whose utmost gifts are poor compared to those he daily receives at the hands of his never-failing Almighty Friend. "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth," is big with the deepest wisdom: The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; and, an upright heart, that is understanding. This is eternally true, whether the wits and rakes of Cambridge allow it or not: nay, I must add of this religious wisdom, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace," whatever your young gentlemen of pleasure think of a tainted health and battered constitution. Hold fast therefore by this sheet-anchor of happiness, Religion; you will often want it in the times of most danger— the storms and tempests of life. Cherish true religion. Remember the essence of religion is, a heart void of offence towards God and man; not subtle speculative opinions, but an active vital principle of faith. Go on, my dear child, in the admirable dispositions you have. towards all that is right and good, and make yourself the love and admiration of the world! I have neither paper nor words to tell you how tenderly I am yours. OUR OWN REASON AND OTHERS' EXPERIENCE, TO BE USED. BATH, February 3, 1754. Nothing can, or ought to give me a higher satisfaction, than the obliging manner in which my dear nephew receives my most sincere and affectionate endeavors to be of use to him. You much overrate the obligation, whatever it be, which youth has to those who have trod the paths of the world before them, for their friendly advice how to avoid the inconveniences, dangers, and evils, which they themselves may have run upon, for want of such timely warnings, and to seize, cultivate, and carry forward towards perfection, those advantages, graces, virtues, and felicities, which they may have totally missed, or stopped short in the generous pursuit. To lend this helping hand to those who are beginning to tread the slippery way, seems, at best, but an office of common humanity to all; but to withhold it from one we truly love, and whose heart and mind bear every genuine mark of the very soil proper for all the amiable, manly, and generous virtues to take root, and bear their heavenly fruit; inward, conscious peace, fame among men, public love, temporal, and eternal happiness; to withhold it, I say, in such an instance, would deserve the worst of names. I am greatly pleased, my dear young friend, that you do me the justice to believe I do not mean to impose any yoke of authority upon your understanding and conviction. : wish to warn, admonish, instruct, enlighten, and convince your reason; and so determine your judgment to right things, when you shall be made to see that they are right; not to overbear, and impel you to adopt any thing before you perceive it to be right or wrong, by the force of authority. I hear with great pleasure, that Locke lay before you, when you writ last to me; and I like the observation that you make from him, that we must use our own reason, not that of another, if we would deal fairly by ourselves, and hope to enjoy a peaceful and contented conscience. This precept is truly worthy of the dignity of rational natures. But here, my dear child, let me offer one distinction to you, and it is of much moment; it is this: Mr. Locke's precept is applicable only to such opinions as regard moral or religious obligations, and which, as such, our own consciences alone can judge and determine for ourselves. Matters of mere expediency, that affect neither honor, morality, or religion, were not in that great and wise man's view such are the usages, forms, manners, modes, proprieties, decorums, and all those numberless ornamental little acquirements, and genteel well-bred attentions, which constitute a proper, graceful, amiable, and noble behavior. In matters of this kind, I am sure, your own reason, to which I shall always refer you, will at once tell you, that you must, at first, make use of the experience of others: in effect, see with their eyes, or not be able to see at all; for the ways of the world, as to its usages and exterior manners, as well as to all things of expediency and prudential considerations, a moment's reflection will convince a mind as right as yours, must necessarily be to inexperienced youth, with ever so fine natural parts, a terra incognita.1 As you would not therefore attempt to form notions of China or Persia but from those who have travelled those countries, and the fidelity and sagacity of whose relations you can trust; so will you, as little, I trust, prematurely form notions of your own, concerning that usage of the world (as it is called) into which you have not yet travelled, and which must be long studied and practised, before it can be tolerably well known. I can repeat nothing to you of so infinite consequence to your future welfare, as to conjure you not to be hasty in taking up notions and opinions: guard your honest and ingenuous mind against this main danger of youth. With regard to all things that appear not to your reason, after due examination, evident duties of honor, morality, or religion, (and in all such as do, let your conscience and reason determine your notions and conduct,) in all other matters, I say, be slow to form opinions, keep your mind in a candid state of suspense, and open to full conviclion when you shall procure it, using in the mean time the expe 1 An unknown land. rience of a friend you can trust, the sincerity of whose advice you will try and prove by your own experience hereafter, when more years shall have given it to you. I have been longer upon this head, than I hope there was any occasion for: but the great importance of the matter, and my warm wishes for your welfare, figure, and happiness, have drawn it from me. My dear Nephew, Ever affectionately. Yours. SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. 1723–1780. THIS eminent civilian was born in London, in July, 1723. His ather was a silk-mercer, and the fortune he had acquired in the honorable Į ursuits of 1 trade, was sufficient to enable him to afford his son every advantage of education and scholarship. On leaving the University of Oxford, having selected the law as his profession, he entered the Middle Temple, on which occasion he wrote the sprightly and beautiful lines entitled "The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse." In due time he was called to the bar, but after seven years of patient and vain expectance, meeting with but little success, he returned to Oxford, with the intention of living on his fellowship. Having, however, obtained an appointment to the law professorship in the university, he so distinguished himself by the lectures he delivered, that he resumed the practice of his profession with a success proportioned to his great abilities and learning. In 1765 he published his celebrated "Commentaries on the I aws of England," than which few books have exerted a wider influence, it being one of the first works read by every student of the law, and the one to which, perhaps, he makes the most frequent reference through the whole course of his professional life. In 1770, Blackstone was made one of the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, which situation he held till his death, in 1786 THE LAWYER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MUSE. As by some tyrant's stern command, A wretch forsakes his native land, Companion of my tender age, How blithesome were we wont to rove Where fervent bees, with humming voice, In long cathedral walks extend! How bless'd my days, my thoughts how free Then all was joyous, all was young, Those scenes must charm me now no more Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, And midnight conflagrations glare; In frighted streets their orgies hold; Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son, Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, Nor Milton's mighty self, must please: Instead of thee, a formal band In furs and coifs around me stand; With sounds uncouth and accents dry, That grate the soul of harmony: And points with tottering hand the ways There, in a winding close retreat, And other doctrines thence imbibe Then welcome business, welcome strife SAMUEL JOHNSON, the Corypheus of English Literature of the eighteenth century, was born at Litchfield,' in Staffordshire, September 7, 1709, and was educated at Pembroke College, Oxford. He gave early proof of a vigorous understanding and of a great fondness for knowledge; but poverty compelled him to leave the university, after being there three years, without taking a degree, and he returned to Litchfield in the autumn of 1731, destitute, and wholly undetermined what plan of life to pursue. His father, who had been a bookseller, and who had become insolvent, died in December, and in the July following, Johnson accepted the situation of usher of the grammar-school at Market-Bosworth, in Leicestershire. For this situation, however, he soon felt himself utterly unqualified by means of his natural disposition. Though his scholarship was ample, he wanted that patience to bear with dulness and waywardness, those kind and urbane manners to win love and respect, that tact in controlling and governing youth, and that happy manner of illustrating difficulties and imparting knowledge, which are as essential as high literary attainments to form the perfect schoolmaster. No wonder, therefore, that he quitted the high vocation in disgust. His scholars, doubtless, were quite as glad to get rid of him as he was of them. Non omnes omnibus. 1 Hence he has been frequently termed "The Sage o" Litchfield." |