writes to another, Your humble servant, or Your most obedient, he intends not to bind himself to clean the boots of the one he thus addresses, or to do him any sort of menial service; and much less does he mean that he is ready and willing to yield him obedience in all cases whatsoever. It is hardly worth while, however, to enlarge upon this topic, as the aforesaid forms of speech have almost become obsolete, at least in these United States. Pledges of humble service and passive obedience, mutually given in the interchange of civilities, are now as rare in this country as they once were common. This is no matter of regret; for it is not a flower that has been plucked up, but a weed.

But there is one other form of words, which seems to have come into general abuse over this whole country; and it is the more to be lamented, as these last are words of grave import, as well as of obvious sense: I mean the phrase, so abundantly used—I promise to pay. In other times these words were passed with timid caution, and when passed, they were held sacred; but they are now words of mere form, meaning nothing; very like the old complimentary phrases-Your humble servantYour most obedient. Not but that the promisee always interprets the text, as of old, according to its literal or expressed meaning. But the promiser perverts the text, that he may accommodate it to his own heterodox notions; or, rather, after the Romish doctrine of mental reservation, he, mentally, interpolates the word Nevermaking it run thus, I promise (never) to pay.

It would be endless to recount all the mischiefs that are flowing in upon society from this prevailing heresy; nor is it needful, since the most of them are too obvious to escape notice. Wherefore, not to mention the vexatious disappointments, the in lignant feelings, daily arising, in ten thousand instances, from this single source; nor yet to mention its destructive influence upon all confidence between man and man :-passing over these topics and others a kin to them, I shall consider the matter merely as it affects the interests of the delinquent party.

Be it supposed that he is a man possessed of several estimable qualities; that he has a large stock of what

is called good nature; that he is obliging and compas sionate; that, in the main, he is a moral man; and, finally, that there is no apparent blemish in his charac ter, save this alone.-Give the delinquent all these good qualities, and yet "the dead fly in the precious ointment," spoils the whole compound.

There is a grain of immorality in every instance of voluntary word-breaking; and in this, as in every other vire, one step naturally leads to another. The good natured man, who has neglected to fulfil his promise, is fain to cast about him for an excuse, and if he cannot find one, he makes it. This can hardly be done, for the first or second time, without a considerable struggle with moral principle. But it soon becomes feasible, and as natural almost as to breathe. In the process of this ill habit, he quite loses his moral feelings, as respects strict veracity; and almost every day he lives, he deals in fiction without any sort of compunction.

Nor is this all; he is the occasion of falsehood in others. He steps over to one of his neighbors to borrow. His neighbor respects him for his sundry good qualities, but knows well the particular infirmity of his character. He is loth to lose his friend, and quite as loth to hazard his money. What does he do? He, also, proceeds to frame fictitious excuses: "I am very sorry, Sir, that it is not in my power to oblige you. There is no man living that I should be more ready to serve; but-but-" and then out comes the excuse, lie and all.

The man that makes it his general practice to shuffle off, as much as possible, the payment of his honest debts, not only forfeits all claims upon the confidence of society, but loses an essential part of self-respect. He often meets with fellow beings, with whom he cannot so much as interchange the customary salutation, without enduring the feelings of self-abasement, and in conversing with whom, he is compelled as it were to have recourse to prevarication and quibble.

And what does he gain by it in his secular affairs? Nothing at all. He is a loser even there. If he frequently suffers the compulsory process of law, he is a ruined man. Or if he procrastinates till he has quite

exhausted the patience of his creditors, and then pays, seemingly rather to avoid the expense of law, than from an honest principle, still he loses that credit which, to his secular affairs, might be au incalculable benefit; and, in seasons of pressing emergency, if he have not sufficient resources in himself, he can find them no where.

A strict regard to one's word or promise, is one of the first of social virtues. Wherefore young men, who are entering, or have just entered, the threshold of business, would do well to keep in memory the following maxims: Be as careful of taking, as of giving credit. Never run

in debt beyond what you have a moral certainty, or at least a reasonable prospect, of being able to pay in season. Never defer payment when it is needed, if you have the power to make it.

A word to those who prefer the honor of giving, to the duty of paying.-The claims of justice are paramount to the calls of generosity and even to the ordinary claims of charity; so that to give to some what is due to others, is not charity, but unrighteousness. Even the Corban, or the thing dedicated to a sacred use, was denounced by our Saviour, in instances wherein the dedication of the thing defrauded any of their just dues.

CHAP. XIV.

Of the heavy tax laid upon all worldly eminence.

THE following advisory monition of an inspired prophet, to his dear and familiar friend, contains a volume of instruction:-And seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not. Nothing is more certain than the vanity of human greatness, not only by reason of its being transitory and perishable, but, also, because it is often accompanied with much more than an ordinary share of trouble and vexation.

If we consider the first and greatest of all worldly distinctions, I mean extraordinary gifts of nature,—even these, for the most part, are heavily taxed by the impar

tial hand of the giver. The few geniuses, (few indeed in comparison to the number of those who lay claim to that high distinction,) so far from being the happiest, are often the most wretched of mortals. The irritableness and spleen of distinguished authors, and especially of poets, are proverbial. The same texture and tone of the system which qualify them for soaring into the regions of fancy, and painting nature in all her hues, do utterly disqualify them, at least in many instances, for enjoying, in an equal measure with the rest of mankind, the common comforts and blessings of life. Not to mention the bitterness of rivalry and the torments of jealousy, which they are fated to feel and endure. So that, as regards ease and comfort, plain common sense with controlled passions, is far better than genius, when taxed, as it so often is, with morbid sensibility, and with passions violent and ungovernable.

The greatest Beauties, are seldom the most amiable, the most discreet and respectable, or the most happy, of women; while, not rarely, their very beauty has been their ruin.

And, indeed, if we were to make a general survey of the extraordinary gifts of nature, and should weigh together, in an even balance, their advantages and disadvantages, as respects the comfort of the possessors, we should find, that in many instances, if not in most, the latter are fully equal to the former.

Neither are the gifts of Fortune exempt from heavy and grievous taxation. Vast wealth brings upon its possessor a load of incessant care, generates dispositions and feelings incompatible with quiet enjoyment, and often makes profligates of her children. Nay, even Power, that idol of human ambition-even Power, for which riches themselves are chiefly coveted, is often accompanied with more of vexation than of substantial enjoyment. Royalty itself has its disquietudes and direful vexations; often the crown that is platted for it, is 66 a crown of thorns." Mary, Queen of England, and joint partner in the throne, in a letter to her husband, William the Third, then in Ireland, thus pathetically describes the troubles of her exalted station :-"I must see company on set days. I must laugh and talk, though

never so much against my will. I must grin when my heart is ready to break, and talk when my heart is so oppressed that I can scarce breathe. All my motions are watched, and all I do so observed, that if I eat less or speak less, or look more grave, all is lost in the opinion of the world."-How unenviable is such a lot as this, and yet how envied !

While reading, in General Lee's Memoirs, that Washington, when speaking on the subject of death, used often to declare that he would not repass his life even were it in his option, I was touched with a momentary surprise. What! methought, can it be so? The man whose life was covered with glory beyond that of almost any other mortal-could he be unwilling to travel over again the same brilliant path, and to enjoy anew the same high honors !-Could he find such a life tedious and irksome !-A few moment's reflection was sufficient, however, to convince me that the thing was neither incredible nor wonderful. In the seven years' war and the eight years of his administration, his solicitude and anxiety, lest haply, by some improper step he should commit the interests of his country, far outweighed, in all probability, every thing of real enjoyment that mere human power and greatness can bestow. Nor is it unreasonable to think, that during those fifteen anxious years, many a day laborer, nay, many a menial servant, enjoyed a greater portion of unalloyed worldly comfort, than did the illustrious man whom the world held in such admiration.

The object of the foregoing train of reflections is not to decry Genius, or Beauty, or Riches, or Power; but rather to evince, that man or woman, in moderate circumstances, and ungifted with any uncommon endowments, may be quite as happy without these splendid distinctions, as those are who possess them. For the enjoyment of every essential comfort that this world can afford, there is need only of health and competence, together with a contented mind, a pure conscience and a thankful heart.

Between the periods of birth and burial, how short the space! How very soon will come the time, when, with all the vast generation now treading this stage of mor tality, no distinctions but of the moral kind will remain!