ly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity? There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumphant consideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progress which the soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength, to consider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity; that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; carries in it something wonderfully agree tural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself to see his creatures for ever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him, by greater degrees of resemblance. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to considerable to that ambition which is nain animals, which are formed for our use, and can finish their business in a short life. The silkworm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, such shortlived reasonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted? capacities that are never to be gratified? How can we find that wisdom that shines through all his works, in the formation of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are only to receive the first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friend-neration may we look into our own Methinks this single consideration, of the progress of a finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish all envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. That cherubim which now appears as a God to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he himself now is: nay, when she shall look down upon that degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale of being; but he knows that, how high socver the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the same degree of glory. With what astonishment and ve souls, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always in reserve for him. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to another for all eternity without a possibility of touching it and can there be a thought so transporting as to consider ourselves in these perpetual approaches to him, who is not only the standard of perfection, but of happiness! Spectator. | from my earliest infancy to this time, there are many faults which I committed that did not appear to me, even until I myself became a father. I had not until then a notion of the yearnings of heart which a man has when he sees his child do a laudable thing, or the sudden damp which seizes him when he fears he will act something unworthy. It is not to be imagined what a remorse touched me for a long train of childish negligences of my mother, when I saw my wife the other day look out of the window, and turn as pale as ashes upon seeing my younger boy sliding upon the ice. These slight intimations will give you to understand, that there are numberless little crimes which children take no notice of while they are doing, The Duty of Children to their which, upon reflection, when they Parents. shall themselves become fathers, they will look upon with the utI am the happy father of a very most sorrow and contrition, that towardly son, in whom I do not they did not regard before those only see my life, but also my man- whom they offended were to be no ner of life renewed. It would be more seen. How many thousand extremely beneficial to society, if things do I remember, which you would frequently resume sub- would have highly pleased my fajects which serve to bind these ther, and I omitted for no other sorts of relations faster, and endear reason, but that I thought what he the ties of blood with those of proposed the effect of humour and good-will, protection, observance, old age, which I am now convinced indulgence, and veneration. I had reason and good sense in it! would, methinks, have this done I cannot now go into the parlour after an uncommon method, and to him, and make his heart glad do not think any one who is not with an account of the matter which capable of writing a good play fit was of no consequence, but that I to undertake a work wherein there told it and acted in it. The good will necessarily occur so many se- man and woman are long since in cret instincts and biasses of human their graves, who used to sit and nature, which would pass un-plot the welfare of us their chilobserved by common eyes. I dren, while, perhaps, we were thank Heaven I have no outrageous offence against my own excellent parents to answer for; but when I am now and then alone, and look back upon my past life, sometimes laughing at the old folks at the other end of the house. The truth of it is, were we merely to follow nature in these great duties of life, though we have a strong instinct towards | This commerce is so well cementthe performing of them, we should ed, that, without the pomp of saybe on both sides very deficient. ing, Son, be a friend to such a one Age is so unwelcome to the ge- when I am gone; Camillus knows, nerality of mankind, and growth being in his favour is direction towards manhood so desirable to enough to the grateful youth who all, that resignation to decay is too is to succeed him, without the addifficult a task in the father; and monition of his mentioning it. deference, amidst the impulse of These gentlemen are honoured in gay desires, appears unreasonable all their neighbourhood, and the to the son. There are so few who same effect which the court has can grow old with a good grace, on the manners of a kingdom, and yet fewer who can come slow their characters have on all who enough into the world, that a fa- live within the influence of them. ther, were he to be actuated by his desires, and a son, were he to consult himself only, could neither of them behave himself as he ought to the other. But when reason interposes against instinct, where it would carry either out of the interests of the other, there arises that happiest intercourse of good offices between those dearest relations of human life. The father, according to the opportunities which are offered to him, is throwing down blessings on the son, and the son endeavouring to appear the worthy offspring of such a father. It is after this manner that Camillus and his first-born dwell together. Camillus enjoys a pleas My son and I are not of fortune to communicate our good actions or intentions to so many as these gentlemen do; but I will be bold to say, my son has, by the applause and approbation which his behaviour towards me has gained him, occasioned that many an old man, besides myself, has rejoiced. Other men's children follow the example of mine, and I have the inexpressible happiness of overhearing our neighbours, as we ride by, point to their children and say, with a voice of joy, "There they go." tion. Spectator. ing and indolent old age, in which The Strength of Parental Affecpassion is subdued and reason exalted. He waits the day of his dissolution with a resignation mixed with delight, and the son fears the accession of his father's fortune with diffidence, lest he should not enjoy or become it as well as his predecessor. Add to this, that the father knows he leaves a friend to the children of his friends, an easy landlord to his tenants, and an agreeable companion to his acquaintance. He believes his son's behaviour will make him frequently remembered, but never wanted. VOL. I. I went the other day to visit Eliza, who, in the perfect bloom of beauty, is the mother of several children. She had a little prating girl upon her lap, who was begging to be very fine, that she might go abroad; and the indulgent mother, at her little daughter's request, had just taken the knots off her own head to adorn the hair of the pretty trifler. A smiling boy was at the same time caressing a lap-dog, which is their mother's favourite, 3 X because it pleases the children; | of tenderness in the most savage brutes are so frequent, that quotations of that kind are altogether unnecessary. and she, with a delight in her looks, which heightened her beauty, so divided her conversation with the two pretty prattlers, as to make them equally cheerful. If we, who have no particular concern in them, take a secret delight in observing the gentle dawn of reason in babes; if our ears are soothed with their half-forming and aiming at articulate sounds; if we are charmed with their pretty mimicry, and surprized at the unexpected starts of wit and cun-` As I came in, she said with a blush," Mr. Ironside, though you are an old batchelor, you must not laugh at my tenderness to my children." I need not tell my reader what civil things I said in answer to the lady, whose matron-like behaviour gate me infinite satisfac-ning in these miniatures of man: tion since I myself take great pleasure in playing with children, and am seldom unprovided of plums or marbles, to make my court to such entertaining companions. what transport may we imagine in the breasts of those, into whom natural instinct hath poured tenderness and fondness for them! how amiable is such a weakness of human nature! or rather, how great a weakness is it to give hu The bare consideration of paternal affection should methinks create a more grateful tenderness in children towards their parents than we generally see; and the silent whispers of nature be attended to, though the laws of God and man did not call aloud. Whence is it, said I to myself when I was alone, that the affec-manity so reproachful a name! tion of parents is so intense to their offspring? Is it because they generally find such resemblances in what they have produced, as that thereby they think themselves renewed in their children, and are willing to transmit themselves to future times? or is it because they think themselves obliged by the dictates of humanity, to nourish and rear what is placed so immediately under their protection; and what by their means is brought into this world, the scene of misery, of necessity? These will not come up to it. Is it not rather the good providence of that Being, who in a supereminent degree protects and cherishes the whole race of mankind, his sons and creatures? How shall we, any other way, account for this natural affection, so signally displayed throughout every species of the animal creation, without which the course of nature would quickly fail, and every various kind be extinct? Instances These silent whispers of nature have had a marvellous power, even when their cause hath been unknown. There are several examples in story of tender friendships formed betwixt men who knew not of their near relation: Such accounts confirm me in an opinion I have long entertained, that there is a sympathy betwixt souls, which cannot be explained by the prejudice of education, the sense of duty, or any other human motive. The memoirs of a certain French nobleman, which now lie before me, furnish me with a very entertaing instance of this secret attraction, implanted by providence in the human soul. It will be necessary to in form the reader, that the person, | When the countess first saw me, whose story I am going to relate, "I had been in this condition "My fever increased after my view, as made me fear that all my misfortunes had not armed me sufficiently against the charms of the fair sex. "The amiable creature seemed afflicted at my sickness; and she appeared to have so much concern and care for me, as raised in me a great inclination and tenderness for her. She came every day into my chamber to inquire after my health; I asked who she was, and I was answered that she was nicce to the countess of Venoski. "I verily believe that the constant sight of this charming maid, and the pleasure I received from her careful attendance, contributed more to my recovery than all the medicines the physicians gave me. In short, my fever left me; and I had the satisfaction to see the lovely creature overjoyed at my recovery. She came to see me oftener as I grew better; and I already felt a stronger and more tender affection for her, than I ever bore to any woman in my life; when I began to perceive that her constant care of me was only a blind to give her an opportunity of seeing a young Pole, whom I took to be her lover. He seemed to be much about her age, of a brown complexion, very tall, but finely shaped Every time she came to see me, the young gentleman came to find her out; and they usually |