
All this, I will not have these prying idlers
Put my domestic troubles to the blush
Now you sit thus, in ostentatious meekness,
Playing the victim with a pretty breath,

And smiles that say "God help me."-Well, madam,
What do you say?

Gin.

I say I will do whatever

Gin.

What can I say,

Or what, alas! not say, and not be chided?

You should not use me thus. I have not strength for it,
So great as you may think. My late sharp illness

Hus left me weak.

Ago.
I've known you weaker, madam,
But never feeble enough to want the strength
Of contest and perverseness. Oh, men too,
Men may be weak, even from the magnanimity
Of strength itself; and women can take poor
Advantages, that were in men but cowardice.

Gin. [Aside.] Dear Heaven! what humblest doubts of our self knowledge Should we not feel, when tyranny can talk thus.

Ago. Can you pretend, madam, with your surpassing

Candour and heavenly kindness, that you never

Utter'd one gentle-sounding word, not meant

To give the Learer pain? me pain? your husband ↑

Whom in all evil thoughts you so pretend

Ago.

Ay,

See there you have! you own it! how pretend then
To make such griefs of every petty syllable,

Wrung from myself by everlasting scorn?

Gin. One pain is not a thousand; nor one wrong,

Acknowledged and repented of, the habit

Of unprovoked and unrepented years.

Ago. Of unprovoked! Oh, let all provocation

Take every brutish shape it can devise

To try endurance with; taunt it in failure,

Grind it in want, stoop it with family shames,

Make gross the name of mother, call it fool,
Pander, slave, coward, or whatsoever opprobrium
Makes the soul swoon within its rage, for want
Of some great answer, terrible as its wrong,
And it shall be as nothing to this miserable,
Mean, meek-voiced, most malignant lie of lies;
This angel-mimicking non-provocation

From one too cold to enrage, too weak to tread on ;
You never loved me once-you loved me not-
Never did-no-not when before the altar

With a mean coldness, a worldly-minded coldness
And lie on your lips, you took me for your husband,
Thinking to have a house, a purse, a liberty,

By, but not for, the man you scorn'd to love!

Gin. I scorn'd you not-and knew not what scorn was—

Being scarcely past a child, and knowing nothing

But trusting thoughts and innocent daily habits.

Oh, could you trust yourself—But why repeat

What still is thus repeated, day by day,

Still ending with the question, "Why repeat ?" [Rising and moving about.

You make the blood at last mount to my brain,

And tax me past endurance. What have I done,
Good God what have I done, that I am thus

At the mercy of a mystery of tyranny,

Which from its victim demands every virtue,
And brings it none?

Ago.

I thank you, madam, humbly.

So help me Heaven !-I but spoke in consciousness
Of what was weak on both sides. There's a love
In that, would you but know it, and encourage it.
The consciousness of wrong, in wills not evil,
Brings charity. Be you but charitable,

And I am grateful, and we both shall learn.

Ago. I am conscious of no wrong in this dispute, Nor when we dispute ever,-except the wrong

Done to myself by a will still more wilful,

Because less moved, and less ingenuous,

Let them get charity that show it.

Gin. (who has reseated herself.) Let Fiodilisa come to me. My lips Will show you that I faint.

pray you,

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