too thoughtless to attend to any difficulties, are continually weaving one web after another out of their idle imaginations, forgetful of all that have been brushed away, and thinking themselves well rewarded if they can catch a few worthless flies, the vanities and amusements of life.

There is something quite grievous in this to a mind full of spirit and activity, that thinks it glorious, at least, to struggle in the cause of virtue, though ever so sure to be overpowered. But this is by no means the case: every effort does something; whether enough to be perceived at the moment, or not, is very little material; since in time it will certainly have its due effect; and whether that be soon enough for our pride to be flattered by it, or not, is a consideration which truly generous minds should overlook. They will, indeed, go on with less alacrity and satisfaction; but ease and pleasure are, at best, but the secondary ends of our being in such a state of trial as this life. If, therefore, we do but our duty here, we may trust our reward to futurity; and we should never urge the difficulties we meet with as any objection to the main business of our life, which would by no means be free from uneasiness, even should we neglect our duty.

But, after all, what are these so terrible difficulties of which people so heavily complain? Ours is not, with all its faults, an age or country

of persecution or tyranny; people's lives and fortunes are secure; their virtues involve them in no danger; and though, very possibly, they may hinder them from rising in the world, yet, though ever so openly and strenuously persisted in, they can do them no great damage: the utmost they can suffer is a little contradiction, a little chagrin, the vexation of seeing many good endeavours turn out to but little good purpose, the uneasiness of living amongst a mixture of people little suited to their better turn of mind, and to whom they cannot do so much good as they would. But is this a reason why they should choose to do none at all? Will the world be the better for all the good people that are in it running to hide themselves in deserts and solitudes? If it is not, what then is the sudden retirement but an idle and selfish pursuit of their own indolent inclinations? Does the industrious planter forbear his toil because he expects not to enjoy the shade of those flourishing oaks that will spring from his acorns? Is he discouraged by the fear or frequency of blights? Does he at once declare that all the young trees are degenerate, and no good to be hoped from them? The worse the world is, the more need it has of good people's trying to mend it; and should they be ever so unsuccessful, in regard to themselves, at least, they have not lost their pains. Meanly, indeed, do they betray the cause of virtue, if they, its only friends, suffer themselves to be overcome by so weak enemies as spleen and indolence. Of all

people, they have the least cause to despond; they, who pursue the noblest end by the fairest means; they who are sure of being in the right; they who are sure to have the best applause for it; they who can doubt of nothing but that their present fancy may not be gratified in seeing an immediate success of their endeavours'; and this they need not doubt about neither, since they ought not to think of it at all.

If sometimes such a glorious instance of success appears, this ought no more to mislead their hopes, than the notion of a magical wand, that raises palaces and gardens in an instant, should make people disdain to cultivate their country by the slow and vulgar methods of planting and building. Inconveniences that cannot be removed may be palliated at least. The first who formed habitations to defend them from the cold, were certainly much wiser than if they had sat down, and piteously lamented those inclemencies of the weather, which none of their complaints could alter, but against which their industry could easily secure them.

From this restless activity in the mind of man, this busy hope for ever springing up in his heart, this notion of bettering every situa tion, and never resting contented while he can aspire to any thing farther, all those improvements, which form half the enjoyment of civil life, have arisen. But with them many errors

have shot forward too; and if the more delicate flowers of virtue should be left to sicken and decay in their offensive shade, the world will soon be over-run with the most noxious weeds.