every offence he receives, glows with a spirit of revenge, which nothing can extinguish, but the ruin of the offender? You must certainly have remarked, that all men are inclined to forgive those who are willing to forgive others; but that a malicious and inexorable person, when known to be fuch, is despised and detefted even by his nearest relations. How, then, can you expect that he, who is all goodness and benevolence, and can difcern the fecret motions and inclinations of every heart, fhould look with any degree of complacency upon the wretch, in whofe breaft he discovers nothing but schemes of mifchief and revenge! On the contrary, he has declared his abhorrence of fuch a character in the strongest terms; and exprefly affured us, that, unless we forgive our brethren, neither will he forgive us.

A. Very true, faid Autophilos; but, though it is my duty to forgive injuries, I am not obbliged to forget them.

P. If you mean, replied Philanthropos, that you have a right to be upon your guard against a person whom you know to be mischievous, I must so far agree with you; but he who is naturally mischievous, will fhew himself to be fo towards other people, as well as to you: fo

that, in this case, you can never be under the neceffity of grounding your opinion of the man, upon the injuries which he has done to G 3

you

you in particular.

Whenever, therefore, I hear a perfon talk of forgiving injuries, but not forgetting them, I cannot help concluding, that he has an eye not so much upon the character of the offender, as upon the affront he has received from him; and that he only means, that he will harbour a fecret ill will towards him, which, however, for the fake of his reputation, he will never fuffer to discover itself in any open act of malevolence,

A. You would perfuade me, perhaps, that, instead of noticing the injuries I receive, I fhould return good for evil, and be a friend to him who is an enemy to me! But, at this rate, what else fhould I do but tempt every one to do me all the mischief in their power?

P. No, my Autophilos, replied the father, I would be far from perfuading you to do an injury to yourself. But if, without this, you can, upon very many occafions, (as indeed you certainly may) do an act of friendship to him, who has done every thing in his power to hurt and injure you, what fhould prevent it? Will the wife and the good, whofe praise alone is to be coveted,will these, think you, despise and condemn such behaviour as mean and pufillanimous? On the contrary, they will applaud and admire you for the goodnefs of your heart. And as to the offender himself, what is more likely than that even he,

being

being at last melted to repentance by your difinterested and unwearied generofity, may begin to love and almost adore the man whom he before hated; and, from being your bitterest enemy, become your fureft and moft affectionate friend! whereas, from a mutual return of injuries, nothing can be expected but such increasing malice and animofity, as has frequently terminated in the deftruction of both parties! But should you be disappointed both of the approbation of your friends, and the expected reconciliation of your enemies, you will ftill have the exquifite pleafure of reflecting, that you are daily approaching to a nearer resemblance of that Best of Beings, who caufeth his fun to fhine, and his rain to def cend, both upon the juft and the unjust, and whofe goodness and benevolence is as free and unlimited as his power!

CHAP. VI.

OF MEEKNESS AND PATIENCE.

A Man of a hafty temper is very justly com

pared, by Solomon, to a city without walls; for both the one and the other, being totally unprovided for defence, lie at the mercy of every contemptible invader. His peace is liable to be difturbed every moment, by the moft trifling accidents; and his own reputation, and the happiness of himself and family, are continually expofed to the attacks of artifice and villainy. In fhort, he is avoided even by his friends, as a perfon to whom they cannot give their company, without expofing their quiet, and perhaps their fafety, to perpetual interruptions.

That vehemence of temper, which is impatient of contradiction, and apt to catch fire at every trifling affront, and very often, at the moft harmless and inoffenfive jest, arises from fuch an extravagant degree of pride, and felfflattery, as makes a man imagine that every perfon in his company is obliged to think and fay as he does. The first step, therefore, towards acquiring a mastery over our paffions,

and

and particularly that of anger, is to cultivate an humble sense of our own frailties and imperfections, and a fincere and hearty benevolence towards every person we converse with. It will, likewise, be proper to keep a watchful guard upon our temper, and avoid fuch company and occafions as feldom fail to provoke and irritate us: but if, after all our care, we should find our refentments beginning to rife, and ready to burst into a flame, we must endeavour to fmother them, by instantly directing our attention to fome other object.

EXAMPLES of MEEKNESS and PATIENCE.

(1.) One of the most distinguishing qualities of the great Socrates was a fettled tranquility of mind, which no accident, no lofs, no injury, no provocation could ever interrupt. Some, indeed, have reported that he was naturally warm and choleric, and that the moderation to which he afterwards attained, was the pure effect of his conftant reflections and endeavours to correct and fabdue his temper. But this is fo far from diminishing, that, on the contrary, it greatly adds to his merit. He defired his friends to give him notice whenever he began to grow warm, and that they would faithfully employ the fame freedom with him, which he alwaystook with them. On the firft fignal, which, indeed, was the best time for refiftance, he eiG 5

ther