say that his work is neglected, his habits declining, and his company detestable. In these and similar observations, I purposely avoid all mention of Temperance societies and their pledges, not because I am indifferent to the success of their endeavours, but because I wish to reach even those who do not admit the principle of these associations in its full extent. The sentiments which are here expressed, have been entertained by thoughtful men for scores of years; nor do I see how they can be rejected by any one who loves his country. Some of the happiest changes I have ever known have been wrought in men who have escaped the snare of strong drink. Such a one is PHELPS the coach-painter. Time was when he thought his paint would kill him outright, but for his brandy; and he could not conceive how he could be merry with a couple of friends, except over a bottle. He sang a good song, and, being a musician, used to be the life of the tavern suppers. Some of his bacchanal staves may still be heard at midnight by those who pass by the Bull's Head. Phelps had been well schooled, and sometimes wrote verses. But his eyes became weak, and his nose red, and the palette began to shake on his thumb. This did not arouse him, until his only son Ned was brought home drunk. He had fondly imagined that the boy had never seen him drink: it is the folly of many a parent, who rears a household of drunkards. That night Phelps broke every bottle in his cellar. Last week I dined with him, and he sang me the following verses of his own making, over a goblet of excellent lemonade. When the glass sparkles, and the group Though friends invite, though spirits droop, Be it the juice of tortured grain Or should ripe clusters pour a flood "Tis wine that mocks-BEWARE! But doubly fly that fiery stream, Through tortuous pipe, in pungent steam; Those drops are death-BEWARE! Howe'er the Tempter drug his bowl, Why shouldst thou jeopard thus thy soul? XXX. MONEY. "Yet to be just to these poor men of pelf, POPE. THE good and the evil of money are the subject of our daily conversation, and neither can well be represented as greater than it is. The same book of wisdom which declares to us that " money answereth all things," warns us that the love of it is a "root of all evil." We love what costs us pains; our own work, or the fruit of it; our own little garden rather than our neighbour's hot-house. It is, therefore, constantly observed that it is hard to wring money out of the hands of one who has earned it by little and little. Look at the farmer; even if he owns thousands of acres, he is sometimes startled at a call for the disbursement of twenty dollars: while the merchant, who gains and loses by fifties and hundreds, will transfer ten thousand dollars' worth of stock in five minutes. Women, who seldom-dear creatures-have the handling of large sums, are more frugal in the disposition of their means, than their more hard How hearted husbands. Hence the great moralist avers that mendicants seldom beg of women. ever this may be, it is undeniable that where money is hardly got, it is sure to be prized sufficiently. Let a man work hard for his dollar and he will be in danger of setting too high a value upon it; and thus, by imperceptible degrees, frugality grows into avarice and thrift into meanness. It is not the mere coin, the material gold, silver, copper, and alloy that we love; at least in the outset. The miser, who is a possessed man, may transfer his regards to the sign from the thing signified, and gloat over dollars and doubloons; but what the most love is what the money will bring. To use a large word, it is the potentiality of happiness. We turn every thing into money. We measure every thing by money. It is money which marks the injury done by a slander or a blow. As we measure the force of an engine by horse-power, so we measure an honourable office by dollars. Men value their lives at certain sums, and persons could be found who would be bribed to run the risk of being bit by a mad dog. In consequence of this universal applicability of money as the measure of value, it comes to stand for the things which it measures. We look with complacency on the key which unlocks our treasures; and gaze on a dirty bank-note, which is only a rag. In Pitcairn's island, at the latest accounts, there was no money, nor any need of it. But does it follow that there can be no avarice there? I think not. The passion may look beyond the medium to the end in view, but it is still the same. The dislike to part with our cash, when reduced to its principles, is a mode of selfishness. It is only one aspect of our love of the things which money will buy. If any man would guaranty to us all these things for life, we would freely give him the money. Hence the moral evils of avarice. But for this the love of gold would be as innocent as the love of roses and lilies. But even on the selfish principle, I have some. times thought that a more refined and profound view of the matter would loosen our hold on the purse. By pinching hard we hurt nobody but ourselves. Every one sees that if a man spends none of his money, he is wretched; hence the name miser, which is only the Latin for a wretch. But many make it the business of their lives to come as near this as they can. They sail as near the wind as is possible. Sound economy will teach a man that a liberal outlay of money is in some cases no more a loss, than a liberal sowing of wheat. STOLIDO has adopted the saving maxim never to cut the packthread of a parcel, but always to untie it: he therefore fumbles at a hard knot for ten minutes, in which he could have earned the worth of ten such pack threads. BASSO grudges sixpence for a dose of physic, and in the end loses six weeks. We all agree that time is Because time will procure money. Why so? |