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NUMBER XXII.

Ελκε, ταλαν, σαρα μητρος, ον ει μαζον

αμελξεις
Ελκυσον υςατιον να μα καταφθιμενης.
Ηδη γαρ ξιφεεσσι λιποπνοος' αλλα τα μέρος
Φιλτρα και ειν αιδη παιδοκομείν εμαθον.

Anthol. lib. iii.

Suck, little wretch, whilst yet thy mother lives,
Suck the last drop her fainting bosom gives;
She dies, her tenderness out-lasts her breath,
And her fond love is provident in death.

Webb.

The exquisite and pathetic little picture of maternal tenderness exhibited in the motto of this sketch, is a lively proof of that intensity of feeling which binds our race in gentleness together. The same sweet sensations that glow through the closer ties of society, which pant in the bosom of the husband and the

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father, pervade likewise the whole mass of being; and, though weaker in proportion to the distance of propinquity, yet cannot he be called wretched who receives, or communicates the smallest portion of their influence. From the impassioned feelings of the mother, to him who stands joyless on the verge of apathy, the tide of affection flows in a long and devious course. Clear, full, and vehement it descends into the vale of life, where, after a short time, becoming tranquil and serene, it

separates into many branches; and these, again dividing, wander in a thousand streams, dispensing, as they inove along, the sweets of health and happiness. That no felicity exists independent of a susceptibility for these emotions is a certain fact; for to the heart of him who hath been cold to filial or fraternal duty, the soothing charm of friendship and of love will ever be unknown. It is, therefore, evident, that to be happy, man must invariably consult the wellbeing of others; to his fellow-creatures he must attribute the bliss which he enjoys; it is a reward proportional to the exertion of his philanthropy. Abstract the man of virtue and benevolence from society, and you cut off the prime source of his happiness, he has no proper object on which to place his affection or exercise his humanity, the sudden rapture of the grateful heart, the tender tones of friendship, and the melting sweetness of expressive love, no longer thrill upon his ear, or swell his softened soul; all is an aching void, a cheerless, and almost unproductive waste; yet even in this situation, barren as it is, where none are found to pour the balm of pity, or listen to the plaint of sorrow, even here some enjoyment is derived from letting loose our affections upon inanimate nature.

66 Were I in a desert," says Sterne, "I would find something in it to call forth my affections. If I could not do better I would fasten them upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to. I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection. I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest trees throughout the desert. If their leaves withered, I would teach myself to mourn; and when they rejoiced, I would rejoice with them.” Cionc.

That man was formed for society, seems a truth so well established, and the benefits arising from such an union, so apparent, that few would ever suppose it to have been doubted; yet have there been philosophers whom hypothesis, or the love of eccentricity, has led to prefer that period,

When wild in woods, the noble savage ran.

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An election so absurd, merits not a serious refutation; every day's experience must convince the man of observation, that our happiness depends upon the cultivation of our social duties, upon the nurture of humanity and benevolence, that our crimes are nearly in proportion to the rupture of domestic harmony, and that the flagitious deeds which glare upon us with so horrid an aspect, are often the consequences of indirect deviation from the still small voice of duty and of love, He, who has been accustomed to despise the feelings of the son, the husband, and the friend, will not often be found proof against the allurements of inte. rest and of vice. He, who, unless driven by hunger and despair, lifts up his daring arm to arrest the property or the life of his fellow creature, never felt those soft sensations which arise from the consciousness of being beloved, for let no man be called wretched who has this in reserve, let no man be called poor who has a friend to consult.

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