keep most of it to ourselves: but there still remains enough to take off all the grace of what we do, or submit to, thus unwillingly, and the principle of folly, that makes us feel so strong a dislike, is the same in both only this poor creature deserved pity, while in us, it is a matter of choice.

On Delicacy of Feeling.

THERE is no one disposition of the human heart that affords such exquisite pleasure, or pain, as that which we call delicacy. It is the polish of the mind, soiled by the least breath, and affected by the slightest touch. A delicate turn of thought is, in some cases, extremely agreeable; is the sign of a valuable mind, (for base metals are not capable of receiving any great degree of polish) but will not go half so well, through the world, as that which is more plain, and rough.

Yet, as there is something in this disposition peculiarly elegant and amiable, people are apt to encourage themselves in it, till from a grace, it becomes a weakness, and diffuses unhappiness to all around them, who must weigh with the exactest care all their words and actions: and it is extremely possible, that all their care may not be enough to prevent giving some grievous offence, which they never meant, and which will express itself in perpetual smartnesses, or an eternal flow of

tears, according as the constitution of the delicate person inclines to anger, or to melancholy. In the latter case it is more unhappy than in the former: for hasty anger is easily past off; but no body of good nature can bear to see a person affected, in the most painful manner, by things so trifling, as they may be guilty of, every moment, without knowing any thing of the matter.

This consideration should make us extremely careful in our behaviour, to those, amongst whom we live. Perhaps some little heedlessness of ours, may seem a most cruel slight to one, we never intend to grieve, and oppress a worthy mind with the most melancholy dejection. A careless word, spoken quite at random, or merely by role, may give a delicate heart the most anxious distress: and those of us, who have the most prudence and good nature, say and do an hundred things, in our way of talking, about characters we know little of, or behaving towards those, to whom we little attend, that have much more grievous consequences, than we are aware of.

But then, on the other hand, we should, in ourselves, most strictly guard against all excess of this delicacy; and though we cannot help feeling things, in the quickest manner,

for the moment, we should arm our reason against our feeling, and not permit imagination to indulge it, and nurse it up into a misery for misery if indulged, it will certainly occasion: since an excess of delicacy is the source of constant dissatisfaction, through too eager a pursuit of something every way higher than is to be had.

The person of delicate judgment sees every thing, as it were, with a microscopic eye: so that what would be a pleasing object, to a common spectator, is, to him, unsupportably coarse and disagreeable. The person of lively and delicate imagination disdains the common routine of comfort and satisfaction; and seeks for happiness in an airy sphere not formed to give it: or pursues misery, through a wild and endless maze, which at every turning grows more inextricable. By this refined delicacy of sentiment, to put ourselves on so different a footing, from the rest of the world, that it is scarce possible, we should ever understand one another, is only vain vexation.

In friendships especially, this excess of delicacy is often of fatal ill consequence. From hence spring suspicions and jealousies; from hence arise doubts and disquiets that know no end, unless it be, that they often quite

weary out the patience of the persons, whom they are thus perpetually teazing for their affection. I have known instances of this kind, that are sufficient warnings against it.

As for the affairs of common life, they can scarcely go on where every little nicety is to be turned into a matter of importance. I knew a family, good, agreeable, sensible, and fond of each other, to the highest degree: but where each was so delicate, and so tender of the delicacy of the rest, that they could never talk to one another, of any serious business, but were forced to transact it all, by means of a third person, a man of plain sense, and a common friend to all.

Poor Lucius! How much constraint and real uneasiness does he suffer from the delicacy that proceeds from having a genius infinitely superior to most he meets with. By having a mind above the low enjoyments of this state of being, he is deprived of many hours of most innocent cheerfulness, which other people are happy in. He has an understanding, so fitted for the deepest researches, and the sublimest speculations, that the common affairs and engagements of life seem vastly beneath him. He has a delicacy, in his turn of mind, that is shocked every day, by the less