a cluster of islands in the Pacific ocean, so named by Captain Cook in the year 1773, on account of the friendship which appeared to subsist among the inhabitants, and from their courteous behaviour to strangers. Abel Jansen Tasman, an eminent Dutch navigator, first touched here in 1643, and gave names to the principal islands. Captain Cook laboriously explored the whole cluster, which he found to consist of more than 60. The three islands which Tasman saw he named New Amsterdam, Rotterdam, and Middleburgh. The first is the largest, and extends about 21 miles from east to west, and about 13 from north to south. These islands are inhabited by a race of Indians, who cultivate the earth with great industry. The island of Amsterdam is intersected by a straight and pleasant road with fruit trees on each side, which provide shade from the scorching heat of the sun. The chief islands are Annamooka, Tongataboo (the residence of the sovereign and the chiefs), Lefooga, and Eoa. Lefooga is about seven miles long, and in some places not above two or three broad. It is in many respects superior to Annamooka. The plantations are both more numerous and more extensive; and enclosed by fences which, running parallel to each other, form fine spacious public roads, which would appear beautiful in countries where rural conveniences have been carried to the highest perfection. They are, in general, highly cultivated, and well stocked with the several roots and fruits which these islands produce; and Captain Cook endeavoured to add to their number, by planting Indian corn, and the seeds of melons, pumpkins, and the like. Eoa, when viewed from the ship at anchor, formed one of the most beautiful prospects in nature, and very different from the others of the Friendly Isles; which being low, and perfectly level, exhibit nothing to the eye but the trees which cover them: whereas here, the land rising gently to a considerable height, presents us with an extensive prospect, where groves of trees are only interspersed at irregular distances, in beautiful disorder, and all the rest is covered with grass, except near the shores, where it is entirely covered with fruit and other trees; amongst which are the habitations of the natives. In order to have a view of as great a part of the island as possible, Captain Cook and some of his officers walked up to the highest point of the island. From this place they had a view of almost the whole island, which consisted of beautiful meadows of prodigious extent, adorned with tufts of trees, and intermixed with plantations. 'While I was surveying this delightful prospect (says Captain Cook), I could not help flattering myself with the pleasing idea that some future navigator may, from the same station, behold these meadows stocked with cattle, brought to these islands by the ships of England; and that the completion of this single benevolent purpose, independent of all other considerations, would sufficiently mark to posterity, that our voyages had not been useless to the general interests of humanity. 'The next morning,' says our benevolent commander, 'I planted a pine apple, and sowed the seeds of melons and other vegetables in Taoofa's plantation. I had indeed some encouragement to flatter myself that my endeavours of this kind also would not be fruitless: as I had this day a dish of turnips served up at my dinner, which was the produce of seeds I left here in my former voyage.'

The natives of these islands seldom exceed the common stature; but are very strong and well made, especially as to their limbs. They are generally broad about the shoulders; and though the muscular disposition of the men, which seems a consequence of much action, rather conveys the appearance of strength than of beauty, there are several to be seen who are really handsome. The women are not so much distinguished from the men by their features as by their general form, which is for the most part destitute of that strong fleshy firmness that appears in the latter. The features of some are so delicate, as not only to be a true index of their sex, but to lay claim to a considerable share of beauty and expression: for the bodies and limbs of most of the females are well proportioned; and some absolutely perfect models of a beautiful figure. But the most remarkable distinction in the women is the uncommon smallness and delicacy of their fingers, which may be put in competition with the finest in Europe. The general colour is a cast deeper than the copper brown; but several of the men and women have a true olive complexion: and some of the last are even a great deal fairer. Their countenances very remarkably express the abundant mildness or good nature which they possess; and are entirely free from that savage keenness which marks nations in a barbarous state. They are frank, cheerful, and good-natured.

There are, upon the whole, few natural defects or deformities to be found among these people. The most common is the tetter or ring worm, that seems to affect almost one half of them, and leaves whitish serpentine marks everywhere behind it; but this is of less consequence than another which is very frequent, and appears on every part of the body. Captain Cook had the mortification to learn that all the care he took when he first visited these islands, to prevent the venereal disease from being communicated to the inhabi- Finally tenants had proved ineffectual. What is extraordinary, they do not seem to regard it much; and as there appeared few signs of its destroying effects, probably the climate, and the way of living of these people, greatly abated its virulence. There are two other complaints frequent amongst them; one of which is an indolent firm swelling, that affects the legs and arms, and increases them to an extraordinary size in their whole length. The other is a tumor of the same sort in the testicles, which sometimes exceeds the size of the two fists. But in other respects they may be considered as uncommonly healthy.

Their hair is in general straight, thick, and strong, though a few have it bushy or frizzled. The natural colour is black; but the greatest part of the men, and some of the women, have it stained of a brown or purple colour, and a few of an orange cast. They wear it variously cut. Some have it cut off on one side of the head only; others have it entirely cut off except a single lock; the women in general wear it short. The men have their beards cut short; and both men and women strip the hair from the armpits. The men are stained from about the middle of the belly to about half way down the thighs with a deep blue colour. The women have only a few small lines or spots thus imprinted on the inside of their hands. Their kings, as a mark of distinction, are exempted from this custom.

The men are all circumcised, or rather supercircised, as the operation consists in cutting off only a small piece of the foreskin at the upper part: which by that means is rendered incapable ever after of covering the glans. This is all they aim at, as they say the operation is practised from a notion of cleanliness.

The dress of both men and women is the same: and consists of a piece of cloth or matting (but mostly the former) about two yards wide and two and a half long: at least so long as to go once and a half round the waist, to which it is confined by a girdle or cord. It is double before, and hangs down like a petticoat, as low as the middle of the leg. The upper part of the garment above the girdle is plaited into several folds; so that, when unfolded, there is cloth sufficient to draw up and wrap round the shoulders; which is very seldom done. The inferior sort are satisfied with small pieces; and very often wear nothing but a covering made of leaves of plants, or the maro, which is a narrow piece of cloth or matting like a sash. This they pass between the thighs and wrap round the waist; but the use of it is chiefly confined to the men. The ornaments worn by both sexes are necklaces made of the fruit of the pandanus, and various sweet smelling flowers, which go under the general name of kahulla. Others are composed of small shells, the wing and leg-bones of birds, sharks teeth and other things; all which hang loose upon the breast; rings of tortoise shell on the fingers; and a number of these joined together as bracelets on the wrists. The lobes of the ears (though most frequently only one), are sometimes perforated with two holes, in which they wear cylindrical bits of ivory about three inches long.

Cleanliness induces them to bathe in the ponds, which seem to serve for no other purpose. They are sensible that salt water hurts their skin; and when necessity obliges them to bathe in the sea, they commonly have some cocoa nut shells filled with fresh water poured over them to wash it off. People of superior rank use cocoa nut oil, which improves the appearance of the skin very much.

The employment of the women is of the easy kind, and, for the most part, such as may be executed in the house. The manufacturing their cloth is wholly consigned to their care; as is also that of their mats, which are esteemed both for their texture and their beauty. There are many other articles of less note that employ the spare time of their females; as combs, of which they make vast numbers, and little baskets with small beads; but all finished with such neatness and taste in the disposition of the various parts, that a stranger cannot help admiring their assiduity and dexterity.

The province allotted to the men, as might be expected, is far more laborious and extensive than that of the women. Agriculture, architecture, boat building, fishing, and other things that relate to navigation, are the objects of their care. Cultivated roots and fruits being their principal support, this requires their constant attention to agriculture, which they pursue very diligently, and seem to have brought almost to as great perfection as circumstances will permit. In planting the plantains and yams, they observe so much exactness, that, which ever way you look, the rows present themselves regular and complete. The cocoa nut and bread fruit trees are scattered about without any order, and seem to give them no trouble after they have attained a certain height.

The houses of the lower people are poor huts, and very small; those of the better sort are larger and more moderate. The dimensions of one of a middling size are about 30 feet long, 20 broad, and 12 high. Their house is, properly speaking, a thatched roof or shed, supported by posts and rafters, disposed in a very judicious manner. The floor is raised with earth smoothed, and covered with thick strong matting, and kept very clean. A thick strong mat, about two and a half or three feet broad, bent into the form of a semicircle, and set upon its edge, with the ends touching the side of the house, in shape resembling the fender of a fire heath, encloses a space for the master and mistress of the family to sleep in. The rest of the family sleep upon the floor, wherever they please to lie down; the unmarried men and women apart from each other: Or if the family be large, there are small huts adjoining, to which the servants retire in the night; so that privacy is as much observed here as one could expect. The clothes that they wear in the day serve for their covering in the night. Their whole furniture consists of a bowl or two, in which they make kava; a few gourds; cocoa nut shells; and some small wooden stools, which serve them for pillows.

They display much ingenuity in the building of their canoes, as well as in the navigating them.

The only tools which they use to construct them, which are very dexterously made, are hatchets, or rather thick adzes, of a smooth black stone that abounds at Toofoa; augres, made of sharks teeth, fixed on small handles, and rasps of a rough skin of a fish, fastened on flat pieces of wood, thinner on one side, which also have handles. The cordage is made from the fibres of the cocoa nut husk, which, though not more than nine or ten inches long, they plait, about the size of a quill, or less, to any length that they please, and roll it up in balls, from which the larger ropes are made by twisting several of these together. The lines that they fish with are as strong and even as the best cord we make, resembling it almost in every respect. Their other fishing implements are large and small hooks made of pearl shell. Their weapons are clubs of different sorts, (in the ornamenting of which they spend much time), spears and darts. They have also bows and arrows; but these seemed to be designed only for amusement, such as shooting at birds, and not for military purposes. The stools are about two feet long, but only four or five inches high, and near four broad, bending downward in the middle, with four strong legs, and circular feet; the whole made of one piece of black or brown wood, neatly polished, and sometimes inlaid with bits of ivory.

Yams, plantains, and cocoa nuts, composed the greatest part of their vegetable diet. Of their animal food, the chief articles are, hogs, fowls, fish, and all sorts of shell fish; but the lower people eat rats. The two first vegetable articles, with bread fruit, are what may be called the basis of their food, at different times of the year, with fish and shell fish; for hogs, fowls, and turtle, seem only to be occasional dainties, reserved for their chiefs. Their food is generally dressed by baking, and they have the art of making, from different kinds of fruit, several dishes which most of us esteemed very good. The generality of them lay their victuals upon the first leaf they meet with, however dirty it may be; but when food is served up to the chiefs, it is commonly laid upon green plantain leaves. The women are not excluded from eating with the men; but there are certain ranks or orders amongst them that can neither eat nor drink together. This distinction begins with the king; but where it ends could not be learnt. They seem to have no set time for meals. They go to bed as soon as it is dark, and rise with the dawn in the morning.

Their private diversions are chiefly singing, dancing, and music performed by the women. The dancing of the men has a thousand different motions with the hands, to which we are entire strangers; and they are performed with an ease and grace which are not to be described but by those who have seen them.

Whether their marriages be made lasting by any kind of solemn contract, our voyagers could not determine with precision; but it appeared that the bulk of the people satisfied themselves with one wife. The chiefs, however, have commonly several women, though it appeared as if one only was looked upon as the mistress of the family.

When any person of consequence dies, his body is washed and decorated by some woman or women, who are appointed on the occasion; and these women are not, by their customs, to touch any food with their hands for many months afterwards; and it is remarkable, that the length of the time they are thus proscribed, is the greater in proportion to the rank of the chief whom they had washed.

The concern of these people for the dead is most extraordinary. They beat their teeth with stones, strike a shark's tooth into the head until the blood flows in streams, and thrust spears into the inner part of the thigh, into their sides below the armpits, and through the cheeks into the mouth. All these operations convey an idea of such rigorous discipline, as must require either an uncommon degree of affection, or the grossest superstition, to exact. It should be observed, however, that the more painful operations are only practised on account of the death of those most nearly connected.

Their long and general mourning proves, that they consider death as a very great evil. And this is confirmed by a very odd custom which they practise to avert it. They suppose that the Deity will accept of the little finger, as a sort of sacrifice efficacious enough to procure the recovery of their health. They cut it off with one of their stone hatchets. There appeared scarcely one in ten of them who was not thus mutilated in one or both hands. According to Captain King, it is common also for the inferior people to cut off a joint of their little finger on account of the sickness of the chiefs to whom they belong.

They seem to have little conception of future punishment. They believe, however, that they are justly punished upon earth; and consequently use every method to render their divinities propitious. The Supreme Author of all things they call Kallafootonga; who, they say, is a female residing in the sky, and directing the thunder, wind, rain, and in general all the changes of weather. They believe that when she is angry with them, the productions of the earth are blasted; that many things are destroyed by lightning; and that they themselves are afflicted with sickness and death as well as their hogs and other animals. When this anger abates, they suppose that every thing is restored to its natural order. They also admit a plurality of deities, though all inferior to Kallafootonga. They have less absurd sentiments about the immateriality and the immortality of the soul. They call it life, the living principle; or, what is more agreeable to their notions of it, Otooa, that is, a divinity or invisible being.

Of the nature of their government no more is known than the general outline. According to the information received, the power of the king is unlimited, and the life and property of the subject are at his disposal; and instances enough were seen to prove that the lower order of people have no property, nor safety for their persons, but at the will of the chiefs to whom they respectively belong. When any one wants to speak with the king or chief, he advances and sits down before him with his legs across; which is a posture to which they are so much accustomed, that any other mode of sitting is disagreeable to them. To speak to the king standing would be accounted here a striking mark of rudeness.

Though some of the more potent chiefs may vie with the king in point of actual possessions, they fall very short in rank and in certain marks of respect, which the collective body have agreed to pay the monarch. It is a particular privilege annexed to his sovereignty, not to be punctured nor circumcised, as all his subjects are. Whenever he walks out, every one whom he meets must sit down till he has passed. No one is allowed to be over his head; on the contrary all must come under his feet; for there cannot be a greater outward mark of submission than that which is paid to the sovereign and other great people of these islands. FRI [233] FRI

but that which flows from this pure source must be noble and virtuous. When two persons of virtue and abilities contemplate each other's character and conduct, they cannot but view them with complacency and esteem. Habits and actions displaying prudence, fortitude, moderation, integrity, benevolence, and piety, naturally command the approbation of the impartial spectator, and even affect him with delight. But as we are disposed to revisit a landscape the beauties of which we have contemplated with rapture, and read with frequent delight a poem in which genius has faithfully delineated some of the most enchanting scenes or the most interesting events in nature; so we also become desirous to enjoy frequent opportunities of contemplating a character distinguished for eminent abilities and illustrious virtues. The society of such a person is preferred to his who is disgraced by the opposite qualities. Hence, whenever men of truly respectable characters enjoy opportunities of mutual intercourse, an attachment naturally takes place between them; entirely disinterested, and founded solely on the approbation with which the one cannot avoid regarding the conduct of the other. The esteem which the one is thus induced to entertain for the other will lead them to seek frequent opportunities of enjoying each other's society, mutually to ask and listen to advice, to trust their most secret and important purposes to each other's confidence, and to be no less concerned each of them for the other's interest and honour than for his own. This, and this alone, is genuine friendship; founded on virtue, and on that approbation which virtue never fails to command: it is a natural consequence of intercourse between virtuous men.

Where it is once established, it cannot die, while those virtues to which it owes its origin continue to adorn the persons between whom it subsists.

But, perhaps, such a pure and sublime attachment can scarce be expected to exist among beings of substances mixed and imperfect a character as mankind. The wise man of the ancient Stoics, or the Christian who fully obeys the precepts, and follows the steps of his Saviour, might be capable of it; but, unfortunately, humanity never reaches such perfection. Virtue and vice are so blended together in every human character, that while none is so worthless as to excite no other sentiment but abhorrence, there is scarcely any so uniformly virtuous as to command unvaried esteem or admiration. Even the purest and most disinterested of those friendships which prevail among men, owe their origin to other meaner principles, as well as to that which has been mentioned as the principle of genuine friendship. There are certain circumstances favourable, and others adverse, to the formation and continuance of friendship. These, making amends, as it were, for the imperfection of human virtue and human knowledge, lead men to overlook each other's faults and follies, and to unite in the bonds of friendship; a friendship which, though less solid, less generous, and less lasting, than that which we have above described, is yet attended with effects favourable to the happiness of individuals, and to the interests of society in general.

Equality of age is favourable to friendship. Infancy, manhood, and old age, differ so considerably from each other in their views, passions, and pursuits, that the man will seldom be disposed to associate with the boy Friendship, or the youth, in preference to one who has had equal experience in the world with himself; and the old man will generally wish for the company of some ancient friend, with whom he may speak of "the days of former years."

They who cultivate the same trade or profession, enjoy opportunities favourable to the formation of friendship. Being engaged among the same objects, and acquiring skill in the same arts, their knowledge, their sentiments, and habits, are nearly the same; they cannot avoid frequent intercourse with each other; they naturally enter into each other's prejudices and views, and therefore cannot but take pleasure in each other's conversation and society. Physicians, lawyers, and divines, form each of them a distinct body; and the members of each of those bodies associate with one another more readily than with men of a different profession. It is related by Swift or Addison, that, in the beginning of the last century, there was a particular coffeehouse in London which clergymen used to frequent, and that a son of the church scarcely ever ventured to show his head in any other. In the days of Dryden, poets, and all who pretended to poetical genius or taste, resorted to Will's, as to another Parnassus, to sip cups of coffee, and now and then perhaps to drink of some more inspiring liquor, instead of the waters of the fountain Hippocrene.

Equality of rank and fortune is also favourable to friendship. Seldom will a man of fortune be able to gain the sincere friendship of any of his dependents. Though he treat them with the most obliging condescension, and load them with favours; yet still, either the sense of dependence, or resentment for imaginary injuries, or impatience of the debt of gratitude, or some other similar reason, will be likely to prevent them from regarding him with cordial affection. Servants are but rarely faithful even to the most indulgent master: Shakespeare's old Adam is a very amiable but a very uncommon character. Indeed you may as soon expect to find the virtues and the generous courage of the chevalier Bayard among our military men of the present age, as to find an old Adam among the present race of servants. It is no less vain for the poor man to hope to acquire a sincere friend among his superiors in rank and fortune. The superior is generally disposed to exact such profound deference, such gratitude, such respect, even from the inferior whom he admits into his intimacy, that the equal amicable intercourse of friendship can scarce ever take place between them.

Among the letters of the younger Pliny, we are pleased to find many monuments of the goodness of his heart. A number of his epistles addressed to friends in manner circumstances appear to have been accompanied with very considerable presents, which by his opulence he was well enabled to bestow. But he takes care to let those humble friends know the weight of the obligations which he conferred, and the vastness of the debt of gratitude which they owed to him, in such plain, nay even indelicate terms, that though they might receive his favours with gratitude, and regard him as their benefactor, yet they could never regard him as a man with whom they might cultivate the free easy intercourse of friendship. Some one or other of the Greek writers mentions a singular instance of cordial friendship subsisting between two persons in unequal circumstances. One of them dying before the other, and leaving a wife and daughter to whom he had no fortune nor even means of subsistence to bequeath, enjoined his rich friend, in his will, to take the charge of them on himself, and to support them in a liberal manner: nor did he entreat this from his humanity, but demanded it from his friendship. He had made a sure provision for his family. His rich friend delayed not to comply with his dying injunction. He readily took upon himself the charge of the wife and daughter of his deceased friend, treated them with kindness, and at last divided his whole fortune equally between his own only daughter and the child of his friend. This is an agreeable instance of the power of friendship: but such instances are not to be expected to occur frequently in ordinary life, any more than the Stoic virtue of Cato, or the modest piety of a Nelson.

Similarity of taste and temper will generally be found favourable to friendship. Two peevish men, indeed, will not long endure each other's company with much satisfaction; but two persons of mild, humane dispositions will naturally take delight in each other's society and conversation. They who are charmed with the bustle of a gay and active life, avoid the haunts of the indolent and contemplative, and join hand in hand to climb the heights of ambition, or tread the round of amusement and dissipation. Those whom taste leads to cultivate the elegant objects of literature amid the sweets of a rural retirement, to wander through the grove, or recline on the brink of some romantic rill, and peruse the pages of one of those geniuses who have shown themselves able to enlighten the understanding, and to kindle the glow of generous sentiment in the breast—those children of taste frequently associate in their elegant pursuits. We are pleased to read the correspondence of Pliny and Tacitus, of Locke and Molineaux, of Swift and Pope. We rejoice to find, that notwithstanding the rivalry of learning and genius, taste and philosophy have a natural tendency to promote benevolence and friendship among their votaries. The bustle of the world must be acknowledged to be generally unfavourable to friendship. When the heart is occupied with the sordid objects of ambition, or avarice, or gay dissipation, there is no room left for the pure and generous sentiments of friendship. Interests often interfere, competitions and jealousies arise, fatal to all the sweets of social intercourse. It is in active life that virtue shines with the most brilliant lustre; but seldom, alas! does pure virtue appear in the scenes of active life. How beautifully does the character of Atticus shine amid the characters of his illustrious contemporaries! ut Luna inter minores ignes! Sylla, Caesar, Cicero, Brutus, Antony, and Augustus, were eminent for their abilities and virtues; but being engaged in the bustling pursuits of ambition, they seem to have been strangers to the calm and elegant happiness which Atticus enjoyed. Though those of them who were contemporaries could not avoid perceiving and admiring each other's merits, yet never did cordial friendship subsist between them. Even Cicero, who could so well define the duties and describe the happiness of friendship, yet appears to have but seldom enjoyed its delights. But Atticus, who constantly declined entering the scenes of public life, friendship, life, experienced such happiness in a private condition, as must have been more than an ample reward to him for shunning all the splendid pursuits of ambition. He was the disinterested friend of all those eminent men, and enjoyed their esteem and friendship. So upright was his character, so amiable his manners, that they who were mortal enemies to each other, yet agreed in cultivating at the same time the friendship of Atticus. None of them appear to have hated him on account of his attachment to their enemies; and while he was the friend of Cicero and Octavius, he was at the same time the protector of the wife of Antony. Perhaps the virtue of such a character may be regarded as problematical. It may be alleged, that while such inveterate dissensions arose among his friends, the neutrality which he preserved was inconsistent with integrity. He has indeed been rashly branded by some writers as an avaricious time-serving man. But no evidence appears to justify their assertions; on the contrary, the most respectable testimony, the nicest scrutiny, exhibit his character in those amiable colours in which we have chosen to view it. Atticus is indeed no ordinary character. The general principles of human nature, and the examples which most frequently occur in the world, naturally suggest a suspicion, that had he been a man of genuine integrity, he must have observed a different tenor of conduct. But there is one circumstance which tends to strengthen considerably the respectable testimony of his contemporaries in his behalf. In Cato, in Epictetus, in the philosopher, who, while suffering under all the violence of an acute distemper, maintained to Pompey that pain was no evil, we have instances of the tenets of philosophy opposing and repressing the principles of nature. We know how often religious enthusiasm has produced the same effects. But Atticus was the votary of the mild and elegant philosophy of Epicurus; which, though there appears to have been a palpable inconsistency between its principles and the superstructure raised upon them, was yet in its general tendency not unfriendly to virtue, and recommended to its votaries that calm and innocent mode of life which Atticus cultivated. There is no small resemblance between the character of Atticus and that of Epicurus, the founder of this philosophy. The same tenets seem to have produced the same effects on both; and we will venture to pronounce so high an encomium on the Epicurean philosophy, as to assert, that it chiefly contributed to form the character of this amiable Roman.

We know not if we may venture to affirm, that friendships are most naturally contracted among persons of the same sex. We believe they often are. If similarity of taste, of sentiments, of manners, be favourable to friendship, this cannot but happen. The distinction which nature has established between the two sexes, the new distinctions which are introduced by the different views with which their education is conducted, and the different duties which they are called to perform in life, have all a tendency to dispose men and women to enter into habits of intimacy with persons of their own sex rather than with the other. Young girls have their peculiar amusements, as boys have theirs: they knit and sew together, consult each other concerning their dress, and associate at their idle hours. Young men, in the same manner, prefer the society of their equals of the same sex till such time as their hearts begin to feel the impulse of a new passion. This soft passion, indeed, causes the youth to prefer the company of his favourite maid to that of his dearest companion; and it perhaps causes the virgin to view her female companions with a jealous eye, while she fears that their charms may win the heart of the youth, whose fond regard she herself wishes to engage. But the fears, the jealousies, the timidity, nay even the fondness of love, are incompatible with friendship. Though the lover and his mistress be dear to each other, yet the free confidence of friendship cannot take place between them. They dare not yet venture to trust to each other all the secrets of their hearts. But if their mutual wishes be crowned by marriage; then, indeed, as their interests become the same, if the transports of love are not succeeded by the calm delights and the free confidence of friendship, they must be unhappy. The marriage state is peculiarly favourable to friendship. Persons whose relations to each other are the more remote, will often find circumstances concurring to induce them to cultivate a friendly intercourse with each other. But here indifference is almost impossible. It is absolutely requisite, in order that they may not render each other miserable, that the husband and the wife be united in the bonds of friendship. This seems even to be one of the great laws of nature, by means of which provision is made for the happiness and the preservation of society. But though the wife and the husband be particularly attached to each other by the ties of friendship no less than by those of love, yet their mutual affection will not detach them from the rest of the world: their relations to the society around them will still remain; the husband will still cultivate the intimacy of those of his own sex, and the wife will still choose female in preference to male friends. Upon even a superficial view of life, we find reason to declare without hesitation, that acquaintance and intimacy most naturally take place among persons of the same sex. The husband and the wife are more than friends; they are one bone and one flesh. It has been sometimes slightly intimated, and sometimes more openly asserted, by people who have but carelessly viewed the phenomena of social life, or have been disposed to cavil against the fair sex, that women are incapable of sincerity or constancy in friendship with each other. But it seems unnecessary to offer a serious refutation of this cavil. Neither is the general character of the female sex so inferior to that of the male, nor are their circumstances so very different from ours, as to render them totally incapable of those virtues which are necessary to establish and support mutual friendship. They are in general possessed of more exquisite sensibility, nicer delicacy of taste, and a juster sense of propriety, than we: nor are they destitute of generosity, fidelity, and firmness. But such qualities are peculiarly favourable to friendship; they communicate a certain charm to the manners of the person who is adorned with them; they render the heart susceptible of generous disinterested attachment; and they elevate the soul above levity, insincerity, and meanness. Competitions and jealousies must no doubt arise now and then even among the most amiable of the female sex, as well as among us. These will preclude or destroy friendship. Friendship. But the rivalry of beauty, of dress, of fashion, is not oftener fatal to friendship among the fair sex, than the contests of pride, avarice, vanity, and ambition, among their haughty lords. If friendship be ranked among the virtues, it is not less a female than a male virtue.

The delightful intercourse and intimacy of friendship may be naturally expected to subsist not only between the husband and the wife, but among all who are connected by any of the relations of consanguinity. The power of instinct does not always continue to unite the parent and the child. Its offices are of a temporary nature; but when these are performed, it ceases to operate. During the infancy, the childhood, and even the youth of his son or daughter, the parent watches over them with fond affection, and labours with anxious assiduity to promote their welfare, for no other reason but because the yearnings of paternal affection draw him towards them. But as they advance farther in life, and become able to care for themselves, it has been so ordered by the wisdom of nature, that the attachment of the parent almost dies away, unless the grateful affection and the merit of his children afford him reason to rejoice over them and bless them. How shocking, how miserable, the condition of that family, whose members are not united by the mutual esteem and confidence of friendship! where the parent views his children with jealousy, shame, indignation, or sorrow: and the children anxiously avoid the society of their parents! Their interests are so nearly connected; they have so many occasions for acting in concert, and must live so long together; that we may almost venture to affirm, that the parent and the child, like the husband and the wife, must be either friends or enemies.

But the ties of nature, the influence of habit, sentiments, and circumstances, all concur to form between them the sacred connexion of friendship. Brothers and sisters, the children of the same parents, and for a while members of the same family, may be expected to regard each other through life with kindness and esteem; and these we would rather choose to attribute to a rational attachment, founded on certain principles, than to a blind instinctive affection.

These are a few of the distinctions and relations in society which appear most favourable to friendship.—Were we to descend to minuter particulars, we might enumerate all the varieties of taste, of temper, and of circumstances, by which mankind are distinguished from one another, and distributed into particular classes. But this would be too tedious, and does not appear necessary.

As friendship is an attachment which takes place between certain human characters when placed in certain circumstances, there must therefore be laws for supporting the attachment and regulating the intercourse of friendship. Mutual esteem is the basis on which true friendship is established; and the intercourse of friendship ought surely to be conducted in such a manner that this foundation be not injured. Friendship must diminish neither our benevolence nor prudence: it must not seduce us from an honest attention to our private interest, nor contract our social affections.

Sincerity may be considered as the first law of friendship. Artifice and hypocrisy are inimical to all social intercourse. Between the deceitful and the honest, friendship can never subsist. For a while, the one may impose on the other; unsuspicious integrity may not be able to see through the mask under which the hideous features of selfish cunning are veiled; but the deceitful friend must ever be a stranger to the delightful sentiments of genuine friendship. To enjoy these, your virtues must be sincere; your affection for the person whom you call your friend unfeigned; in communicating to each other your sentiments, in offering and listening to mutual advice, in joining to prosecute the same designs, or share in the same amusements, candid sincerity must still be observed between you. Attempt not to persuade each other, that your mutual affection is more ardent, or your mutual esteem more profound, than it really is. If the sentiments or opinions which the one expresses appear to the other improper or ill-founded, let not a false delicacy prevent him from declaring his reasons against them; let him not applaud where, if he were sincere, he must blame. Join not even your friend in an undertaking which you secretly dislike, or an amusement insufferably disagreeable to you. You cannot, consistently with sincerity and candour: and you will soon begin to think the blessings of friendship too dear, when bought at the price of such sacrifices.

But though sincerity is to be faithfully observed in the intercourse of friendship; yet the harshness of contradiction must be carefully avoided. Those obliging manners which are so agreeable in an acquaintance or casual companion, are still more so in a friend. If they are necessary to recommend the advantages of social intercourse in general to the members of society, they are no less necessary to communicate a charm to the intercourse of friendship. People often think themselves entitled to behave to those whom they call their friends, and whose interests they profess to regard as their own, with harshness, negligence, and indiscreet familiarity; but nothing can be more fatal to friendship. It is a well known maxim, established by general and uniform experience, that too much familiarity occasions mutual contempt. And indeed how can it be otherwise? Mild obliging manners are understood as the natural and genuine expression of kindness and affection: boisterous rudeness, petulance, and neglect, are naturally considered as expressive of opposite sentiments. But if friendship assume the tone, the carriage, and the language of enmity or indifference, it must soon lose all its native charms and advantages. Let the friend, as well as the casual companion, when he finds reason to disapprove of the sentiments and conduct, or to dissent from the opinions of his friend, express himself in the gentlest terms, with honesty and sincerity, but without carelessness or harshness. Let no frequency of intercourse nor union of interests ever tempt to careless or contemptuous familiarity. Stiff and unmeaning ceremony may be banished; but ease, and delicacy, and respectful deference, and obliging attention, must supply its room. Much of the unhappiness of the marriage state, and much of the mutual uneasiness which arises among those who are related by the endearing ties of consanguinity, is occasioned by the parties who are thus closely connected, thinking it unnecessary to observe the ordinary rules of good breeding in their mutual intercourse. Even kindness puts Friendship puts on a disgusting garb, and assumes a harsh aspect.

But mutual kindness cannot there long subsist. Home, which ought to be a sanctuary to shelter from the anxieties and ills of life, a little paradise where those pure and innocent pleasures might be enjoyed which afford the most genuine happiness, and which are not to be tasted in the bustle of the busy and the dissipation of the gay world; home thus becomes a place of torment, which is never entered but with pain and unwillingness; and from which the son, the daughter, the husband, and the wife, eagerly seize every opportunity to escape.

Mutual confidence is the very soul of friendship. If friendship be rightly defined to be a mutual affection founded on mutual esteem, those who are united in the bonds of friendship cannot but repose mutual confidence in each other. Am I conscious of none but generous worthy sentiments, and none but upright honest intentions? I readily disclose all the secrets of my soul to him whom I regard as capable only of similar designs and similar sentiments. But it may be asked, how far the confidence of friendship ought to be carried? Must I reveal to my friend all my sentiments, opinions, and designs? Must I communicate to one friend the secrets which have been intrusted to me by another? Or must I rather observe the most suspicious caution in my intercourse with my friends, remembering that he who is now my friend may one day become my enemy? It seems most prudent to observe a medium between suspicious caution and unlimited confidence. Were human virtue perfect, and were there no instances of friends ever becoming enemies, those who regard each other with friendly affection might very reasonably be required to set no bounds to their mutual confidence. But as this is far from being the case, different measures are to be observed. Contract no friendships, if you think it necessary to treat a friend with the same reserve as an enemy. Yet venture not to disclose to your friend all the foolish or evil designs which the wantonness of imagination may seduce you to form. When you feel the emotions of pride, of vanity, or of any evil passion, if you are able to repress them by the strength of reason and conscience, it seems unnecessary for you to tell the struggle, or to boast of the victory. If, at any former period of life, you have been so unfortunate as to commit actions which you cannot now recollect without shame and contrition, there can be no reason why you may not, as far as possible, bury the remembrance of them in your own breast. In short, not to become tedious by descending to minute particulars, the laws of friendship do not require friends to unbosom themselves to each other any farther than is necessary—to give them just ideas of each other's character and temper,—to enable them to be serviceable to each other in the prosecution of honest designs,—and to afford each of them proper opportunities of exciting the other to virtue and wisdom, and of interposing his influence to preserve him from vice and folly. Whatever is necessary for any of these purposes ought to be mutually communicated; whatever is not, may be concealed without violating the laws of friendship. As mutual esteem is the foundation of friendship, and as human friendships are not always lasting, you ought not to pour into the ear of your friend all the impertinences which you may happen to conceive, nor even all the projects which may float in your imagination: but as much of the felicity of friendship arises from the mutual confidence to which it affords room, call not any man your friend in whose presence you find it proper to observe the same suspicious caution as if he were your enemy. The ancients, who talked of friendship with enthusiasm as one of the most elevated among the virtues, required a still closer union and a more disinterested attachment among friends than we dare venture to insist upon. The mutual duties which they have described as incumbent on friends, appear somewhat extravagant. Among other things, some of them have gone so far as to require a degree of mutual confidence which would soon destroy all confidence, and could not fail to counteract all the purposes of friendship: they have required one friend to communicate to another, not only all his own thoughts and purposes, but even those secrets which have been confided to his honour by any other friend. But the evil consequences which would result are easily to be foreseen. Perhaps, like Atticus, you enjoy the friendship of men who are mutual enemies; and by communicating the secrets of the one to the other, you will then become the betrayer of both. Or, though not absolutely enemies, yet those who are your friends may happen not to be in habits of friendship with each other; and they may then perhaps not scruple to divulge those secrets of one another which you have imprudently blabbed to them. Indeed, might we suppose all mankind absolutely faultless, and not liable to moral imperfection, we need not fear these bad consequences from unbounded confidence in our friends. But friendship would in such a state of society be unknown: just as in the golden age of the poets there are supposed to have been no distinctions of property. We cannot here forbear dropping an observation, which will readily be acknowledged as just by all who have any tolerable knowledge of the morality of the philosophers of ancient Greece. All their doctrines and precepts appear calculated for a different order of beings than mankind. They glanced carelessly at the phenomena of the moral world; and gleaning a few facts, immediately set themselves to erect systems: From these, however wild and theoretical, they then pretended to deduce laws for the regulation of human conduct; and their rules are generally such as might be expected from the means which they appear to have employed in order to arrive at them. An apology has, however, been offered for some of them, which, in our opinion, could occur only to superficial observers of human life. It has been alleged in behalf of the Stoics, that their system indeed required more exalted virtue than human nature is capable of attaining; but that, notwithstanding this, it could not fail to produce the happiest effects on the manners and sentiments of its votaries. Instances, too, have been produced in support of this assertion; a Cato, an Epictetus, an Antoninus. When we contemplate a model of perfection beyond what we can hope to reach, say the advocates of the Stoic philosophy, though we despair of attaining, yet we are prompted to aspire after it. Now, the most natural way of reasoning here seems to lead to a very different conclusion. If an object is set before me which I must not hope to obtain, I am unwilling to waste my time and exhaust... Friendship exhaust my vigour in the pursuit of it: bid me ascend an inaccessible height, I view the vale below with new fondness. Philosophy, as well as superstition and enthusiasm, might in a few instances triumph over the principles of nature; but was it always equally powerful? Were all the disciples of Zenon Catos or Epicurus? Have all the monks and anchorites of the Roman church been holy as the founders of their orders? No: The Greek philosophers who infested Rome, and taught those whimsical doctrines which we hear frequently dignified with the name sublime, were singularly corrupted and licentious in all their manners. If those of the regular clergy of the church of Rome have been always more pure, they have been cruelly calumniated. Ask, then, only what I am capable of performing: If you demand what is above my strength, I sit still in indolence. In its general tendency, the Stoic philosophy was favourable rather to vice than to virtue.

But we have not yet exhausted all the duties of friendship. We have inculcated sincerity, and mutual respect and obligingness of manners; we have also endeavoured to ascertain what degree of mutual confidence ought to take place between friends. But an important question still remains to be considered: how far is an union of interests to take place between friends? Am I to study the interest of my friend in preference to my own? May I lawfully injure others, in order to serve him? Here, too, we must consider the circumstances and the strength of human nature; and let us beware of imposing burdens too heavy to be borne. The greater and more perfect the union which reigns in society, the greater will be its strength and happiness; the closer the union of friends, the more advantages will each of them derive from their union. Where other ties besides those of friendship concur to unite two individuals, their interests will be more closely joined than if they were connected by the ties of friendship alone. The order of nature seems here to be,—the husband and wife—the parent and child—brothers and sisters, the offspring of the same parents—friends, connected by the ties of friendship alone. And, if we may presume to guess at the intentions of the Author of nature from what we behold in his works and read in his word, the closest unions in society ought to be that between the husband and the wife; their interests are altogether the same; they ought mutually to forego convenience and gratification for each other's sake. The interests of parents and children are somewhat less closely connected; much is due from the one to the other, but somewhat less than in the former relation; their interests may sometimes be separate, but never ought to be opposite. Next come brethren, and other more distant relations; and next, the friend. In these cases, where we suppose the attachment of friendship to operate together with the ties of nature, we perceive that interests are variously united, and various duties are due; scarcely in any of them does it appear that the interests of two can become entirely one. Still less can that be expected to happen, where the ties of friendship act not in concert with those of nature. We give up, therefore, all those romantic notions, which some have so earnestly insisted on, of requiring the friend to consider his friend as himself. We cannot expect any two individuals to possess precisely the same degree of knowledge, to entertain exactly the same sentiments, or to stand in circumstances precisely similar. But till this happen, the interests of two can never be precisely the same. And we will not, therefore, require the friend actually to prefer his friend to himself; nay, we will even allow him to prefer himself to his friend; convinced that such is the design of nature, and that by presuming to counteract the principles of nature we shall be able to serve no useful purpose. But as far as the first principles of human action and the institutions of society permit, we may reasonably require of friends, that they mutually endeavour to contribute each to the other's interest. You will not desert your own family, nor neglect what is absolutely necessary for your own preservation, in order that you may serve a friend. It is not requisite that you be either a Damon or a Pythias. Away with what is romantic; but scruple not to submit to what is natural and reasonable. When your friend needs your direction and advice, freely and honestly give it: does he need more than advice; your active exertions in his behalf? the laws of friendship require you not to refuse them. Is it necessary for him to receive still more substantial assistance? You may even be expected to aid him with your fortune. But remember, that even the amiable principle of benevolence must be subject to the directions of prudence; if incapable of taking care of ourselves, we cannot be expected to contribute to the good of others; society would not be favourable to the happiness of the human race, if every individual studied the general interest so far as to neglect his own. We are not born to be citizens of the world; but Europeans, Britons, Englishmen or Scotchmen. Let every one, then, seek the interest and happiness of his friends with whom he is connected by the laws of friendship alone, in subordination to his own particular interest and happiness, and to the interest and happiness of those with whom he is connected by the ties of nature and the general institutions of society. Engage not in the service of your friend, nor lavish your fortune in his behalf, if by that means you are likely to injure either yourself or your family. Still less will you think it requisite to carry your friendship to such romantic excess as to commit crimes in the service of your friend. The ancients, whose ideas of the nature and duties of friendship were romantic and extravagant, have, some of them, required that a friend should hesitate at no action, however atrociously wicked, by which he can be useful to his friend. Have I been guilty of theft or murder, or any other heinous violation of the laws of morality or the institutions of society: when I am brought to justice for my crime, if you, being my friend, are appointed to sit as my judge, the laws of friendship, say those admirable masters of morality, require that you pronounce me innocent, though convinced of my guilt. But we need not declaim against the absurdity of enjoining such base deeds as duties of friendship. The idea of a connection, the laws of which are inimical to the order of society, must strike with horror every person who thinks of it. Such a connection is the union of a knot of villains, conspiring against the peace, nay even the existence of society.

Such we apprehend to be the nature of rational friendship; such the circumstances in the order of nature. ture and of society which are most favourable to this union; and such the duties, by the performance of which it may be maintained. When founded on these principles, and regulated by these laws, friendship is truly virtuous, and cannot but be highly beneficial to the individuals between whom it subsists, and to the interest of society in general. How delightful to have some person of an amiable and virtuous character in whom you can confide; who will join with you in the prosecution of virtuous designs, or will be ready to call you back when you heedlessly stray into the paths of vice and folly! who will administer to you honest, upright advice; will rejoice in your prosperity, will glory over your virtues, and will be ready to console and relieve you when sinking under the pressure of distress! Must not your connexion with such a person be favourable to your virtue, your interest, and your happiness? When we survey any sublime or beauteous scene in nature, we wish for some person of congenial taste and feelings to participate with us in the noble enjoyments which the prospect affords; when we read any fine piece of composition, the pleasure which we receive from it is more exquisite if others join with us in applauding it. The landscape which we have often surveyed, the poem which we have often read, please us anew, with all the charms of novelty, when we have an opportunity of pointing out their beauties to some person to whom they have been hitherto unknown. Friendship communicates new charms and a more delicate relish to all our most refined and elegant pleasures. It enlivens our joys, it soothes and alleviates our sorrows. What Cicero has said of polite letters and philosophy, may be with still stronger propriety said of friendship. In every condition of life the influence of virtuous friendship is favourable to our welfare and our happiness: in prosperity; in adversity; in the silence and tranquillity of retirement, as well as amid the hurry of business; in the bosom of your family, and when surrounded by your nearest connections, no less than when removed to a strange country. Indeed, whatever advantages society bestows above what are to be enjoyed in a savage state, not less numerous nor less important are those which we may derive from uniting in the bonds of friendship, rather than living in a state of enmity or indifference.

But though friendship, when founded on mutual esteem, and regulated by the laws of prudence, benevolence, and honesty, be productive of so many happy effects; yet many instances occur in the world, in which connexions dignified with the name of friendship are unfavourable both to the virtue and the happiness of those between whom they subsist. When men associate from views of convenience; when their union is hastily formed without a knowledge of each other's temper and character; when they are drawn together by accident, as when they happen to agree in the pursuits of the same interests or pleasures; when the young and the gay resort together to the haunts of dissipation, and the covetous and ambitious find it convenient to toil in concert for riches and power: on all such occasions, the connexion which is formed and dignified with the name of friendship is unworthy of that honourable appellation. It is not virtuous; it is productive of no happy effects, and is quickly dissolved. He, therefore, who is not incapable of virtuous friendship, and is desirous of enjoying its advantages, must carefully consider the nature of the connexion which he wishes to form, gain a thorough acquaintance with the character of the person whose esteem and affection he wishes to acquire, and attend to those rules by the observance of which true friendship may be maintained.

Many instances are related, which show what power it is possible for friendship to acquire over the human heart. We need not here repeat the well-known story of Damon and Pythias, whose generous friendship afforded a spectacle which softened even the savage heart of Dionysius. It is known to every school-boy; and, after the affecting narrative of Valerius Maximus, has been studiously detailed and commented on by almost every succeeding story-teller or moralist. Addison, in one of his Spectators, gives a beautiful little relation, we know not upon what authority, which finely illustrates the power of both friendship and love. Two male negroes, in one of our West Indian islands, nearly of the same age, and eminent among their fellows in slavery for gracefulness of figure, strength, agility, and dexterity, were also distinguished for their mutual friendship and for their common attachment to a young female negro, who was generally esteemed the most beautiful of her complexion in the whole island. The young female appeared to be equally pleased with both her lovers; and was willing to accept either of them for a husband, provided they could agree between themselves which of them should yield to the pretensions of the other. But here lay the difficulty; for while neither would treacherously supplant, neither of them was willing to yield to his friend. The two youths, therefore, long suffered the severest affliction, while their hearts were torn between love and friendship. At length when they were no longer able to endure the agony of such a contest, being still unable to repress their passion for their lovely countrywoman, and incapable of violating the laws of friendship,—on a certain day, they both, in company with the object of their ill-fated love, retired into a wood adjoining to the scene of their labours. There, after fondly embracing the maid, calling her by a thousand endearing names, and lamenting their own unhappy fate, they stabbed a knife into her breast; which, while still reeking with her blood, was by each of them in his turn plunged into his own. Her cries reached the people who were at work in the next field: some of them hastening to the spot, found her expiring, and the two youths already dead beside her.

We have introduced this little narrative as a striking instance of the noble effects which naturally result from genuine friendship. Here we see it superior to the force of the most violent of passions. Had the elevated souls of those negro youths been refined and enlightened by culture and education in the principles of morality and true religion, we may reasonably suppose that their friendship would have triumphed over their love, without prompting them to the rash and desperate deed which they committed.

Friendship, thus amiable in its character, thus benevolent in its influence and effects, the theme of unbounded panegyric to the philosophers and moralists of every age, has been said by some respectable modern writers to be inconsistent with the spirit of that holy religion. Friendship, religion which we profess, and which we regard as the revelation of heaven. General benevolence is frequently inculcated through the gospel: Jesus often earnestly entreated his disciples, "to love one another;" and directed them in what manner to display their mutual love, by telling them that "whatsoever things they could reasonably wish to receive from others, the same ought they to do to them." The writers of the epistles often enlarge on the topics of charity and brotherly love. But private friendship is nowhere recommended in the code of Christianity. Nay, it is so inconsistent with that universal benevolence which the gospel enjoins, that where the one is recommended and enforced, the other may be understood to be tacitly forbidden. But can that religion be true, or can it be favourable to the happiness of its votaries, which is inimical, nay, which is even not friendly to virtuous friendship? Such are the suggestions of Lord Shaftesbury and Soame Jenyns on this head.

We must grant them, that the system of morals or religion which discourages a connection so noble in its origin, so amiable in its character, and so beneficial in its influence, as virtuous friendship, is rather unfavourable to the happiness and virtue of its votaries. But we must consider the genius of Christianity with more careful attention, before we suffer ourselves to be persuaded that friendship is inconsistent with it. Universal benevolence is, indeed, inculcated in the gospel: we are required to love our neighbour as ourselves; and our Saviour seems to insinuate, in the story of the humane Samaritan, that we ought to regard as neighbours all our brethren of the human race, however separated from us by any of the distinctions of society. But it would be unfair to conclude from this, that the great Author of the gospel meant to abolish the order of social life, or to oppose the ties of nature. These may still be respected, though the laws of this benevolence be obeyed. The parent is not required to desert his child, in order that he may assist or relieve his neighbour; nor the child to leave his parent to perish under the infirmities of old age, while he hastens to lend assistance to a stranger. The gospel was not intended to dissolve communities, or to abrogate the distinctions of rank. In Jesus, the end of the ceremonial law was accomplished: by him, therefore, that burden of types and ceremonies with which the Jews had been loaded was taken away. But he who abolished the ceremonial law declared, that the obligations of the moral law should be more permanent than heaven or earth: The duties which it enjoined were still to be religiously discharged: The precepts of the gospel were to illustrate and enforce, not to contradict, the institutions of the moral law. The relative duties of parents and children were still to be performed; though men were directed not to confine all their sentiments of benevolence to domestic relations. Jesus, in his conduct, did not set himself to oppose the order of society. In various parts of the New Testament all the social duties are defined and enforced; the mutual duties of parents and children, of husbands and wives, and of masters and servants. The submission of all the members of a community to that power which is vested with the authority of the whole, is also strictly enjoined in the gospel. Jesus, when in his last moments he recommended his mother to the protection of his beloved disciple, chose to ask him to consider her as a parent; and directed her to expect from him the respect and kindness of a son. These facts and observations teach us in what sense to understand that universal benevolence which is inculcated in the gospel. Though we are to love all mankind, yet it is not necessary that all the individuals of the human race share our affection alike. Were we powerful, and wise, and benevolent, as the Deity, such extensive benevolence might be required of us: But our sphere of action and observation is narrow; we cannot extend our acquaintance or influence beyond a very limited circle. Were we to endeavour to be equally useful to all mankind, we should become incapable of being useful to any individual. We cannot become citizens of the world in the sense in which some philosophers have affected to call themselves such, without becoming outcasts from every particular society. A son, a brother, a countryman, a stranger, lie around you, each in circumstances of extreme distress; you pity their misfortunes, and would gladly administer relief; but such is your benevolence, that you feel precisely the same degree of compassion for each of them; you cannot determine to whom you should first stretch out an helping hand; and you therefore stand like that venerable ass of the schoolmen, whose tantalizing situation between two bundles of hay has been so long celebrated and lamented by metaphysicians; and suffer son, and brother, and countryman, and stranger, to perish, without relieving any of them by your kind offices. It is therefore the design of the gospel, that we should submit to the laws of nature, and comply with the institutions of society. First, attend to self-preservation; next, perform the duties of a wife or husband,—a parent,—a child,—a brother,—a citizen,—an individual of the human race. You will do well, indeed, to regard all mankind with benevolence; but your benevolence will be unavailing to the objects of it, if you overlook the distinctions of nature and those institutions which support the union of social life.

But if the spirit of Christianity be not inimical to the institutions and relations of society, neither can it be unfavourable to friendship. If that benevolence which the gospel enjoins admit of any modifications, why not of that particular modification which constitutes private friendship? It is not, indeed, directly enjoined; but neither is it forbidden. It is perfectly consistent with the general tendency and spirit of the gospel system; being favourable to the interests of society, it cannot but be agreeable to our holy religion.

But it is recommended by no direct precept, say those who would represent Christianity as inimical to it; while it has been the favourite theme of the philosophers and moralists of the heathen world.

But why should friendship be recommended by means different from those which the gospel employs for the purpose? Make yourself well acquainted with that admirable system which you so earnestly oppose; you will find that even the duties of private friendship are better explained and more powerfully enforced in the gospel, than by all the heathen philosophers and poets from Hesiod to Plutarch. The gospel makes a distinction between the virtuous and the vicious; it represents one character as more amiable and respectable than another. As it distinguishes between virtue and vice, was advancing to the grave, accompanied with the re- lations of the deceased, he discovered the same emotions of grief as swelled the bosoms of those with whom La- zarus had been most intimately connected; and sympa- thizing with their common sorrow, he melted into tears. This circumstance was too remarkable to escape par- ticular observation; and it drew from the spectators, what one should think it must necessarily draw from every reader, this natural and obvious reflection, 'Be- hold! how he loved him!'

"But in the concluding catastrophe of our Saviour's life, he gave a still more decisive proof that sentiments of the strongest personal attachment and friendship were not unworthy of being admitted into his sacred bosom: they were too deeply, indeed, impressed, to be extinguished even by the most excruciating torments. In those dreadful moments, observing among the af- flicted witnesses of his painful and ignominious suf- ferings, that faithful follower who is described by the historian as 'the disciple whom he loved;' he dis- tinguished him by the most convincing instance of su- perior confidence, esteem, and affection, that ever was exhibited to the admiration of mankind. For, under circumstances of the most agonizing torments, when it might be thought impossible for human nature to re- tain any other sensibility but that of its own inexpres- sible sufferings, he recommended to the care and pro- tection of this his tried and approved friend, in terms of peculiar regard and endearment, the most tender and sacred object of his private affections. But no lan- guage can represent this pathetic and affecting scene with a force and energy equal to the sublime simplicity of the Evangelist's own narrative: 'Now there stood by the cross of Jesus, his mother and his mother's sister, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple (standing) by, whom he loved; he saith to his mother, Behold thy son! then he saith to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her to his own home.'

"It may safely be asserted, that among all those memorable examples of friendship, which have been celebrated with the highest encomiums by the ancients, there cannot be produced a single instance in which the most distinguished features of exalted amity were so strongly displayed as in the foregoing relation. The only one, perhaps, that bears even a faint simi- litude to it, is that famous transaction recorded by a Greek author, which passed between Endamidas and Aretheus. But when the very different circumstances attending the respective examples are duly considered, it must be acknowledged, that the former rises as much above the latter in the proof it exhibits of sublime friendship, as it does in the dignity of the characters concerned.

"Upon the whole, then, it appears, that the divine Founder of the Christian religion, as well by his own example as by the spirit of his moral doctrine, has not only encouraged but consecrated friendship."

FRIESLAND, one of the united provinces of the Low Countries. It is bounded on the east by the river Lauwers, which parts it from the lordship of Gro- ningen, on the south by Overijssel, on the west by the Zuider-Zee, and on the north by the German ocean. It is 30 miles from north to south, and 28 from east to west. The land is very fertile in corn and pa- ture;