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he then looked round about him for fome more commodious path. He faw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its fhades as a fign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irrefiftably pleasant. He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which appeared to have the fame direction with the main road, and was pleafed that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with bufinefs, and to gain the rewards of diligence, without fuffering its fatigues. He, therefore, ftill continued to walk for a time, without the least remiffion of his ardour, except that he was fometimes tempted to ftop by the mufic of the birds, whom the heat had affembled in the fhade, and fometimes amufed himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either fide, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At laft the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with water-falls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to confider whether it were longer fafe to forfake the known and common track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he refolved to pursue the new path, which he fuppofed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to end at laft in the common road.

Having thus calmed his folicitude, he renewed his pace, though he fufpected that he was not gaining ground. This unieafinefs of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every fenfation that might foothe or divert him. He liftened to every echo, he mounted every hill for a fresh profpect, he turned afide to every cafcade, and pleafed himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions. In thefe amufements the hours paffed away unaccounted; his devia

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tions had perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He ftood penfive and. confused, afraid to go forward left he fhould go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the fky was overspread with clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempeft gathered round his head. He was now roufed by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly; he now faw how happinefs is loft when eafe is confulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to feek shelter in the grove, and defpifed the petty curiofity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.

He now refolved to do what remained yet in his power; to tread back the ground which he had paffed, and try to find some iffue where the wood might open into the plain. He proftrated himself on the ground, and commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rofe with confidence and tranquillity, and preffed on 'with his fabre in his hand, for the beafts of the defert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration; all the horrors of darkness and folitude furrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled from the hills.

Work'd into sudden rage by wint'ry showers,

Down the steep hill the roaring torrent pours;
The mountain shepherd hears the distant noise.

Thus forlorn and diftreffed, he wandered through the wild without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to fafety or to destruction. At length, not fear, but labour began to overcome him; his breath grew fhort, his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down in refignation to his fate, when he beheld through the brambles the glimmer of a taper. He advanced to

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wards the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admiffion. The old man fet before him fuch provifions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.

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When the repaft was over, Tell me,' faid the hermit, by what chance thou haft been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of this wilderness, in which I never saw a man before.' Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation.

Son,' faid the hermit, let the errors and follies, the dangers and efcape of this day, fink deep into thy heart. Remember, my fon, that human life is the journey of a day. We rife in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation; we fet forward with fpirit and hope, with gaiety and diligence, and travel on a while in the ftraight road of piety towards the manfions of reft. In a fhort time we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find fome mitigation of our duty, and some more eafy means of obtaining the fame end. We then relax our vigour, and refolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a diftance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we refolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of eafe, and repofe in the fhades of fecurity. Here the heart foftens, and vigilance fubfides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with fcruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without lofing the road of virtue, which we, for a while, keep in our fight, and to which we propose to return. But temptation fucceeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lofe the happinefs of innocence, and folace our difquiet with fenfual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and

quit the only adequate object of rational defire. We entangle ourselves in bufinefs, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconftancy, till the darknefs of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obftruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with forrow, with repentance; and wifh, but too often vainly with, that we had not forfaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my fon, who fhall learn from thy example not to defpair, but fhall remember, that though the day is past, and their strength is wafted, there yet remains one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor fincere endeavours ever unaffifted; that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who implores ftrength and courage from above, fhall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my fon, to thy repofe; commit thyfelf to the care of Omnipotence, and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life."

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On Virtue.

Do not remember to have read any discourse written exprefsly upon the beauty and loveliness of virtue, without confidering it as a duty, and as the means of making us happy both now and hereafter. I defign therefore this fpeculation as an effay upon that fubject; in which I will confider virtue no farther than as it is in itself of an amiable nature, after having premised, that I understand by the word virtue fuch a general notion as is affixed to it by the writers of morality, and which by devout men generally goes under the name of religion, and by men of the world under the name of benour.

Hypocrify itself does great honour, or rather justice, to religion, and tacitly acknowledges it to be an ornament to human nature. The hypocrite would not be at fo much pains to put on the appearance of virtue, if he did not know it was the most proper and effectual means to gain the love and esteem of mankind.

We learn from Hierocles, it was a common saying among the heathens, that the wife man hates nobody, but loves only the virtuous.

Tully has a very beautiful gradation of thoughts to fhew how amiable virtue is. We love a virtuous man, fays he, who lives in the remoteft parts of the earth, though we are altogether out of the reach of his virtue, and can receive from it no manner of benefit; nay, one who died several years ago, raises a fecret fondness and benevolence for him in our minds, when we read his story: Nay, what is still more, one who has been the enemy of our country, provided his wars were regulated by juftice and humanity, as in the instance of Pyrrhus, whom Tully mentions on this occafion in oppofition to Hannibal. Such is the natural beauty and loveliness of virtue!

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