not appear near so ridiculous to us, as we seem to ourselves when deceived by the cunning of others. CURIOSITY. 86. There are two kinds of curiosity: one arises from interest, which makes us desirous to learn what may be useful to us; the other from pride, which makes us desirous to know what others are ignorant of. DEATH. 87. Few people are well acquainted with death. It is generally submitted to through stupidity and custom, not resolution; and most men die merely because they cannot help it. 88. Death and the sun cannot be looked at stea dily. 89. After having spoken of the falsity of seeming virtues, it is proper to say something about the falsity of the contempt of death: I mean that contempt of death which the heathens boasted to derive from their natural strength, unsupported by the hopes of a better life. There is a wide difference between suffering death courageously, and contemning it; the one is common enough; but the other, I believe, never sincere. Every thing nevertheless has been written that can persuade us that death is no evil; and some of the weakest as well as the greatest of men have given numerous celebrated examples in confirmation of this tenet. Yet I doubt whether any person of good sense ever believed it; and the pains we take to persuade ourselves and others of it, plainly evince that it is no easy task. A man may, for many reasons, be disgusted with life; but he can have no reason for contemning death. Even suicides esteem it no slight matter, and are as much startled at it, and decline it as much as other people, when it comes in any other shape than that they have chosen. The remark able inequality in the courage of many valiant men proceeds from death's appearing differently to their imaginations, and seeming more instant at one time than another. By these means it happens, that after having contemned what they did not know, they are at last afraid of what they do know. We must avoid considering death in all its circumstances, if we would not think it the greatest of all ills. The wisest and bravest are those who make the handsomest pretences for not considering it at all; for every one that views it in its proper light will find it sufficiently terrible. The necessity of dying made the whole of philosophic fortitude. The philoso phers thought it best to do that with a good grace which they could not avoid doing; and, being unable to make themselves immortal, they did all they could to immortalize their reputations, and save what they might out of the general wreck. To be able to put a good face on the matter, let us by no means discover even to ourselves all we think about it; let us trust rather to our constitutions, than to those vain reasonings which make us believe we can approach death with indifference. The glory of dying resolutely, the hopes of being regretted, the desire of leaving a fair reputation, the assurance of being delivered from the miseries of life, and freed from the caprice of fortune, are alleviating reflections, not to be rejected: but we must by no means imagine them infallible. They serve indeed to embolden us, just as in war a poor hedge emboldens the soldiers to approach a place from which they are fired on. While at a distance, they believe it may shelter them; but when they come up, they experience it to be but a poor defence. We flatter ourselves too much in fancy, that death, when near, will appear what we judged it to be when distant; and that our opinions, which are weakness itself, will be firm enough not to give way on this severest of all trials. We must be also but ill acquainted with the effects of self-love, to imagine that will permit us to think lightly of an action which must necessarily be its destruction. Reason, too, from whom we expect such mighty assistance, is, on this occasion, not able to make us believe what we wish to find true. On the contrary, it is she who generally betrays us; and instead of inspiring a contempt of death, helps us only to discover its horrors. Indeed all she can do for us is, to advise us to avert our eyes, and fix them on some other object. Cato and Brutus chose noble ones. A footman, some time since, amused himself with dancing upon the scaffold he was going to be broken on. Thus different motives sometimes produce the same effect. And so true it is, that whatever disproportion there may be between the Great and the Vulgar, we often see them meet death with the same coutenance: there is always this difference, however, that the contempt of death shewn by heroes is ow ing to their love of glory, which hides it from their sight; while in common people it proceeds merely from their want of sensibility, which prevents their being aware of the greatness of the evil, and leaves them at liberty to think of something else. DECEIT. 90. We cannot bear to be deceived by our enemies, and betrayed by our friends; yet are we often content to be served so by ourselves. 9r. It is as easy to deceive ourselves without our perceiving it, as it is difficult to deceive others without their perceiving it. 92. A resolution never to deceive, exposes a man to be deceived himself. 93. Dulness is sometimes a sufficient security against the attack of an artful man. 94. He who imagines he can do without the world deceives himself much; but he who fancies the world cannot do without him, is still more mistaken. 95. In love, the deceit almost always outstrips the distrust. 96. We are sometimes less unhappy in being deceived, than in being undeceived by those we love. 97. When our friends have deceived us, we have a right to be indifferent to their professions of friendship; yet we ought always to retain a sensibility for their misfortunes. DECENCY. 98. Decency is the least of all laws, but the most strictly observed. 1 DESIRE. 99. It is much easier to suppress a first desire than to satisfy those that follow it. 100. Before we passionately wish for any thing, we should examine into the happiness of its possesor. 101. We should never passionately desire any thing, if we were perfectly acquainted with the object of our desire. DISGUISE. 102. If we took as much pains to be what we ought as we do to disguise what we are, we might appear like ourselves, without being at the trouble of any disguise at all. 103. We are so used to disguise ourselves to others, that at last we become disguised even to ourselves. 104. Some disguised falsehoods are so like truths, that it would be judging ill not to be deceived by them. (To be continued. ) Epitome of Natural History. No. X. THE RABBIT. HE ears of the rabbit are almost naked. THE The colour of its fur, in a wild state, is brown : its tail black above, and white beneath. In a tame state, it varies to black, pied, and quite white. Of these last, the eyes are of a fine red. It inhabits, in a wild state, the temperate and the warm parts of Europe, and even the hottest parts of Asia and of Africa. It is not originally British, buṭ succeeds here admirably well. It will not live in Sweden, and the northern countries, except it be kept in houses. Strabo tells us, that they were imported into Italy from Spain. They are not natives of the western hemisphere, but have been carried thither, and increase greatly in South America. They are exceedingly prolific: they breed seven times in a year, and produce eight young at a time. If we suppose this to happen regularly, one pair may produce in four years the amazing number of 1,274,840. They are still more prolific than the common hare. These two species, though similar, never intermix. Rabbits pair, and are said to be faithful to their mates. They live to the age of eight or nine years. A French gentleman, who amused himself long with rearing rabbits, and observing their manners, remarked, that the offspring paid great deference to their first father. Upon a call, which they were accustomed to obey, he always put himself at their head, and arrived first. He then stood at the mouth of their hole till they had all gone in. In warrens, they keep in their holes during the middle of the day, and come out |