increased: so likewise the desire of being made acquainted with our destinies is not only not allayed, but rendered more ardent by a summary account of it. Whosoever wishes for a proof thereof, let him examine himself with never so little attention, and he will discover it by what is going forward in his own bosom. Perhaps some one will say: it is true, that by this mode I do not learn enough; yet I learn at least something. I know that I am to be great, learned, rich, or old. These are agreeable expectations; and is an epitome of such expectations not better than none at all? Ultimately I am no wise anxious to have a prescience of the ills, but of the blessings that are to fall to my share. This proposition is plausible enough; the difficulty lies in the execution only. For even if it were possible to obtain a previous information of our good fortune without its opposite, still it is to be apprehended that the majority of mankind, were they to learn their future felicity on earth be forehand, would, in their opinion, meet with nought but disappointment. We will endeavour to elucidate this. If we consider prosperity as the accomplishment of our wishes, most of us will be miserable. Were we therefore to foresee our fortune, we should, on finding it contrary to the ideas we had conceived thereof, contemn it either as something very trifling, or, at least, very different from what we expected; and consequently be apt to deem it rather a misfortune. It is a fortune if, with a suitable occupation, I have a competency for life. And were most men, by a kind of inspiration, to receive a short abstract of their life, that would, uuquestionably, be its tenor. What consolation then were it to the proud and the ambitious, to the miser and the voluptuary, if they could foresee this their lot? None would esteem it a fortune; and therefore, instead of knowing their happiness, they would perceive that it was but a negative one. Let us take a coward, and tell him that he is destined to be a great general, and, with very considerable personal risk, is to perform astonishing feats, he will be terrified, and experience more agony than he would really undergo, if, compelled by circumstances, he were to expose his life before the enemy; and, perhaps, if strengthened by habit, he at last becomes as valiant as a hero. How.

ever, while yet in a state of pusilanimity, he will deem it no fortune, and either believe that he was to be utterly unhappy in the world, or imagine that he did not yet know the whole of his fate. Thus it is evident, that if even, according to our wishes, only our pros perous events, independent of their concatenation with our mishaps, were to be revealed to us, we should still not feel easy, but rather experience a great deal more uneasiness than we do now, that we are kept in the dark respecting them.

But at what period is our fortune to be foretold to us? Probably in those years when we begin to reflect-when we have sown our wild oats. We must, however, not forget that years have a powerful influence on our affections, that at every epoch of our life we change our wishes, and despise what we prized before, valuing on the contrary what we once disregarded. How will it now stand with our pacification? Such a young man is tormented by ambition. He receives the anunciation that he is to be a land-steward; and herein consists his fortune. Heavens, what a shock to him! He had hoped to become, at least, a distinguished officer of state in his country, and must now content himself with the place of a steward a great thing, indeed, after all his magnificent dreams! He beholds not the gratification of his wishes in this prediction, and that is just what we are anxious to find, when we desire to know our fortune beforehand. It is easy to judge in this case whether this youth will rejoice or repine at his fate. Were it not, then, better for him to have it concealed from his knowledge till the time arrives, when he is to meet it? For, in the course of ten years, he may, by the change of circumstances, have been so tired out of his high notions as to be very well pleased with the employment in question. The young and sprightly Delia, who wishes nothing more ardently than to pass her whole life in the arms of her tender and agreeable lover, is desirous of knowing her future destiny. She discovers with horror that she is not to possess her Seymour, but will spend all her days at the side of a morose and elderly man. This is her happiness, and unfortunate would her matrimony have proved, had she become the wife of the inconstant Seymour. But in her present condi

be considered, that if fear is augmented by the positive ill, hope, on the other hind, must be strengthened in an equal degree by the certainty of the future good. This is not so easily decided; for if we compare one with the other, and wish to balance them properly, it is requisite we should have a certain proportion. My misfortune may, for the present, be the loss of my reputation, and my subsequent good luck the possession of great riches. Both these things cannot be weighed off against one another, as far as regard is had to men and their manner of appreciating the goods of this world-a manner determined by prejudice and natural disposition. For the power with which both will affect me, the one by fear, the other by hope, lies not so much in themselves as in the temper of my mind, and in the greater or lesser desire, peculiar to myself, for honors or wealth. If I am ambitious by nature, and should foresee that, in the course of two years, I shall lose all my reputa tion, but inherit, soon after, or previously thereto, a considerable sum of money, this hope, placed in opposition to the impression which the dread of the future ignominy must produce in me, will be very diminutive. And if I wish to balance good and ill, and their concomitants, fear and hope, they must be founded upon one and the same impulse in my breast; so the impulse of honor, and that of avoiding disgrace are, in their nature, alike, and divided only by our manner of thinking; therefore, we must take honor and ignominy, riches and poverty, pleasure and pain together-if we intend to draw a just comparison between the magnitude of fear and hope. But this is not the way in which our fortune proceeds. He that has to dread infamy, has not always to hope again for honor; and he that is avaricious and loses his property, has not always to expect a return of wealth; consequently, we shall seldom find it to be true, that joy, through the hope of a positive good in prospect, will encrease in the same proportion as fear, on the side of ill, had augmented.

And how do I know what share of the supposed and wished-for pleasure will come to me during my life? Might it not contain but little happiness and a great deal more misery? Such a kind of life, then, I run the risk of foreseeing from the moment I am

made acquainted with my fate. Ought I not then to think myself happy, that my Creator has vouchsafed to hide it from me? But it would, notwithstanding, be a singular satisfaction, could I carry about with me in my memory a genuine information of the good fortune that awaits me ten years hence. I should, for example, know that I were to be wedded to an amiable, a sensible, tender, and faithful spouse. How quickly, how pleasantly, would those ten years roll over my head! This is a matter of great doubt. Hope would become burdensome, because it could not immediately be fulfilled. And as misfortune always comes too soon, so fortune, how early soever it arrives, never fails to come too late.

It may even be assumed as a fact, that one would not argue amiss who should maintain, that the sentiment of satisfaction would, by the circumstantial prescience of our terrestial prosperity, be considerably weakened in most minds. Felicity, such as accords with our ideas, our wishes, and our hopes, commonly falls short of that which we obtain in reality; and it may be truly said, that our wishes are the limits of our hopes; how extravagant, how indefinite, are not the former! Now if once we know our future destiny, it rests no longer with us what and how much we are to hope for, but our hope is then governed by our fortune. If this be little, or at least held to be so in the estimation of our wishes, the pleasure of hoping will also become less than it was before we knew our fate.

However, we will not investigate hope as the foretaste of our happiness any farther. Let us rather see whether we ourselves do not sacrifice part of the pleasure which the actual enjoyment of fortune affords us. It certainly appears so. There is a kind of dread which operates upon our pleasure just like a strong seasoning Joes upon certain viands: it gives us a livelier relish of it. Why am I, when enjoying a happiness so much elated with it generally because I have now overcome the painful doubt whether I should obtain it or not. My feelings, indeed, would not be so great, had fear not set them in full motion. The case is different if I know my fortune before hand. It is besides true, that we are more taken with an unhoped-for good than with one we had foreseen, provided the

advantages of both be alike. Lastly, we should, were we to foresee our fate, perceive likewise, that on most occasions we owed it not to our abilities, not to our merits, but frequently to chance, and to others; and at this rate, our vanity would forego a great satis faction. We are but too prone to ascribe the happy events of our life to our deserts, though without reason. But let it be an error; still even this error can delight us, as long as we look upon it as a truth. Are we now still anxious to know our fortune beforehand?

There remains yet another objection. I should, may be said by some person, be better able to prepare myself for my future mode of life, were I to know what I am destined for. This we deem a mistaken notion, and how much might not be alleged against it! We will, however, only mention one thing. If a man be naturally averse to this mode of life, which comprehends his happiness, he will only the less conform himself to it, knowing his fortune cannot escape him. What occasion then has he to detract from his accustomed ease? Even without merits he is sure to arrive at the condition once designed for him. If, on the contrary, he feels inclined towards this condition, he will prepare himself for it, though his curiosity to learn his future fate had never been gratified. Where, then, is the use of his insight into it?

Hitherto we have only examined what every one in particular might lose, were he to know his fate beforeband. But we must not consider ourselves simply as distinct from other men. We must likewise observe, what in the aggregate, what in the world, aud what in the connection of things would arise, if every one knew what would happen to him. No person of common sense would live on this earth if, retaining their free will, men were to have a fore-knowledge of their for tune. The frame of the latter would require then to be very different from what it is now that we are ignorant of it. A single act of one man frequently influences the fate of thousands. The motives of our actions are hope and fear; change or remove these and our enterprizes will likewise be changed or set aside. But our hopes and our fears would no longer be the same were we to know beforehand what was to happen; therefore our actions too, as far

If,

as they depended upon our free will, would wear another stamp if we foresaw their result. Would Philip have sent out his Invincible Armada had he seen at first what he perceived at last? We believe not. All those men who have perished in this fleet, or have become miserable, or in any way unfortunate, might have had a different fate if Philip could have foreseen the event of this undertaking. Hence we may judge how very different the occurrences of the world would be, if every one were to foresee the issue of his plans or schemes. What of that! some will retort: nevertheless, a thousand ills flowing from the free will of men would necessarily be avoided by penetrating into futurity, and being able to view the process of things. This is, indeed, subject to much doubt! with our foresight we were to preserve those affections and passions which we now possess, there would always remain abundance of wickedness and folly in the world. And though we should abstain from this or that ill, we would commit another in its stead. Suppose we were to leave off such vices as punish themselves; would we also shun the rest? But what might in the first case become of liberty and virtue? Drunkenness is a vice which, with many people, carries its punishment with it. Now could Strephon, who by excessive drinking brought on his death ten years sooner than it would have taken place by the common course of naturecould he have foreseen this, it is possible he might have led a soberer life. And in this manner there were one ill less in the world. This cannot be denied. But who could call it liberty and virtue? Would not the impression of the idea, "thou wilt positively die before thy time if thou givest thyself up to drinking," act as forcibly upon a man's mind as if another stood over him with a drawn sword to prevent his doing what, without this coercion, he would have felt disposed to do? This, therefore, were compulsion, not liberty. Finally, we behold many drunkards, many of the greatest libertines, attain, notwithstanding, to the remotest term of human age, and live withal outwardly always happy. How are these to be deterred from their vices? What mischief would not be occasioned by the certainty alone of the manner and the day of our death? What consequences would not attend the good and