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 INTRODUCTION

TO

FREEMASONRY ;

BEING A

OF THAT
sane tent anU Vtntvablt Institution,

POINTING OUT THE DIGNITY OF ITS DESIGN AND

THE MEANS FOR ATTAINING IT,

Its attana txccpttU.

LONDON:
SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORSTE, AND
BROWN ;
And by W. Hodgetts, Birmingham.

1819.
 SntertS at Stationers* Hall.

Hodgetts, Printer, Birmingham.

 DEDICATION.

THE dedication of this Work, is (it is

hoped) a dedication guiltless of adulation; and may,
therefore, be read without a blush ; and

May the humble labour be received as favourably as 'tis

intended '.

It is most respectfully and gratefully dedicated

to those who, (when every other effort proved fruit
less) so liberally lent a fostering hand to present it
to the public eye,

By their most highly obliged

humble Servant,

THE AUTHOR.
 PREFACE.

The author of the following work,

conscious how much he needs the aids, the
palliating aids, of a preface, has, therefore,
in common with the world in general, adopt
ed one ; as convinced that they, generally
speaking, are founded in strict propriety ;
long and immemorial custom, therefore,
as well as general adoption, has according
ly stampt on them an indisputable sanc
tion, and that for various reasons probably :
among others, may they not be deemed a
mark of respect to the world at large, on
ushering any work to its notice, somewhat
similar to a respectful bow from a public
speaker to his audience, on commencing
his harangue, or the prologue to the exhi
bitions on the stage ? They serve, likewise,
for unfolding the general tendency and de
sign of the work they precede, together
B
 with the author s general reasons as well,
for obtruding his work at all on the public.

Whatever defects there may be in the

following work, it is hoped they may be at
tributed to the errors of the intellect, (for
which no one is amenable,) and not to the
eiTors of the will (for which all are.) . ,

As the following sheets chiefly incul

cate the virtue of man's self-investigation,
it may not, (though in this prefatory de
partment of the work,) be ill placed, to
usher in the subject, by observing,—that
these two leading and grand operations of
the soul, the will and the understanding,
(distinguished in the common phrase of the
world by the terms of the head and the
heart,) sometimes pass under the appella
tion of genius or mind, and heart or affec
tions ; and that, however strange it may
appear at first view, such is the pride and
depravity of human nature, we more easily
bear, and more readily pardon, an impu .
tation cast on our heart or morals, than on
our understanding ; a truth that is.express-
«d by a very homely, though a' Very point
 vii

edly significant adage—" a man would ra

ther be thought a knave than a fool."

As this false bias is a matter of moment

indeed, for all to correct and eradicate, it
behoves every one, therefore, to reflect and
closely to consider, whether it applies to
himself or not ; but in this self-investigation,
and indeed in every effort to ameliorate and
improve the heart of man, by inculcating
and inforcing the moral principle, it ap
pears essentially necessary to trace the
great currents of human action, through
all their windings and mazes, and in all
their advances to and deviations from rec
titude, or the moral principle; I say, to
trace them up to their main sources, the
two grant founts of good and evil, those
founts that feed the two vast streams of
sweet and bitter Avaters, the honor and dis
honor of our nature. To cleanse the fount,
then, will be one of the first essentials in
this high undertaking; for while that is
impure, so must inevitably its current be :
a further grand step will be, when once
cleansed, to watch over this spring with the
 viii

eyes of an argus, lest any future taint should

frustrate, and render abortive, all our for
mer labours ; and therefore, to keep it with
the strongest guard possible. For,

" Out of this fount are the great issues of Life."

Among the various passions and affec

tions that occupy the heart of man, and are
the great prompters to all his thoughts,
words, and deeds, some may be singled
out as chieftains or leaders of the rest ; and
in this light, as leaders, they may be con
sidered as classing under the one or the
other of these two great principles of good
and evil. These chieftains (if they may be
so termed) have, by various ethical writers,
in their several treatises on ethics, been
classed under different heads : by some
they have been distinguished under the sole
heads of fame and conscience ; by others,
under those of fame and interest, or neces
sity and pleasure ; and by others, again,
under fame and avarice ; but all, however,
seem to agree in one point—that is to say,
that the thirst of fame (the gentlest of all
terms, probably, for vain glory) bears the
strongest trait, and forms the most promi
nent feature, in all human conduct. Were
the author to offer his thoughts on the oc
casion, he should class human action in
general, as ranking under the heads of fame,
self-interest, and conscience, or the moral
principle ; or rather, indeed, under the two
heads of self-love, and the love of the Cre
ator and all his works.—Under the two
great moral and demoral principles afore
mentioned, must, however, be comprehend
ed all that has been devised, said, written,
and done by man, of the justifiable, the
laudable, and the culpable, in all their
shades and gradations : all that has digni
fied, and all that has debased human na
ture; the science that has civilized and
adorned, and the wars that have desolated
the earth, and crimsoned the blushing an
nals of history with gore : in short, these
two principles comprehend all the glory
and shame that forms the grand drama of
human events on the great theatre of the
world, from the dawn of time to the present
moment.

As the passion for fame, then, of all

others, appears to give the strongest and
most universal bias to human action, and
must, of course, form by far the largest
portion of the moral and demoral state of
man, it is a passion that requires our best
powers of self examination ; to sit in judg
ment on, and consequently decide, what
therefore of our actions deserve the sanction .
of justifiable or praiseworthy, as springing
from a real love of the cause of virtue, and
the laudable thirst of an honorable name ;
and what, on the other hand, are reprehen
sible, as springing from pride, ambition,
and vain-glory. Here, therefore, lies the
scene that calls forth all our moral energies
of self-investigation, in order to trace our
conduct up to its real and true source, of
the pure or the impure; the grand test of
virtue and vice, that either gives the self-
applause we may safely riot in, as the deed
that the recording angel will note down for
our future honor and glory ; or the sentence
that our unerring court of conscience de
nounces against us—the sentence that, to
our shame, will be registered and confirm
ed in the awful book of doom.
 xi

This premised, it may be asserted, it is

presumed, that among the various motives
that give rise to publications of every kind,
as well as human action in general, they
may (as before observed,) be referred to
three principal sources, viz.—fame, self-in-
retest, and the love of God and man.—For
the author to disclaim all motives of fame
in this work, (however humble,) would be
the grossest absurdity and vanity unpar
donable ; and would be, moreover, fixing
on himself the very imputation of what he
would thus disavow ; for no human being,
probably, is totally exempt from some tinc
ture of the passion; especially as vanity
(which is but a harsher term for thirst of
fame,) often flatters its votaries ; that the
pleasure found in applause, is nothing more
than a rational, a sanctionable, and even
laudable desire for the esteem of our fel
low-creatures ; thus, thereby, sheltering it
selfunder the garb of virtue. But whatever
lurking portion of this equivocal passion
(for such 'tis presumed it may be termed,)
the writer may harbour, in common with
his fellow-creatures, the gratification of it
must be bounded within a very contracted
 xii

circle, wherever the writer (as in the pres ent

case) is anonymous.—Whether or no the
good of society has been studied in this
work, must be left to the reader to decide ;
but the motive of self-interest is here avow,
ed, as the grand motive for what is here
offered to the public. But even the motive
of interest will assume the different com
plexions oflaudable, justifiable, or culpable,
according to the different ends it has in
view, and tends ultimately to the attainment
of, whether of either enlarging the means of
beneficence (but this, it may be observed,
deserves a higher name than self-interest)—
whether of procuring mere assistance,—or
whether in the mere grovelling view of in
creasing the hoards of avarice.

Necessity then, imperious necessity,

is here avowed as the grand reason for ob
truding the following sheets on the world ;
for the writer is now struggling, and has
long struggled unsuccessfully, under the
pressures of adversity, and that, too, in the
wane of life, combined with the infirmities
of age and considerable losses ; under all
which united afflictions he must inevitably
 xii

sink, without speedy relief; having no other

resource to fly to than the casual success
of this work, and the beneficence of his hu
mane brethren. The shame of being an
idler, but particularly that of being an idle
mason, he disdains ; therefore, in this work,
however humble his talent, though he dare
not aspire to be a corner stone, he hopes
he may be allowed to contribute a peg to
wards the building up the Science of Ma
sonry.— But an apology might be here ex
pected, likewise, for obtruding a work on
the world, on a subject wherein numbers
had already preceded it. That there are
numbers is admitted, and far be it from a
mason to detract from the merits of another :
the number of such works may be, it is pre
sumed, no small sanction for the present ;
for why, in the republic of letters, should
any be excluded from embarking in the
lottery of literature, (where talent so often
fails, and the humblest oft succeeds,; and
standing a competitor for some share of
public patronage ; or why should not the
latest as well as the earliest be candidates
for its favor? Do the number of existing
works then need an apology for the present]
 xiv

Are they not all but a just tribute to the

Order they treat of? All works are not
read by all, even the greatest readers, much
less by those in early life, for whom this
work is chiefly designed ; besides, the best
of works are often (through a passion for
mere novelty and change) thrown by, in
favor of new ones of inferior merit, and thus
old books of sterling value give way to
humbler ones of modern composition, some
get out of print, others are destroyed, forgot
ten, or get scarce and accessable to but few ;
the present work may meet the eyes of num
bers, that never have seen, and never might
see others, though works of fame, and far
its superior. The author, in the course of
his reading, which has been pretty exten
sive, has never met with any work what
ever, (whether masonic or on other subjects)
formed on the present plan, or any way si
milar to it ; and should there be any such,
the candid reader will not charge this with
plagiarism, for numbers may think alike and
clothe their thoughts in a somewhat similar
dress, without servilely copying each other.
In subjects of great importance, like the
present, it is submitted that they may (like
 XT

gome majestic pile) be exhibited in numer

ous points of view, and yet please in all ; for
every varied point may display some new
beauty, with peculiarly happy effect.

Respecting the general execution of

the work, the writer has, in addition to
what has before been observed, much to
offer in palliation of all its defects. In
the first place, he is (though an old man) a
young writer, this being the first of his ap
pearance in print; and long and arduous,
indeed, has been the literary toil; for,
through the whole of its composition, he
has, in addition to the common infirmities
of age, laboured under declining health and
great worldly embarrassments ; and all
must allow, that literary works of every
kind, require competency, and a mind,
much at ease, as well as vigorous health
and strength.—Should any thing herein,
appear to the critic to be irrelative, or fo
reign to the subject, or repetitions appear
to be too frequently made, it is hoped that
the information thus intended for the junior
readers, by often impressing on their minds
the necessity of continually looking into
 xvi

themselves, may, in some measure, atone

for it. For the deep learned, profound
scholar, and all of high literary acumen,
these pages are not presumed to be drawn
up ; for such need not those aids of elemen
tary information which the young and in
experienced may profit from. Should it,
therefore, be objected, that what is here
offered, are stale truisms, and trite and
common-place matter, the author would
ask—What of this elementary nature, in
this age of learning, is not trite to the pro
found scholar, at least, though highly inter-.
esting to those entering on life. To some
the style may appear turgid and inflated,
and particularly so in the observations on
creation and its source : conscious that the
charge may be made, it is submitted, that
where thoughts are too big for words, lan
guage from the best of pens must appear
inflated ; what otherwise, then, can be here
expected. In the article of quotation,
something of parody, and paraphrase as
well, has been offered :—Readers, be can
did, and consider them as well meant,
though humbly executed ; and extend that
candor to the work at large also : View it
 xv ii

and accept it as an introduction, and but an

introduction, to the threshold of Masonry ;
view it and accept it, as a good-will of
fering, though an humble offering, towards
a foot stone in the pile which the writer
hopes to see the cap stone of completed by
some abler pen. —Often was the author's
confidence of mind sunk below the par ne
cessary for due exertion to finish his work ;
and often was he animated to persevere,
when considering it a subject that no pen
could do adequate justice to, much less his;
and at the same time consoling himself with
the thought of its being addressed to those,
who would wink at all the imperfections of
an aged and infirm brother, anxious to
please, and not ashamed to fail ; where the
best must be foiled, and where he knew the
humble effort would be accepted as his
mite, his all, instead of a better.

Once again, brothers, and preface is

done with.—In the field of Mars—when in
contest with the champion and the hero,
even defeat is honorable ; and why may it
not be so in the field of letters also. To
c
 XTiii

cope with a subject, then, wherein the best

energies of mind must fall short of excel
ling, can there be any honor lost, even
where no applause is won? The author
almost glories in the very attempt ; for all
will surely allow—'tis far better to fail in a
worthy cause, than to rank foremost in the
lists of a bad one.
 .:. I i*

' t ..

K« 'J '
> J J' •'

j i . 1 ..
>> ) «;.. .no ..,
 TO

FREEMASONRY.

IN taking a general review of every institution,

association, society, order, or by whatever other
terms such establishments are distinguished ; whether
founded for the purposes of government, promotion of
commerce, science, mutual security, pleasure, profit,
conferring of honors, or for whatever other ends
instituted ; (at least every such that is human,) is, in
general, found, on retrospect, to have been limited in
the objects or ends it was founded for, and those ob
jects not to have been of the first importance to the
welfare of man ; and local also in point of extent and
operation, has been the promotion of those objects,
as well as fleeting and unstable in point of duration.
—Such, therefore, of those institutions, as compared
with each other, will rank the highest in the scale of
c3
 4
merit ; will derive such their merit, from the impor
tance and extent of operation of those objects, the
uniformity of those systems, the universality of their
influence, the stability of their duration, the respec
tability of their founders and supporters, but above
•11, (as the crowning glory of the work,) from the ac
complishment of the ends for which they w ere found
ed.

In taking this retrospect of these establishments

of old, whether as handed down to us through the le
gend, the fable, or the hieroglyphic, through tradition
or through the annals of history, it appears, that from
the lowest to the highest of them, from those of the
province and the most limited territorial dominions
to those of the principality, from the principality to
the most extensive kingdoms and empires—fleeting
have been the most durable, and unstable have been
the most permanent; bounded have been the most
extensive, and limited in their objects as well as their
operations, have been the most universal; for in their
most comprehensive views, their objects have been
restricted to human conduct, in a civil or secular
point of view, merely. But in the very zenith of all
their glory, to what a lamentable degree have they
fallen short of the ends and purposes of their institu
tions ! Even kingdoms and empires, with their
mighty founders, have had their rise, meridian, and
decline; and their 6hort-lived transient flashes of hu
man glory, have either terminated in shame and infa-
 &
my, or, at best, been consigned to humiliating obli
vion : some have fallen from the pinnacle of human
greatness, through the grasp at unwieldy power and
dominion ; others, through the tyranny and oppres
sion of their rulers or founders ; while, from the in
stability of human things in general, others again have
succeeded each other with a rapidity, mortifying to
the pride and ambition of man, and all his vain de
signs. So transitory and unstable, indeed, have been
many of the supposed empires of old, that neither
their very names, nor those of their founders, are
handed down to us ; or, handed down with doubts and
uncertainties, that mock the toil of the annalist to re
cord them and collect a few of the scattered links in
the mutilated chain of ancient story ; for, faithless
herein have been the most faithful of the chronicles
of ancient times—leaving in the page of history wide
chasms that we may fruitlessly lament, but can never
hope to fill up. In vain we ask even Balbec's gor
geous domes, Palmyra's boasted temples, or Egypt's
proud pyramids, who their mighty founders were,
though once, perhaps, the terror, the wonder, and
the admiration of the earth; yet now their names
forgotten as an idle tale, while the very wrecks of
their mouldering grandeur, rifted by time's proud
triumph to their very base, seem thus to frown con
tempt on their vain founders' schemes ; leaving the
inquiring traveller, and poriiag antiquary, in all their
zeal for adding to the funds of historic lore, lost in
fruitless dark conjecture, who raised their stupendous
 6
*
fabrics, or why, or for what end or purpose they wer*
raised at all.

Bat to the instability and defects of all other hu

man institutions, the Order of Masonry is a brilliant,
an enviable, an unparalelled, unrivalled exception in
every point of view—venerable ior its high antiquity,
important views, universal operation, unshaken da-
ration, and the rank and respectability of its founders
and supporters—venerable for its antiquity, for its
plans were coeval with creation—glorious in its ends
and purposes, for they are no less than the grand
concerns of two worlds ; the most essential interests
of the present, and the moral preparatory for the fu
ture—boundless in its extent, operation, and benefi
cent effects, for it extends to the uttermost parts of
the earth, and embraces for its objects the good of
the whole human race, of every clime, kindred, na
tion, tongue, and people under heaven. Its founders
and supporters were the great lights of antiquity, and
luminaries to all ages ; and its leaders still continue
to be, the great and (what is greater than great) the
good, the wise, and the honorable of the earth. In
short, among its patrons and supporters in all ages,
may be numbered those who have worn the diadem,
and swayed the sceptre. Not that Masonry derives
its dignity from human titles, but from a much higher
source ; for titles are but the effect of honor, and not
the cause of it ; or, in plainer terms, it is honor that
confers titles, and not titles honor. Masonry, there-
 >
7
fore, derives its honors from those who deserved and,
therefore, bore those titles ; it derives them from those
who were not only the rulers of the earth, but who,
as the fathers of their people, reigned in the hearts of
those they governed ; men who dignified dignity, and
ennobled nobility, and added a lustre to the diadem,
instead of borrowing any from it ; men who would
have scorned to wear a badge they were unconscious
of meriting; I say a badge, for what are all earthly
titles but badges, that (like the gnomon of a dial) point
to the breast where bosoms the well-earned glory of
the defenders of their country, and the benefactors of
the human race.—VeHerable also is the order for its
unrivalled stability and duration ; for while kingdoms
(as before observed) as well as every other human insti
tution, have bad their rise and decline, and after sup
porting a short-lived splendor, bowed to the ruthless
hand of timp, Masonry has witnessed the rise, revo
lutions, and wane of empires, withstood the ravages
of war, and the still more desolating ravages of bar
barous ignorance and gloomy superstition, in modern
as well as ancient times ; for through the dark ages,
from the 6th to the 16th century, Masonry was the
chief lamp of knowledge that illumined the gloom of
the then degraded human mind ; it was the purse that
fostered, the guardian that watched over, and the ark
that preserved, through the deluge of gothic gloom
that then overspread the earth, all the science that
htfd survived the wrecks of the Grecian and lloman
empire : all which, I trust, is a sure earnest, that
 8
Masonry will endure till the angel shall swear, by
him that liveth for ever,—" that time shall be no lon
ger." Nor need we wonder at its stability and dura
tion, when we reflect, that it is laid on the broad basis
of the welfare of the whole human race, knit together
by one universal language, in the bonds of fraternal
benevolence, (the centre and circumference of all
union and harmony,) and that it is founded on the
adamantine rock of virtue in general, and all the car
dinal and social virtues of the heart in particular.

Having thus taken a general view of the antiquity,

importance, universality, and dignity of the order
and its venerable supporters, I proceed to give a ge
neral outline of it, in its operative and speculative,
or, in other terms, in its temporal and moral depart
ments.

Freemasonry, then, in its general and universal

acceptation, as comprehending these two grand divi
sions of human and moral science, is wisely planned
and adapted for the welfare of man in both these im
portant concerns ; for as man is a compound of body
and soul, so Masonry (as a compound of human and
moral science,) is admirably calculated for the pro
motion of man's highest interests in his present as well
as future state ; that is, to form him what his Creator
intended him,
To be useful, to be wise, and to be happy.
 9
And not only to be happy in himself, but to make
all around him so as well, as far as humanity will
admit of.

If we look nature through, above, around, and

beneath us, we find every thing but man, apostate
man ! ever answering the purposes for which created :
the tenants of the earth, air, and water ; and the in
animate creation also, trees, herbs, and flowers, all
fulfilling their ends, and rejoicing in existence. Shall
man, then, by violating the moral principle, invert
the order of heaven, and be the only exception to,
what he was designed to lead the example for? Shall
he clash with the harmony of creation, and be the
blot instead of the glory of its works? Oh! what
breast, on reflection, but must shudder with indigna
tion at the thought ! . tig

To point out the means, then, that Masonry affords,

for fulfilling those dignifying ends, the grand ends of
being useful, wise and happy, is the intended purport
of the following work. .

Masonry , in its operative department, or that of cul

tivating human science, comprehends under this head,
the sturdy knowledge and practice of all the liberal
arts and sciences, usually distinguished by the names
of Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic, Arithmetic, Geometry,
Music and Astronomy; a brief outline of each o'f
which follows, together with a concise detail of, their
 10
several and respective advantages in life ; for how
ever familiar a cursory view of them may be, yet their
respective merits are too rarely weighed and duly ap
preciated, so well lat least, as to prompt to a practi
cal knowledge of them; or, but too rarely, however,
by those just entering on life, for whom this work is
chiefly designed.

As Grammar takes the lead in learning and know

ledge, it will here be first treated of.—Language being
the gift of heaven, and a most essential one, among its
manifoldblessings to man ; one that most peculiarly sets
his pre-eminence far above all the animated creation
around him; grammar may therefore be defined the
art or science of communicating that language, in the
' intercourse of society, with perspicuity, promptness,
and propriety; not in converse only, but when we
commit our thoughts to writing also. Rude and im
perfect would language be, and inadequate to its de
sign without the science of grammar ; but still more
so would be the art of writing (which is but talking
on paper) as language is but the dress of our thoughts,
so the knowledge of grammar, may be styled
the dress of those thoughts, with becoming decency
and correctness, in all our concerns in life ; surely,
therefore, no one will dispute, that Our thoughts
ought to be at least as well clothed as our persons ;
and in many cases they ought to be better so ; for our
persons we may not always possess the means ; but
what an imputation does not erring in speech cast on
 11
our mental attention and application ; dress, it is true, .
gains for the wearer a favorable prepossession, general
ly speaking ; but how soon is that impression lost, the
moment impropriety of language is perceived ; but re
verse the case, and a mean attire, with propriety of con
verse, will soon more than retrieve the unfavorable
impression that attire has excited, and, it is needless to
remark, whether rising or sinking in the eyes of those
we converse with, is to be desired. To express our
selves slovenly and amiss, what a source of wrangling
and contention, doubt and uncertainty, does not the
want of grammar every day occasion ; but especially on
the most important occasions : that of the disposal of
our worldly estate to posterity, when the donor can
return no more to explain his intentions ! What tens of
thousands have not been spent, in developing the
will of the departed !—occasioning such obscurity, as
often to set at defiance all comprehension of our mean
ing whatever. But when we commit our thoughts to
writing on more ordinary occasions, a proficiency in
this science becomes highly essential ; for letters expose
our breeding, our understanding, and acquired abili
ties, to the eyes of the world at large ; and that not
only for the present but frequently to distant posteri
ty : for letters hang on a file, and speak when their in-
diters are silent and no more—they honor or di?grace
their writers, though long laid in the dust, and give
pleasure or pain to their children after them ; who will
often (though innocent) blush for the defects of their
 12
parents, and, what is no small aggravation of them,
for those defects which are then remediless : how
often are letters (though written, seemingly, on trivial
occasions,) held up in courts of judicature to elucidate
facts, both iir civil and criminal causes, which the
inditers never thought of, or intended.—Bad language
spoils good sense, and bad spelling (for reasons be
fore-mentioned/ is worse than a garment in tatters :
these defects, when in converse, offend the ear chief
ly ; but in writing they offend two senses, both the
eye and the ear, and, indeed, the understanding as
well.

Having observed that grammar is the skill of ex

pressing ourselves with propriety on the common, the
every day concerns of life—the science of Rhetoric
may be considered, uot only as clothing our senti
ments in appropriate terms, on ordinary occasions,
but as ministering to the display of our sentiments with
strength, elegance, and energy, in topics of high mo
ral moment : where the passions are necessarily ap
pealed to, and particularly in the higher, refined, and
more exalted walks of .life : on the stage, at the bar,
and in the pulpit, in the solemn, the pathetic,' and the
sublime; where the good shepherd, to wean his flock
from an inordinate bias to the present transitory scent
of things,
. .. " Allurts to a brighter world."

Aud to that allurement, adds the still stronger rheto-

 13
ric, the moral rhetoric of
** Leading the way."
Iii arraying virtue in its native winning garb, and
displaying it in all its dignified radiance ;* in rousing
the stagnant blood of apathy and indolence, and goad
ing our debasing sloth to honourable industry; in
abashing the monster vice with shame and confusion-
at its own hideous mien; in pricking the villain to
the heart, and awing him into blushing and contrition ;
in plucking the sheep's clothing from the sainted wolf,
•if/
* On no two subjects, perhaps, are the powers of language,
and even those Of the pencil likewise, so much foiled, as iu
those of virtue and vice. For who can dare delineate tiu.io iu
their genuine colors, without being baffled and defeated iu the
v;>4a attempt : .
" Af vice is a monster of that horrid mien.
: i. .«.. , " Tbat.to be hated needs but to be seen."
So in a strain of parody, we may exclaim. ..
Ohvirtue! i .> m....„....' .
.f. Thou eeraph of calctial m ien,
» . " For adoration, need'st be only seen."
The best descriptive pen must herein fall so lamentably short
of the originals, that (worse than botching a sound garment)
it must obscure instead of illustrating the objects they attempt
pourtraying ; unless, on the other hand, it may be urged, that
by the, at best, bungling attempt, they do a kind of partial or
negative justice. For what can give or add a lustre to a diamond
of the first water ; or who can paint the more than ghastly hy
dra form of vice ?
i>2 :i;"(.& a sj,, j*
 and ^stripping the vizard from the canting lip-holy hy
pocrites, and exposing them naked and unmasked to
ythe world, in all their gorgon deformity, and shewing
thejn ini their true colors —the imps of the infernal
!©nej wretches that dam the very cause they profess tp
.i *.
-J HI. 'tV. .; : .'.♦•tTj
Jlhetoric always shines conspicuous in pleading
th«. cause of the orphan and the widow, against the.
tyrant and the oppressor, in private as well as at the
bar of public justice ; nor are grammar and rhetoric
io*ut trusty friejids at home only, but abroad as well.;
for who would not wish to be useful and please at a
distance, as well as at hand. Here, then, these
sciences are our true and faithful mercuries likewise,
iij qualifying. us,. from our firesides, for issuing dis-
patchjes,,,en^hjacuig the commercial interests of mil-
Ijo^V as >vell as giving to distant nations, mandates
thaidecide fate of empires: they wing consolation
if> the friend, jthe captive, the wretched, and to all
the endearing t^es of blood, though severed by oceans
Jlrorti v») as well as waft the lover's sighs and vows
JjO.the uttermost parts of the earth.
• ?\.Meayen first taught letters for some wretch's aid, .
,.. ". SiQrae banish'd lover., or some captive maid :
" They live, they breathej they speak what lore inspires,
*'* Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires; ' lib
" Theviiiglii's wish, without her fears, impart, J. . j. ; .
il s' *f Jijjsuae. the blush, and pour out all the heart ^
" Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
* '*' And vraft a sigh froto Indus to the pole." ai>'
 15
"What a glorious instance have we of the noble
powers of rhetoric in St. Paul's mission ! where the
Apostle, though in bonds, arraigned as a criminal
before the highest tribunal then on earth; here,
humbled as he was in the eyes of the world, though
a captive in chains at the awful bar of justice, the
truth and dignity of his cause beamed a lustre in his
countenance, and rhetoric nerved his tongue in all
the painted strength and power of speech, in language
that condemned his very accusers, and judged even
his judges ; yea, and made even Felix, in all his
pomp and dignity of office, tremble in his very seat
of judgment.

Logic, the next usually mentioned in the° seven,

is the science of methodizing and connecting our ideas,
as well as of forming and arranging arguments, in dis
cussing topics on all subjects whatsoever ; and is gen
erally allowed to be, the foundation and ground-work \
of all other human knowledge; for it introduces us .
to the acquaintance with our own minds—strengthens
our mental faculties, and informs us of the extent and
capacity of its powers, enabling us to discover, what
objects it is suited to and. adapted for, and, of course,
what it is not at present adapted for also ; in short, it.
informs us what is and what is not reason ; and on a
point which is most highly essential to proud presu
ming mortals, especially those gentry of the modern
school, (as the phrase is) it informs us of what is
D3
 16
abore the reach of reason, or, in other words, of what
is beyond the flight of our present finite capacities;
for can finite comprehend infinite? can mortal man
fathom the hidden depths of the Being that dwelleth
in light inapproachable?*—can the creature fathom its
creator ? May I here then be allowed to observe, that
though man's endowments are ample, they are bound
ed, and no doubt, in mercy bounded; for if, with our
limited powers, we are swollen with pride, rather than
filled with gratitude, for the portion given; if, instead
of humbly and thankfully improving the talent given,
we dare boldly to censure the giver ; would not a lar
ger portion have enhanced the magnitude of our pre
sumption, and, of course, the weight of our condemna
tion? Logic, then, furnishes us with the means of
compassing our ends in the investigation of truth and
detection of error; and thus by its light we frame cor- .
rect notions of things, and shape our actions agreeably
to existing circumstances, as to time, place, person,
and on every other occasion, in our various intercourse
through life. •. ;

Arithmetic (one of the chief branches of the ma

thematics) is the art of numbering, or that depart- '
ment of the mathematics which considers the powers .

* The eye of the body is not competent to behold the sun,

the mere creature of Omnipotence ; is it strange, then, that the
eye of the mind should be incompetent to fathom its creator ; or
that the clay should not be equal to the potter that fashions it ?
 17
and properties of numbers, and enables us to compute
and calculate correctly, and with expedition and faci
lity and its consequence is such, as to be styled the
basis and foundation of all arts, mechanic, and ma-
thematic ; and it consists, chiefly, in the four great
rules of Addition, Subtraction, Multiplication, and
Division; though some state those principal ruleyto
be six, by adding Numeration and Evolution, or thi .
extraction of roots, to the four others : and though
for facilitating and expediting calculations, mercan
tile, astronomical, and others, various other rules
have been formed, such as Proportion, Allegation,
False Position, Progression, Fellowship, Interest,
Barter, Rebate, Reduction, Tare, Tret, and others ;
yet they are still only various applications of the
afore-mentioned primitive rules. The power of num
bers, besides assisting us in the great commercial and
other more common concerns of life, affords us a kind
of foreknowledge (if I may be allowed the term,) of
all the greatest human exertions, both of body and
mind ; and, among other, its numerous advantages,
brings home the greatest future undertakings under
our eye, and while at our firesides : for those schemes
which the mind, at a first view, would shrink from,
and deem more than herculean, if not quixotic and
impossible in every point of view, arithmetic demon
strates to us, through the powers of calculation, to
be practicable ; and not only so, but shows us how
they are practicable, in point of time, expenditure,
quantum of labor, and in every other particular ; and
 18
(unlike airy castle builders) gives us a most pleasing
as well as rational certainty, of compassing our pur
poses, by counting the cost before we sit down to
build ; and hence we read of all the vast works of anti
quity, which history hands down to us, (some of which
are now crunftled into dust, but many of which are
yet extant,) but we read of them, not (like the un
thinking mass of mankind) as fables and legends, but
as realities ; and we thus view, in imagination, those
stupendous monuments of our venerable ancestors'
greatness; with a still higher advantage, we view
them with a laudable thirst of emulation, and as a
stimulus to do the like ; and, at the same time, feel a
rational glow of delight in contemplating what the
powers of man, with application and perseverance,
are equal to. Thus, by the aid of numbers, we, at
our desks, in a few hours, plan the work of years,
link even oceans together, and treble their intrinsic
importance ; hence we look into future times, not
with a preposterous second-sight, but with the eye of
prophetic certainty, (if I may so term it.) Nor
should, among its numerous other advantages, be
forgotten, the means it affords of promoting the vir
tue of prudence, by calculating our domestic expen
diture, and keeping within compass ; as well as pre
viously acquainting us with the extent of our means
for being generous aswell as just : Hence are verified
the observations, that
" Though life is short, art is long;"
 19
And that
" From numbers, aid, and art, never will fame depart."
Surely, then, if every thing that enlarges the
sphere of human powers, that opens and, as it were,
expands the eyes of the mind, and shews man that he
can do what he once thought he could not do, is high
ly interesting. 'What a claim, then, has the power of
numbers to our attention and cultivation !—After this
short view, then, of the science, may we not assert,
that the power of numbers gives us the number of all
things, but the number of its own advantages?*

Geometry ranks high as a very important

branch of the mathematics, and is the science of ex-
• ' ' .' ' 1 • ' • .' i . ; ; i ..' j.i
' « ''' • •...).•• .... ;i j ..u
* I beg here to subjoin a few specimens of calculation, as
some exemplfiication of the present subject.—The Great Wall of
China, twelve hundred miles long, and, at a medium, eighteen
feet high, containing nine millions five hundred and four thousand
solid fathoms, was completed in five years. The Walls of Ba
bylon, by Nebuchadnezar, were not quite double the mass of
building of the Chinese Wall, being eighteen millions one hun
dred and eighty-nine thousand six hundred solid fathoms, and
could be finished in ten years, if Nebuchadnezar could employ
double the number of hands.—Mr. Goguet, a French astrono
mer, asserts, that one hundred thousand people were thirty
years in constructing the largest Pyramid in Egypt, which, he
asserts, contains three hundred and thirteen thousand five hun
dred and ninety solid fathoms. The Canal of Languedoc, he
affirms, is seventy leagues long, and required the removal of
two millions of cubic fathoms of earth ; but one hundred thou
sand men would have done it inthree weeks, if each man removed
a single fathom a day.
 20
tension, as distinguished into, or comprehending,
length, breadth, and thickness, or depth, (nature ad-
witting of no other dimensions but those three ;) and
which a book, or even a common brick, well exem
plifies. It explains the nature, properties, and vari
ous affections, or quantities, of magnitude in general,'
Thus, a point is that which has no parts, viz.— it has
neither length, breadth, nor thickness ; however, as
no operation can be performed without the assistance
of visible and corporeal things, the mathematical
point must be represented by the natural one, which
is the object of our sight, the smallest and least sen
sible, and is made by the prick of a pen or pencil.—
A line is a continuation or an infinite series of equi
distant points, or a length without breadth. A su
perficies hath length and breadth also, but without
thickness ; and as a line is the production of a point,
so the superficies is the production of the line, and is
as often termed a surface or area as a superficies : a
superficies, therefore, is an extent between lines that
has length and breadth, but no depth or thickness;
or, if it is considered with regard to its extremities,
(which are the lines by which it is encompassed) it is
then called a figure, which consists of an infinite se
ries of lines, either strait or crooked, according to
the figure represented : it this superficies is raised, it
is called convex; if depressed, it is called eoncave;
and if it is flat and even, it is called a plane. Thus
much is thought sufficient, respecting the outline, or
general view, of the science which is said to have had
 21
its rise among the Egyptians ; who were compelled to
invent it, in order to obviate the confusion which ge
nerally happened in ascertaining their lands, from the
annual overflow of the Nile—the flooding of which
effaced all boundaries and land-marks, and obliterated
all the limits of their possessions; and thus this inven
tion, which consisted, at first, in merely measuring
their lands, that every one might have their right,
was called land-measuring, or geometry. But tha
Egyptians afterwards applied themselves to mora
subtil researches ; and, from a mere mechanical ex
ercise, insensibly sprung this noble science, which
deserves to be placed among those of the first rank,
as being not only barely useful, but highly necessary ;
for, by the aid of geometry, astronomers make their
observations, regulate the duration of times, seasons,
years, and cycles, and ascertain the distance, mo
tions, and magnitude of the heavenly luminaries.—It
is by geometry, also, that geographers shew us the
magnitude of the whole earth, delineate the extent of
its seas and its sections, into empires, kingdoms, and
other minor divisions of the globe. Architecture*
also, is indebted to this science for its correct admea
surements in the construction of all public edifices, as
well as of all inferior works; and naval architecture,
likewise, is founded on its principles, in every re
spect ; engineers, also, by its assistance, conduct all
their works, take the situation and plans of towns,
and distances of places ; and, in fine, take the mea
sure of such things as are accessible to the sight only.
 22
In the military service, this seience is absolutely ne
cessary, as it is not only an introduction to fortifica
tion, (which shews how to build ramparts for defence
as well as offence, and to construct machinery to de
molish as well as to defend,) but likewise gives great
knowledge and depth in the art military, for draw
ing up armies in order of battle, and in marking out
encampments, on all occasions. Itis, also, a most es
sential guide in mapping countries, taking plans of
towns, forts, and castles : to measure all kinds of di
mensions, accessible and inaccessible, to give designs,
and, in fine, to render man as formidable by his un
derstanding and science, as by his strength and va
lour.—All who profess designing, should know some
what of geometry ; for, otherwise, they cannot per
fectly understand architecture, or perspective, which
are most essential in the art.—Mechanics, and even'
music also, and, in a word, all the sciences which
consider things, as susceptible of more or less ; (that
is to say) all the precise and accurate sciences, may
be referred to geometry; for all speculative truths,
consisting only in the relations of things, and in the
relations between those relations, they may be all re
ferred to lines; consequences may be drawn from
them ; and those consequences, again being rendered
sensible by lines, become permanent objects, con
stantly exposed to a rigid attention and examina
tion; and thus we have infinite opportunities both 'of
inquiring into their certainty, and pursuing them
further. The cause, for instance, why we ban dis-
 23
cern so distinctly, and mark so precisely, the con
cords, called octaves, fifths, &c. is, that we have
learnt to express sounds by lines—that is to say, by
chords accurately divided ; and that we know that the
chord which sounds octave is double of that which it
makes octave; that the fifth is the sesquialterate ratio,
or as three to two, and so of the rest. The ear itself
is incapable of sounds, with such precision, and its
judgments are too faint, vague, and variable, to form
a science : for the best ear is unable to distinguish
many of the differences of sound. It is by reason
only, that we find that (the length of the chord which
makes the difference between certain sounds, being
divisible into several parts,) there may be a great
number of different sounds therein contained, useful
in music, undistinguishable by the. ear : hence it fol
lows, that but for arithmetic and geometry, we had
bad no such thing as regular fixed music ; and, there
fore, music would not have been a science founded on
incontestible demonstration. In mechanics, also, the
heaviness of a weight, and the distance of the centre
of that weight from the fulcrum, or point, it is sus
tained by, being susceptible of plus and minus, they
may both also be expressed by lines; hence Geometry
becomes applicable hereto, in consequence whereof
infinite discoveries have been made of the highest use
in life. Geometrical lines and figures are not only
proper to represent to the imagination, the relation
between magnitudes, or between things as susceptible
of more or less—as spaces, times, weights, motions,
Sec. but they may even represent things which the
E
 24
miud cannot otherwise conceive, viz. the relation of
incommensurable magnitudes. But it is not pretend
ed, that all subjects which arc objects of enquiry can
be expressed by lines : thus, for instance, the know
ledge of the Supreme and his attributes is the principle
of all religion and morality, from whence a thousand
undeniable consequences may be drawn ; and yet nei
ther the principle nor the consequences can be ex
pressed by lines or figures. Many of the most learned
of the ancients were wont to express all their philoso
phical and theological notions by geometrical lines.
In their researches into the causes of things, they
imagined that they perceived, in the visible works of
nature, certain forms affected by the great source
thereof, and which they termed harmonical proportions;
such 'as circles, perpendiculars, parallels, triangles,
squares, <fec. and the divine and natural operations were
often designated by such symbols ; and it is very pro
bable that such were adopted by Plato, Pythagoras,
and others. But it is worthy observation, that the
study of geometry, among some of die most learned
of the ancients, was not for scientific but lor symbolic
purposes rather. Things and properties unknown,
were not argued or deduced from lines, but things
.that were known were represented by them; they
Were not used as the means or instruments of dis
covery, but as images or character to preserve, or
Communicate discoveries already made.—The advan
tages and importance of geometry being so great and
manifold,. it was thought a more concise detail of them
might be deemed an injustice to the science, as well
 25
as a loss to those noviciates and candidates for Ma
sonry as yet unversed in it; especially, as one of the
wisest of the ancient sages thought proper to prohibit
all from entering his academy, who were not versed
in Geometry.

Astronomy, as well as geography, beingso intimate

ly connected withgeometry, orrather, in some respect,
branches of it, and all the three being so inseparably and
essentially united in the service of man, the following
general observations, in addition to what has been al
ready offered, will, it is presumed, be deemed not al
together foreign to this work.—It was observed, that
by the aid of geometry, astronomers take their obser
vations, and regulate the duration of seasons, years,
cycles, &c. and ascertain the laws of the heavenly
bodies; and these acquisitions, instead of merely grati
fying idle speculative curiosity, most highly contribute
to promote the interests of commerce, agriculture, and
science in general—in marking the seasons of seed
time and harvest—in'making voyages for discoveries,
scientific as well as commercial; in noting winds,
tides, variations of weather, &c. and are the mari
ner's chief guide t'irough all the perils of the deep.
But these essential temporal interests are yet but
grovelling objects, when contrasted with reading
our creator, in the volume of wonders above us : for
the astronomer, mounting on the eagle pinions of ge
ometry and arithmetic, soars to the stars, and makes
nearer approach to, and enjoys a more intimate
 20
contemplation of the glory of the grand architect, by
learning the laws, numbers, and magnitude of the
host of heaven ; and thus kindling in himself a more
ardent glow of gratitude and adoration to the giver of
all things.

As geometry delineates th« earth, with its seas

and oceans, (thence called the terraqueous globe,) and
shews its magnitude and extent, so geography, (as
one of its hand-maids) gives us a minute detail of
those portions of land and water, in the terms follow
ing:— the land it sub-divides into continents, islands,
isthmuss, promontories or capes; and those again
further subdivide (as the political division thereof,)
into kingdoms, empires, cities, towns, &c. The wa
ters, also, it divides into, and describes by, the names
ofoceans, seas, rivers, straits, bays, gnlphs, &c. And
the terraqueous globe, thus delineated and geometri
cally measured, is found to be in circumference, three
hundred and sixty degrees, every degree being sixty
geographical miles ; so that its whole circuit is twenty
one thousand six hundred such miles ; and if diame
ters were precisely a third part of circumferences, its
diameter would be seven thousand two hundred miles;
but diameters in relation to circumferences, being as
seven to twenty-two, it is somewhat less than a third
part of the circumference.—If we reduce the geogra
phical miles to English miles, the circumference will
be about twenty-four thousand such miles, and its
diameter near eight thousand miles.
 27
So comprehensive and various, indeed, are the
advantages of geography, that without it, we can
neither attain to any competency in navigation, conv.
merce, history, nor the knowledge of the earth we
inhabit, nor its inhabitants, or their manners and
customs ; for, besides the above several descriptions
of its surface, <fec. it acquaints us with the several
rulers of the kingdoms thereof, with their political
interests and laws ; furnishes us with the nature of
their soils., climes, and manners ; their modes of re
ligion, habits, (natural and acquired) products, com
merce, learning, antiquities, mountains, plains. seas,
rivers, soundings, bearings; aud, in fine, giv«aiu«Ja
general description and knowledge of the w&ole globe<•
Its utility, also, in general history, ancient'- and!
decn, ishighly important in pointing out' the very sp&ty
the scene where every memorable event, recorded
for after times, took place. Though history informs
us what happened, and chronology when' i|i hap^
pened; yet still the account is lame without) the
geographical where the event took place ; which in
point of clime and various other predicaments ac
companying it, must be indispensably necessary ilti
forming a competent judgment of the various scenes
which history details.—These observations with re*
gard to general civil history, (usually termed prophane
history) will still more strongly apply, as to all the
historical parts of the sacred volume itself. . Wittiit^
therefore, be deemed too much to say, that it is a lamp
in the path to heaven itself? On a general review of
£3
these geographical advantages, it may be farther ob
served, that we can' hereby, (even when winter im
prisons us in our own dwellings,) traverse the whole
world over on paper, and visit the frozen and burning
climes, without attempting the perils of the main :
the invalid may do it without hazarding his health,
and the busy sons of mammon, without neglecting the
main chance. But as geography informs us of what
birds of passage find by instinct, hence, on the other
hand, the valetudinarian also migrates, like those
passage birds, from the rigours of his own, to climes
more genial to his feeble frame : thus extending the
shert'span of life, and adding to the number of his
comforts and of his days also. .i '.
ti.H .VG' * • .
"1'tiow proceed to treat of Masonry, or architec
ture' in Its literal or common acceptation ; a science
(as before hinted,) so intimately connected with geo
metry, that it may be termed its foot-stone, corner
stone, and Cape-stone ; and hence constituting a grand
object in operative Freemasonry.

In giving an outline of it, (for no more can be ex

pected in this introductory work,) I shall be more
diffuse, than on the subjects already touched on; but
should my zeal in the cause, sometimes lead me into
digressions seemingly irrelevant to the subject,—rea
ders in general, I again request be candid, (I know
my brothers will.) But previous to entering on this
part of the work, I beg to repeat a hint I before
offered to those of years and experience, viz. that
the best of things which may appear trite and stale to
them, are far otherwise to the young and inexperienced;
for duly to appreciate the numberless enjoyments we
are born to, and ever before our eyes, and therefore
heedksly slighted and thought nothing of, till pointed
out to us, and even then too rarely with due effect ; I
say, duly to estimate those advantages, it will be ne
cessary to retrace the scene of things before our eyes,
from their present state to the dawn of creation, and
to reflect that when the world was young, and as it
were in its swaddling clothes, what labours, what dif
ficulties, our forefathers must have encountered and
surmounted, before they could slay and eat with com
fort. We now must have a tool, to make a tool, but
how was the first made?—the first knife to slay, and
the ax to dig in the earth, must have been an hercu
lean task. How was the metal dug for, before the in
struments we now use were found, what was the tool to
effect it, and where was itfound ? The same difficulties
must have been surmounted, before the needful labours
of the shuttle and the loom could be enjoyed, and
many more for forming the first rude and comfortless
huts for shelter; but we little reflect on the awkward
shifts and numberless inconveniences, the first inven
tors were put to in satisfying those common calls, of
food, raiment, and shelter. The first lame efforts to
wards those comforts, must hare been followed with a
long train of successive and many fruitless trials, be
fore brought to modern perfection : what in the ear
ly ages of mankind, took up the labors of a week, we
 30
now accomplish in the course of a day ; and, iimtim
bers of instances, in the course of an Lour: what in-.
finite treasures of time, does not this throw into our
hands, but for what purposes ? Surely for far nobler
purposes than catering for the body ; it affords us
the leisure for, the noblest ends man is born for, the
cultivating science and the moral principle ; nor need
we murmur at the present contracted span of life, nor
envy antediluvian longevity, while art and science
thus. give us more than an equivalent for all the bles-.
sings and advantages of the patriarchal ages. But
though we are now. entered on the fifty^ninth century.
of the world, amid a blaze of art and science, (much.
as has already been done) still much remains there to
he dome ; shall We not then of the present day^ |ier-
seMere.itti adding to. to the treasure* oi' knowledge al.,
ready accumulated,—the accumulated treasures* of near.
six thousand years? Born as we are to those blessings,
shall the mind here stagnate and corrupt? Shall
it wallow in indolence and debauchery, and convert
those blessings into curses? Shall We bury those ta-"
lents that will .one day be required at our ha$ds.r—th&
noblest energies of body and soul? No, surely J.
common justice then demands, moral equity calls
loudly for, and honor prompts obedience to those
calls. To what calls? IJo do as much for future.
ages, as the past have done for us : for us that ar«
basking In a thousand enjoyments that they were'
strangers to ; but which, nevertheless, they laid the
foundations for. And who, then, where is the das-
tard soul that will shrink from the like exertion* for
the ages yet unborn?—Without apologizing for these
moral digressions, I proceed to observe,

That the first architecture was from the hands of

Almighty power itself ;

Though Heaven, and the Heaven of Heavens, is

the blissful throne of him who, alone, is from ever
and for ever, he (in wonderous condescending love to
his creature man) laid the foundations of the earth,
and built it for man's habitation, and gave it him for
his inheritance ;

And (for the contemplation and delight of this his

favorite,) he adorned it with the emanations of his
power, wisdom, and goodness.* '. .. .ii

• Though all the elements around us (at least what are usu
ally termed such) contribute their destined portions in a greater
or less degree to the service and enjoyments of man, the earth
seems the most friendly, constant, uniform, and steady of them
all. Fire, water, and air, though excellent subjects to him in
their general offices, yet, in their several and respective extremes,
they become the most desolating and imperious tyrants. But
when their several forces unite, and act thus in combination,
nothing can stand before them : in the deluge, the volcano, and
the whirlwind, their devastations are boundless ; but the earth
is in no one instance ever his enemy, but in all her offices is
ever his nursing mother, ever friendly to him from the cradle
to the tomb—from bis entrance into the world till and after his
departure out of it; to say nothing of the innumerable treasures
 32
He built it as the grand theatre, where
All, all, I say, of Adam's race
Have their parts cast for glory.
He built it as that theatre where honor and glory
are designated the grand prompters, well to play
those parts, and quit the stage with plaudits crowned.
Thenceforth, in scenes celestial, parts to fill,
Too great for tongue to utter.
He built it as the temple, also, of man's adoration,
and as the altar from whence all his free-will offerings
were to arise: and therein man he placed, as the
high priest thereof, to offer up from thence, continu
ally, the grateful incense of praise and thanksgiving,

she bears for him within her womb—from the humble nail and
the rock for his dwellings, to the diamond that sparkles on the
breast of beauty. At his birth she receives him, and from her
teeming womb nurtures him through life : she strews his walks
with the mingled sweets of flowers and fragrance ; presents him
her bosom flowing with milk and honey ; spreads his table with
healthful plenty ; gives him the overflowing cup of joy,. as well
as the warming fleece ; and, even in her very poisons, yields him
(through the skill of the medical art,) the cordial that renovates
exhausted nature to her wonted health and vigor. As a faithful
bank, (abank of honor that never stops payment,) she returns a
hundred fold whatever is entrusted to her lap ; and at the close of
his existence, so far is she from then forsaking his very remains,
that she kindly performs the last good office for him, by receiving
his dust, as her nearest kindred, into her bosom : There, as a
sacred deposit, to
" Peaceful sleep out the sabbath of the tomb,
" 'Till wak'd to raptures in the life to come.'.'
 33
for all the blessings showered around him. And the
pure and upright heart of that high priest he appoint
ed as the sanctum sanctorum of that temple wherein
he deigns to manifest the sacred fire.—When man,
fulfilling his creator's will, dedicates himself to purity
and holiness ; then it is, that he truly walks with his
creator, forms the link of earth with Heaven, and
finds the mystic patriarchal ladder by which he climbs
to the blessed abodes.

But, to check man's aspiring pride and presump

tion, he built it as a standing memorial also, of man's
hourly dependanee on him for support, and of his
formation, out of its kindred dust. For the unerring
word of truth declares, that the whole earth (though
man's sovereign domain) is but Heaven's footstool.

Our blissful parents, in their first state, needed

the aids of no other architecture ; for (robed in inno
cence) the verdant turf, with all its native fragrance,
was their refreshing pallet, and the open heavens
their sheltering canopy.

May we not suppose the following bears some

semblance (though a faint one) to primeval innocence f

Then were the groves and woods, the saintly

haunts of peace and innocence, and scenes of happy
loves and feastings, guiltless of blood ; for
 34'
Nor yet were beard the lordly lion's preyful roar,
Nor jiet was heard the brinded boar,
T' have dared to staiu his tusks with gore.
But o'er the plains, the kid and the tyger gambol
together, and the lamb and the wolf lay down in har
mony, and nothing was there to make them afraid :
The varied carol of early birds was the herald to
Eden's pair, to close their balmy slumbers—to hail
the approach of dawning light, to join the morning
stars with all the glad creation round, in one loud
chorus of exulting Hallelujahs to their all bountiful
creator. Over these glad scenes, the sun rose joy
ous, and in smiles he set—and jocund through the
day bis circling course he ran ; but in the west, at eve
(enamoured with the happy pair,) lingered, in many
a parting farewell till return of morn. Thus began
and closed the grateful change of morn and eve.—
Then the tongue vibrated with praise and gratitude,
and man's heart, in every deed and word, and thought,
was unison with heaven.—Then joyful fire sparkled
in the eye, and smiles, tempered with dignity, lighted
np the countenances of the first pair, in blissful Eden,
as yet unsullied with a tear ; and nature, symphonic
ous nature, caught those similes for the circling year
all through ; her hills and dales, her plains and groves,
laughed in the mingled bloom of herbs, and flowers,
and fruits : nor sighs, nor tears, nor murdering steel
was known ; but bleating hills and lowing vales, with
glistering streams and woodland songs, proclaimed
creation glad throughout.
 It is with great deference submitted to the critical
reader, that the above effort to depict, in what some may
deem a puerile or an affected strain of the descriptive,
and others may censure as soaring to presumptuous
flights on a subject no pen can do justice to, and others
again think irrelevant to the work—that this effort I say
may, it is hoped, be sanctioned by its apparent tendency
to rouse the mind, the juvenile mind at least, to the
highest pitch of indignation against vice and its conse
quences, in imagining the strong contrast of fallen man's
guilt with his primeval innocence.

Such at least was the author's design.

Such like were the scenes that stung Lucifer to the

soul with envy, and this goaded him to madness, to sap
and destroy what himself had lost, and for ever forfeited
all hopes of ever regaining ; and too lamentably, alas I
we know he succeeded. Thus man broke Heaven's
first command, dared even to expostulate with his Crea
tor, and to throw the blame on his helpmate given ;—
thus he fell from bliss and innocence to misery and woe,
and brought on himself and his posterity the doom to
return to the dust from whence formed ; for, as in the
days of his early innocence and primitive simplicity,
every purpose of his heart was a bright display of the
wisdom and goodness delegated to him from the
Supreme, (whose semblance then shone unclouded
La his countenance ;) so now that countenance fell, and
F
was darkened by the lowering clouds of pride, malice,
and rebellion, that then raged in hi* bosom, and he then
lamentably fell throughout his journeying pilgrimage in
every purpose of his heart, an inward conflict vacillating
between good and evil. The very ground (through the
rebellion of its delegated lord) was doomed to share in
man's denunciation, in bringing forth the thorn and the
thistle, and no longer yielding its wonted abundance,
till extorted from her bosom by the toil and sweat of
his brow, which it was thenceforth his doom to eat hi*
bread in, till his return to the dust whence formed.—r
Thenceforward all nature shared and sympathized in
man's lamentable change : the very elements appeared
to be at war with each other, and the once peaceful
beasts of the field were no longer so ; they raged with
thirst of blood among themselves, and even dared to
dispute the dominion of. the earth with man, the declared'
sovereign thereof, and became his mortal enemy; and
thus all nature was filled with violence. The verdant
turf no longer yielded a refreshing couch, nor the open
heavens aj sheltering canopy. Then it was that arch
itecture was called in to lend its needful aids, and that
not only against the inclemency of seasons, the storm
and tempest, but for man's defence also against the
nightly prowlers of the forest : the wild boar out of the
wood, the wolf and the tyger, that invaded his peaceful
slumbers, and preyed on his flocks and herds that yet
continued their peaceful allegiance in sharing man s toil,
and supplying the warming fleece for his vests, and for
his table the refreshing repast ; but, formidable as tfaie
 37
host of ilk were that man had to oppose, there remaia
ed one vet to guard against, more formidable still than

" Beasts on each other prey Tor want of food :

" Man preys on man through deadly thirst of blood ; tho'
" Curst eren hi gaining all bis lawlesa good."

Thus, as ia man's innocence, every thing around him

was benign ; the .Heavens then shedding their kindliest
influences, and breaking nought but balmy airs. Now
in the whirlwind and tempest he felt the sad reverse ;
and among these his numerous ills and mortal enemies,
he (for guarding himself and his folds) found himself
Compelled to raise his barriers, and to walk with his loins
girt and his bow bent. Masonry thus becoming man's
powerful shield against all these perils, . and the very;
sister of 'agriculture likewise, as will in the sequel ap
pear : her needful assistance was indispensable in all
man's various occasions thenceforward through life, both
in peace and war likewise. Thenceforward the bowels
of the earth were explored, the rock was hewed, the
forest felled, and the sheltering habitation reared ; and
to oppose the violence of his fellow creatures in every
element, the moated rampart and the lofty watch tower,
with its strong battlements, were raised, and the shel
tering storm-defying mole ; and the beacon, with their
deep foundations, were strong laid in the waters, to
shield the bark and guide the mariner through all the
perils of the deep. These are some of the works of
 38
Masonry, that (in the hostile state of nature) man is
compelled to adopt for his defence. But Masonry is
his friend in all vicissitudes of life ; for when he has
subdued all enemies and guarded himself from the ills
of every season, then Masonry gives peace within his
walls, and plenteousness wijhin his dwellings. Besides
the humble sheds for winter stores, she rears the ample
treasure-house, and the garner that stores nature's
abundance in the years of plenty, and lays up her corn,
wine, and oil, for feeding millions in the hour of need.
Nor must be forgotten its proud amphitheatres, (the
boast of swarming cities,) that, to stem the tide of vice,
receive into their bosoms swarming thousands, where
the mirror of life is held up to view before them, through
all the varied scenes of the rich historic lore of ancient
times, where the fool's cap and bells are hung up that
man may laugh at himself in another, and folly be put
out of countenance;—where the brassy front of guik
may be shamed into blushing ; in fine, where all con
spires to mend the manners of the rising age, and lure
the world to virtue.—The splendid baths of ancient and
modern days I should not mention did they contribute
merely to pamper luxury and effeminacy ; but when we
consider the thousands that owe their lengthened life to
them, after all the powers of medicine were baffled ;—
when we reflect on the emaciated invalids, the dis
torted forms and the aching limbs that here leave their
crutches behind them, as trophies ef returning health
and agility—they may freely be numbered among the
blessings of Masonry.—Nor must the stove and the
conservatory be forgotten among the number, for they
give us not only the healing plants of every soil, and the
fruits of every clime, that nature has withheld from our
Own, but affords the veiy climate itself, besides yielding
a numerous train of minor advantages.

The extensively beneficial consequences that flow

from the numerous aqueducts, raised for internal com
mercial intercourse, so highly improved in modem times*
and thus magnifying the blessings of the element water
to an almost incredible degree, no one will dispute ;
they lift our streams from the native beds, and bid
them flow o'er vales and through mountains, with un
commercial emolument; they unite a whole
..m in a watery link of intercourse, and like so
j liquid arms, make local plenty general through
every comer of the land, combining health and profit
with cooling refreshment to all its inhabitants.
.. • . • ' \: " .' t
" See here whole rivers quit their beds below,
" And, wond'ring at their heights, new airy channels know,
" That scatter plenty wberesoe'er they flow.
" These are the fruits of labor's telling hand,
" That make ail blessings gen'ral through the land."
From the humble, useful, and powerful aids of Ma
sonry in general let us pass on, and take a view of it in
all the elegance aud splendour of refined life. In the
arts that polish the rough diamond of the mind as well
as the mine, (and surely every sterling polish gives it a
?.) In the arts that call forth
13
 49
its strong energies, and give man just notions of the rank
he holds in the scale of being. Let us view the splendid
palace, where imperial dignity holds its happy reign,
crowned with the diadem as one of its least ornameftts,
swaying the mild sceptre of truth and justice, tempered
with mercy ; the patron of learning and the father of its
people; where centres (as Heaven's viceroy) power,
wisdom, and goodness, collected as in a focus, thence
by its radiance to shine, the festering and cherishing
luminary, to arts, sciences, and virtue, over every corner
of its dominions. Let us view the palace then, not as
raised to pamper pride and ambition, but as the very
seat and centre of all that can grace and dignify society :
let us view it as the mansion displaying all that skill and
genius can accomplish ; where the roughest mass of
rock, by the humble aids of the chizel, rises into the
swelling column rearing their lofty heads, crowned with'
the dome magniiic ; where we behold the rude marble
softens into flesh,' displaying the graces of the human
form divine : here, also, if not irrelevant to notice as
among the list of the noblest of the imitative arts, We
And the canvas. glowing with scenes of historic fame and '
glory,—scenes that give animation even to virtue's cause, !
•(a; ° • j iii .1' .J '.'im
Well has Pope therefore exclaimed,—
" Ob ! nond'rous power of mingled light aad shad* !
. " Where beaut v with dumb eloquence persuades !
«' Where passions are upheld in picture wrought,
" And animated colours look a thought."
.'»...• .. • 1.. ••• o i ..
 41
Let us pass from the mansions of the great and good,
and next contemplate Masonry, as the herald of noble
deeds, and giving a deathless name and fame to the
great and mighty departed, who trod the steps of glory
in the days of old ; let us contemplate the breathing
' bust, the sculptured obelisk, die speaking column, and
the bold triumphal arch, rearing their towering heads
aloft, proud of the fame they bear the record of :—
Reader—in pondering on their annals of glory, go mark
their recording tribute to grateful nations, to the defen
ders of their country, and learn from those chronicles to
go and do likewise. . .

But from those splendid works that announce the

grateful tribute of man to man'; let us next view those
fabricks raised as man's humble tribute to the high and
mighty one who liveth for ever: let us behold, admire,
and venerate those sacred fanes, those solemn temples,
with their aspiring domes resounding the melody of the
grateful hymn within, rearing their majestic heads to
heaven-ward, as if to supplicate its approving man's
incense of praise and gratitude, to the builder of the
grand temple of the universe. Who can ? Can the
most heedless, thoughtless of mortals enter those hal
lowed walls ; can he view those mansions of the dead,
with the shrines to departed worth, and not feel all
desires earthly chilled within him ? Where every tomb
with silent eloquence, says, thou also shalt soon be a
tenant of this house of clay? Can he tread the
cloistered aisles, that shed around their mild and solemn
 42
light, and all wooing the mind to contemplation, high
and " divine oblivion of !ow-thoughted earth-born care,"
and " his soul net wake to sense of future scenes?"
Can he suppress an awe for the Divinity the fane was
reared to? Surely all must feel " something of the
Divinity then stirring within him V' And what «an we
call it then ? Can we call it' less than inspiration ?
The Patriarch, Israel, strongly felt this holy awe, when
blessed with the sacred presence at Bethel, and conse
crated the spot, by erecting a pillar, and pouring thereon
his best offerings from the ground, as token of his
grateful adoration. —Oh ! may we all ponder deeply on
this, and consecrate ourselves as Israel did.

Masons may with sanctionable pleasure reflect, that

the most glorious temple that mortal eye in any age
or nation ever beheld, was once but a mere chaos of
stone, till by the plastic power ef Masonry it started into
order and harmonized into union, symmetry, and pro
portion, and rose the wonder of that andevery after age ;
and though the work of mortal hands was the place
Where Divinity itself deigned to manifest his pleasure,
hi man's offering, he manifested it in the descent of the
sacred fire, visible to all the adoring thousands around:
and yet this sacred structure was but a symbol of that
temple, not made with hands, the Saviour of the world,
and a type as wed of the temple, (even our earthly ta
bernacle of flesh,) which eur great Redeemer graciously
condescends to declare he will come and make his
 43
abode in. In the breast of the pure and upright in
heart.

How great then is the science that can inspke such

a happy frame of soul, elevate the groveling mind front
earth to heaven, and bring forth such noble fruits.

1 Behold the ancient fane ! i

' Its lofty front how reverend I
' See its firm pillars raise their marble heads
' To bear aloft its areh'd and pond'rous cov'ring,
' By its own weight made steadfast and immovable.
' Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe
1 And terror on my aching sight. The tombs
• And monamental cares of death look cold,
' And shoot a thrilling to my trembling heart.
' All hist of worldly lying vanities
• Seems to die within me. And earth.born caret
• Lessen their eager grasp. Where am I ?
< Give me thy band, and let me hear thy voice. ' '
' Nay quickly speak to me, and let me hear thy voice :
' Mine own afi'rights ine with its very echos.'

To build up man, then, worthy to become the temple,

the dwelling of the guest divine, is the grand business
of the moral department of Masonry, as will be the en
deavour of the sequel of the work to make appear.

I come now to the remaining one of the seven liberal

sciences that Masonry professes and enjoins the cultiva
tion of—that of Music.
 4*
. Music (as one of the special gifts of Heaven to us,
but one that seems more connected and allied with
spirit than matter) affords the most cordial regale to the
most refined probably of all the senses, and that of an
almost magic kind ; as finding an avenue and stealing
into the soul, and infusing the most animating joys when
all the other senses are quiescent, and every external
object totally excluded. Those circumstances indeed,
so far from impeding, seem to heighten its enchanting
effects.

This talent of melody, (which is denied to all but two

classes of the animated creation, those of man and the
feathered tribe), though it contributes not immediately to
the service of man, either in point of procuring food or
raiment, (except when professionally practiced), yet me
diately is a ministering handmaid to those purposes in a
high degree throughout all the various avocations of life :
in peace and war, in joy and trouble, in the hour of
toiling industry as well as in the hour of relaxation from
it, when the bow is unstrung from action to be bent again
to it with the more elastic bound ; and far from imped
ing, aids and sweetens the labors of the field, and the
works of the loom. The feller in the forest, the digger
in the mine, and the hewer in stone, forget their fervent
toil in the circling song, that soothes and beguiles the
heavy hours, and the weariness of the flesh. It crowns
the enjoyment of die social and convivial board, and is
the very soul and life of the festive dance, the dance that
renovates even age itself to its long-forgotten youthful
 4a
fire ; it cheers the heavy of heart with the'plaintive tone,
and its fascinating powers lead even captivity captive,
for captivity and native land is then no longer remem
bered. And when the battle is set in array, the braze*.
trumpet, sounding to the charge, kindles the flame of
heroic ardour, and rouses the blood of man and even
beasts to rush forth in all their might, fearless of danger,
in their country's cause. Nor need we wonder at its
thus powerful influence, when even the very daemons,
subdued by its angelic spells, suspend their rage, and
forgetting their malign influences, loath their horrid rites,
and in amaze wonder at evils they have been the minis*
tering instruments of ; as in the case of Sad, who,
though a sovereign, was nnder (heir deadliest influences,
and that too agawst his best of friends. But how are
all those harmonious excellencies exalted, when in the
aeme of their super-excellence. Man humbleth himself
and boweth down to the King of Kings in the days of
Mourning, as well as in the days of praise and thanks
giving : for thus the Prophet commanded, " Blow ye
the trumpet in Zlon to supplicate incensed majesty to
avert its wrath." But when that anger is appeased, and
blessings are showered down, then melody kindles the
sacred sparks of love and gratitude, and fans them into
ft glowing ardent flame, that rises in the incense of praise
to tho Almighty Father, and wafts the soul on the wings
of iove and harmony even to Heaven, in chorus with the
blest above, as a foretaste of those joys that
 46
Urns close the observations on the sciences, termed
liberal. I now proceed to the moral department of, or
Ethical Masoary ; a subject, that from its superior im
portance, I almost shrink from the discussion, and that
with a diffidence that nothing but the thoughts of writing
to and writing for my brothers could surmoant.

This department, including nothing less than the very

tracing board, the great outline or plan of the sum of
man's moral duty ; I will without further hesitation
commence it, with a maxim founded on the rock of
ages.
Tie noblest study of mankind Is man.
Or to express it in the more familiar phrase,—
Man's most important study is himself.
It is by far the most momentous, and therefore should
be his first study ; for thereon are depending not only
the highest interests of the present but those of the future
world also. This, as before hinted, is not a maxim of
modern date, for it has received the sanction of all ages.
The wisest and best of the ancient seers and philosophers
of all sects and of all nations, however widely they
night differ in opinions on other points, have all con
curred in this, and have ever laid it down as an incon
trovertible maxim, that the summit of all knowledge
was—to know thyself. Probably human learning
 47
they import no less than the whole scope of man's doty,
and (if I may so term it) are a kind of key to that duty ;
not only man's duty as a member of society, in a secular <
point of view, but his whole duty : his duty to the Su
preme, his duty to society as a social being, and like
wise his duty to himself.

The first question that naturally suggests itself te the

young reader, is,—in what does this self-knowledge
consist ? And then follows a —second,—how
* is it to be
attained I

To know thyself is to know thy origin ; to know the

end or design of that origin ; and then to search out,
whether or no thou art endowed with the means of ac
complishing that design.

To know thy origin is to know thy Creator, and ample

are the means pmt in thy power for the purpose.
* * »•'.'.i..•• ..... . • .„ v _ , j ., ,
As the tree is known by its fruits, so is the Creator
known by his works. Exert thy faculties : seek and
thou shaltfind: contemplate first thyself, and then all
that is around thee ; ponder on thy powers of body and
mind ; turn thy thoughts inwardly on thyself, and reflect
on thy various powers and endowments,—an eye to per-
ceive, an ear to hear, a heart to will, a head to plan, an
arm to execute, and a tongue to declare every purpose
of thy heart ; and an inward monitor to applaud or oon«
 48
damn Ay eveiy diougUt, word, and deed. 1 hence cast
thine eyes on every thing that surrounds thee, read the
great volume of nature, converse freely with her, her
ample page is ever kindly spread open to court thy be
holding it ; in this book, the high, the low, the learned
and the unlearned, the wise and the ignorant, the let
tered and the unlettered, may read in the fairest aud
strongest characters, engraven in one universal language,
for all nations and people. Who and what is the great
fountain and preserver of all this wondrous scene of
filings I. But why do I mention reading nature's volume I
when " all nature cries aloud" in a voice that has been
heard from all time to all the ends of the earth, and will
so continue till the cease of time 1 It cries aloud, I say :
"' '"'J.'! l^nttk from me whence my great source. :
•ill J'l..'t (in. .ii . . . . .. .
i Shall nature then utter her voice in vain ? And shall
man, amid creation's bounty, walk with thoughtless*
thankless gaze : far ignobler far than gaze of brute* ?
Shall he degrade his dignity and sink to the lowest, in
stead of being the crown of its works ? But should it
by any be asked, Is the scene of nature thus spread out
for man's admiring gaze alone ; or is it not to inform.
us whether its great source is to be revered, loved, and
adored, or to be despised and neglected ? Let us then
not take a transient, heedless gaze, but view and con
template it, in all its boundless variety : —The vast
vaulted covering of the heavens, with all their hos^
gleaming with fires innumerable as the sands of the sea ;
the earth beneath, with her plains, and dales, and bills,
 48
and streams, clothed with groves, and herbs, and ii uiLs,
and flowers, and flocks, and herds ; the vast oceans of
waters also, and all swarming with innumerable tribes
of fowl, and fish, and beasts, and creeping things ;t
what a scene is here for the busy mind to range inJ
and who on such a view but must exclaim,—.Mighty is
the great source of all these, and boundless mast be hii
power! But when' wa take a still nearer view of the
countless luminaries above, ever revolving around us in
harmony, union, and order ; when we behold the un
numbered tribes of earth, and air, and sea, all enjoying
life in their various dements, in ten thousand varied
forms, habits and manners ; the fowl that cleave the
air and rejoice also, buoyant on the turbulent surge.) the
beasts that bound over the hills and roam the plains and
vallies ; the reptiles that creep beneath our feet ; the
mole. and the worm that shun the light and see4^6nd
find their food in darkuess ; the swarming millions that
sport in the great deep ; the trees of the forest and the
herb of the field, with their fruits and flowers of Unnum
bered forms and hues and odours and tastes ;—and no*
thing of all these created in vain :—Who bnt must with
the royal prophet exclaim,—" How manifold and mar
vellous are thy works : in wisdom hast thou made them
all !" But the attributes of power and wisdom alone
potent as they are to raise our admiration and delight,
will still leave a void in the active enquiring mind
(shrinking into' conscious nothingness, through its in si g-
 50
'Avoid, I say, that will prompt it to seek for still higher
information and consolation. The busy thoughts will
ask,—why and for whom were all these made ? 'Cast
thine eyes, O man ! once more to the heavens, and ask
who kindled their fires, and why and for whom shine
they ? For themselves or for thee ? The diamond
hath no pleasure in its lustre : hath the sun itself, think-
'est thou, any delight in its splendour ? Or do the host
of heaven shine for themselves ? Behold the ever-teem
ing earth, with her tribute of eorn, wine, and oil, from
her fertile lap ; the flocks of her pastures ; her fowl of
the air and fishes of her waters ;—whose table do they
spread with plenty ? or whose board do they crown wkb.
savoury profusion and tasteful variety ? For whom is
filled the overflowing cup of joy, and whose back is
c'othed with the warm fleece of the fold ?—What mind,
then, that is not .totally iin moved in the grossest sen
suality, but must glean from nature's page this glorious,
this momentous truth,—a truth, the very rock on which
are built the largest hopes and amplest desires the soul
of man can wing its flight to, and a truth that must
burst on him in dazzling effulgence—that the great
.source of all things is boundless power, boundless wis
dom, and boundless goodness itself, inseparably banded
in harmonious concert, in all his designs and operations :
for almighty goodness willed, almighty wisdom plan
ned, and' almighty power performed, the stupendous
work of creation, for man his favourite.-—'What a ray of
light is this, darting on him as a sunbeam,.and pointing
out the rank he holdeth in the scale of sublunary beings I
 61
And what a clue to guide him through all the various
labyrinths of self-investigation ! Let him look through
the myriads of beings in earth, air, and sea, around him,
and see and behold if there is any form erect like his,—
if there is any like him, any equal to him ? No. All
things proclaim him heaven's best work of all his works
beneath the sun, and therefore hath he appointed him
sovereign lord of all below, and dominion over all things
bath he given into his hands, and subdued them under
his feet Oh then reverence thyself, oh man ! as that
best work, and dread worse than death to sully the
honour, the dignity, and the purity of thy nature !—
Take the royal prophet for thy imitation, who, contem
plating on the universe, with a bosom beating high with
holy awe, love, adoration, and gratitude, and a heart
humbled in the dust at his own insignificance, amid this
scene of grandeur, exclaimed—" Lord, what is man that
thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou

Before I proceed to treat of the further means we are

endowed with, for the attainment of self-knowledge, it
may neither be ill-timed nor ill-placed to observe to my
young readers, that this light of nature that has beenjust
touched on, has been (in all ages and among all nations.

uncultivated, or by whatever other terms we are pleased

to describe them,) a convincing proof to them, that that

G 3
 52
ject of reverence, love.'and adoration ; and so far were
those nations from ever dreaming (as some of the mo
dern school do) that there was no Supreme, so conscious
were they of their own dependant state and need of a
director, that they deemed every department of nature
to have its respective tutelary guardian and ruler. Nor
did they harbour this thought in vain ; .for their lives
would put many a modern illuminate to the blush, (if
they were not past blushing), and so would their deaths
also ; for they met their exit hence, not (like many a
lettered fool) as the king of terrors, but as the herald of
joy and triumph,—as the door of life and the passport
to a better state: they worshipped, it is true, the host of
heaven and various other objects, mistaking the creature
for the Creator,—the effect instead of the cause of that
effect,—the apparent cause (if I may so term it) instead
of the real one ; yet still they adored some Supreme, and
regulated their lives accordingly. Happy indeed, com
paratively, would it be for many an enlightened modern,
were their talent no worse cultivated, or rather no lower
degraded. No one can doubt the school I here allude
to, with their various shades and degrees of infidelity,
atheism, <fec.—An immense deal of well-meant (but I
think ill-judged) pains h. ve been taken, and some ef the
best pens have been engaged, in attempting to proselyte
those grovelling animals :—I scarce can believe such
characters really exist, and whether the merely pro
fessing such tenets is not far more culpable than the
reality. I must leave to them and the searcher of
hearts, to be considered of and determined.—I spoke
 03
of ill-judged pains ; for all such must, I think, he ill*
judged, in points that are indisputable ; as all indis
putable points must be dishonoured by a discussion ;—>
and no doubt it must be highly gratifying to those beings
and soothing to their pride and vanity, (for when they
condescend to believe any thing at all, pride most pro
bably fabricates their whole creed),—it must, I say,
feed their vanity to find talent entering the lists with
them.—In the present day indeed the world seem to
think that silent contempt is all the notice such crea
tures deserve, whatever might be thought otherwise
heretofore. They now consider, that those who wilfully
shut the eyes of the body, and indeed those of the mind
also, against the two great lights, (the light of nature
and that of revelation), should remain stumbling in their
own darkness, and that every attempt to open those
self-shut eyes, would be only casting pearl before swine.
Those monstrously sceptical notions,—the notions of an
effect without a cause, seem however to be of very mo
dern date, and aim it is evident at nothing less. than cut
ting the very bonds of society asunder, and reducing all
things to uproar, chaos, and confusion. How would
the ancient heathens (as we term them) have viewed a
professor of these tenets among them ?—the heathens,.
who viewed a Supreme in every thing around them !—
What a wonder would it not have excited, as to his pa
rentage, birth, bringing up, dec. At his birth, they
would have expected all the elements in wild commo
tion, as at the birth of something supernatural ; and of .
course might have condemned the mother for vile com-
 54
raerce with some satyr, or worse if might be ; and if no
outward bodily distortion had appeared, would probably
have dissected him when dead, to have discovered whe
ther some internal distortion was the source of the mon
strosity : many might have supposed it some daemon,
broke loose from Plato's dominions, and appearing on
earth in masquerade, to sap the foundation of their
piety to their divinities, or rather as a commissioned
champion from thence for the purpose. In the days of
the royal prophet, those who even wished there was no
supreme, were pronounced fools. " The fool has said
in his heart, there is none." A very strong and happily
translated phrase for wishing it ; for his head (viz. his
understanding) convinced him of this truth, against his
heart, will, or inclination. It had been by some able
pens very paintedly observed, " That men may live fools
but cannot die fools," of which numberless instances
might be adduced, among others is the following :—In
a violent sea storm, when the vessel was every moment
expected to founder, and every one perish ; among the
i that fell down before the priest in
i was one of the crew, that, in the greatest (
confessed to him that he was an
and prayed fervently for absolution. The wind hap
pening to chop about in a fair quarter, the storm
ceased, the vessel righted, and (all dangers over) it
soon ran through the crew, that there was an atheist os
board : the honest tars to a man all ran on deck to see
it, and had all formed some strange conjecture what it
I be ; some thought it to be a monster from the
 55
deep, others that it was dropped from the clouds, others
again that it might be a vast mermaid, and some thought
it might be a thunderbolt—all however concluded it
somewhat the storm had brought ; but conceive, if pos
sible, what was their amazement and surprise, when (to
solve their wonder) they saw something in the form of
man, too contemptible for pity and too mean for ridicule :
But the danger once past, this creature played the part
of his proselyte :—
When the 1)—I was sick, the D—1 a monk would be :
When the D—1 was well, the D—1 a monk was Be.
. *
To my young readers, untainted and even unacquaint
ed with these doctrines, so revolting against the common
sense of mankind, they may appear visionary, or as a
fable. Heavens ! they will cry, in those enlightened
days, some centuries elapsed, since the dark ages. of
barbarism and ignorance, to hear such doctrine!
broached ! Can it be possible! ! * .".z »ir,A ^

Frenzy indeed may complain of groping its way in a

meridian sun ; but never till the axe lifteth itself against;
the hewer, or. the clay condemns the potter for forming
it, shall we cease to wonder that man thus debases his
dignity ;—that he thus dares—Alas ! what does he not
dare ! !—Even heaven itself disowns and spurns his
coodness- .defies his thunderbolts—But language fails.
 50
A general clue through all this mystery, seems to be
a plan no less than that of striking at the root of all mo
ral principle : the lights of nature and revelation are too
dazzling for these grovelling sons of darkness ; and it is
therefore their grand drift to extinguish them at all
events, as far as in their power. The prowling thief of
the night, that breaks the lamp to hide his foul deeds,
and those extinguishers (if I may so call them) act ex
actly on the same principle :—they condemn the bible
that denounces against their evil deads and condemns
them, and nature's voice they stifle. Let us put out
these lights, say they, and then adieu to all barriers to
our lusts and passions. A darling tenet, therefore, to
wards effecting this, is, to resolve all human conduct,
without exception, into selfishness, (even that of bene
ficence itself, the brightest gem in the heart of man,)
and thus down with every moral qualm, as a mighty
obstacle to all pleasure. They therefore thus confounded
all distinctions of good and evil, as merely antiquated
prejudices, and thus poor old-fashioned virtue is assailed
on every side ; attacked in her strongest ramparts and
sapped in her very foundations, and with a mine ever
ready to spring under her, they determine, were it pos
sible, to banish her from the earth for ever :—hath this
its parallel in ancient times ? Should we hope or fear
it is the glorious infamy of the modern only? Every
crime of man against his fellow creature (not excepting
even blood and rapine) sinks into insignificance when
contrasted with this ; for this levels every barrier against
vice, dissolves the grand cement of all social compact.
 57
shuts the door against virtue, and opens it to the black
est hi the dire catalogue of human depravities ; for in
thus sacking the temple of virtue, the pride and glory of
man for near six thousand years, it, out of its ruins, at
tempts to erect an altar to vice triumphant, and strives
by one deadly stroke (like Nero's glut for all human
blood) to give a death-blow to all that is sacred and
dear to man's welfare. In all the calendar of vice this
wants an adequate name ; even parracide reaches it
not ; blasphemy is far below it, as that supposes some
object offended, (by condemning or denying some attri
butes of the Divinity— either its power, wisdom, or
goodness, one or more), but here the very existence is
denied ; and a supposed nonentity cannot be criminated,
or an object of offence : probably human talent is une
qual to the task of giving it a name;—what shall we
say then but that it is a compound of every crime ; that
blasting mildew, aud contagion is in its very breath,—-
venom in its lips—and oh ! while it stands may it stand
as a flaming beacon in society, warning that its very
approach is the quicksand of danger, and its embrace a
destroying pestilence. Might I dare guess at a solution
of this wonder : it would be that those animals are the
prime actors and Lucifer their prompter, in the last scene
of the grand drama of human vice, which he has exhi
bited on the theatre of the world ever since the fall :—
their parts seem to be admirably cast for the design :—
it seems to be the last scene, as going the utmost length
of his tether ; for what evil more deadly can he achieve :
it appears to be the close of the grand catastrophe of
 58
that plot, which the fall of man was the opening of.
The fall was disobedience to the commands of the Most
High. The catastrophe seems to be bold defiance of
heaven and all its powers. The first was a fall from
whence man rose again,— the last, with its conse
quences, I presume not to decide on ; for the dealing
out the denunciations of heaven belongs not to the sons
of men. 'Who then, on reflection, but must be forcibly
struck with the lamentable resemblance this bears to the
fall of their prototype from heaven-pride first prompted
him to rebellion, and that rebellion prompted his dis
owning heaven's sovereignty, and thence daring Omni
potence itself : opposing his might against the only
Mighty, attempting the height of the Most Highest, and
contending for rule with him who alone ruleth ! Oh !
vain reptiles of mortals I Weavers of spider-wed no
tions, which you call reason, how little do you think
you are a daemon's vilest hirelings,—its best disciples
in its worst of works, and drudging in its dirtiest mire
and jakes,—and what are your wages ! Can the most
hardened but shrink abashed at the question ? While
you think. you are walking by the lamp of your bright
illuminate will-o'th'-wisp reasons—I say, oh ! how little
think you that Lucifer is leading you «n, as a lamb to
the slaughter,—to the brink of the fatal precipice thence
to plunge you headlong into the gulph of destruction !
How must it provoke the ghastly smiles of the prince of
darkness ! when he views, so staunchly promoted by
his loyal subjects on earth, the pride that hurled him
headlong from the battlements of heaven ! For this
 59
digression, if deemed such, I shall offer no apology,
as it is designed merely to forearm my younger rea
ders against all taint of the school alluded to ; for,
according to the sound old adage, prevention is better
than remedy, or in other terms, a shield to parry or
wound, must be far better than a plaister, to heal it.
As to my brothers in general, 1 trust I am address
ing those, whose glory is not in their shame ; but in
all that can dignify man, and restore him to that sem
blance wherein lie was first found. Powerful as the
creation around us, is, to illumine our minds with the
knowledge of nature's source and his gracious de
signs; a further light is shed on us in contemplating
his government of the world, from the dawn of time
to the present. To suppose that the Creator of it,
cannot govern it, would be as wise as to imagine the
maker of a watch could not regulate it, and must give
a shock to common sense. That he cares not for, or
neglects the government of it, can be suggested by
the evil one only. Can boundless power, and bound
less wisdom and goodness, frustrate its best purposes,
and suffer them to be abortions ?

The government of the world, then, will lead us

to a further and more intimate knowledge. of its great
source ; and its rays will be a lanthorn to our paths
through the darkest labyrinths of our pilgrimage.—
Tbis government is most clearly manifested in his
dispensations in the moral world, and in the natural
H
 60
world also ; in the ages past, and through all time.
The page of history, as well as the view and contem
plation of nature's face, lends a luminous clue to the
research; but, above all, does the sacred volume of
the Revelation of Heaven's Will : all which com
bined together, form a most unerring guide : these
all appearing in their opposite points of view, mutu
ally contribute to throw strong reflecting lights on
each other ; the focus of which collected lights darts
on the mind those heavenly rays, the very bulwark
of, and the grand charter for, all our hopes—a char
ter under the hand and seal of heaven itself, confirm
ing those blessed truths before spoken to—that man's
origin is from Heaven, that Almighty power gave
him life, Almighty goodness promoted that power to
designate him for immortal glory and happiness, and
Almighty wisdom gifted him with the means for at
taining that happiness, and for this glorious purpose
formed him, therefore, in his own semblance.
... '. i.. J.. .' • . • • • '
These, then, are some of the principle steps in the
ascent to the temple of self-knowledge; and this
brings me to some observations in detail, on the
means, both secular and moral, which man is endow
ed with, to attain the happiness he was created for.
These means are comprehended in the full exertion
of all his powers of body and mind, in the scene of
his probation here on earth, and may be deemed the
 61
steps in the ladder that leads from this foot-stool
earth, to the throne above.

This lower world, then, being (as before observed)

the theatre that the grand architect hath built for the
display of all those powers he has endowed man (hia
favorite) with, and where the part every man is cast
for, is to be called into action ; the part that will
clothe ns with glory or shame, and will form his pass
port to those blissful scenes, that heart hath never
yet conceived, or dooms him to their sad reverse.

At the threshold of thi3 temple of self-knowledge,

let us then pause awhile in humiliation, and vitw
ourselves as a union of corruption and incorruption,
and reflect on our strength and our weakness, our ne
cessities and resources, our dignity and humility :
child of the dust, yet child of him who alone rulelh :
a kin to angels and to the worm beneath our feet.
" I said to corruption thou art my father, and to the worms
you are my mother and my sister."

Once a bright, but now a faint semblance of divi4.

nity itself, our body (the casket of the soul) ever
promoting to sensuality and pollution, and every de
viation from the moral principle, doomed, after clos
ing the uncertain span of mortal life, for a while to
return to its kindred dust ; 'till raised to corruption
at the last trump. Our soul (the jewel of this casket^
H2
 62
.t
the vital spark of celestial flame, kindled by Divinity
itself, (and never to see corruption,) with its mind's
eye to discern good from evil, created sufficient to
choose the one and reject the other, and though cre
ated sufficient to stand, yet left free to fall ; feebly
aspiring to the good, yet lamentably prone to evil.

Man, then, of all the animal creation aronnd him,

is ushered into the world the most helpless, and his
wants the most numerous ; and of all this creation he
finds the amplest sources for supply, for (as already
observed,) the whole earth is given into his hands for
his habitation and support, and the sea* also for his
inheritance.

But much as has been done for man towards these

supplies, yet much remains there to be added by bis

* Of all the parts of the terraqueous globe, destined to Gil

up the sum of our comforts, the ocean, on a transient superficial
view, seems to present so formidable and terrifying an aspect,
as rather to damp the ardor of our exertions than to rouse
our faculties, for rendering it subservient to our advantages;
and appears to repulse, or rather to be an insuperable barrier, to
all intercourse with our fellow-creatures. It appears, seemingly,
as a watery waste, that incumbers twice as much of the surface
of the globe, as the whole earth itself, for no apparent purpose :
but when we closely contemplate it, and view it as the source of
the innumerable treasures, which it is the storehouse of—when
in a merely physical point of view, we reflect on it as the vast
fountain, from whence the Grand Alembic of nature distils her
 63
own exertions, before his enjoyment can be complete ;
for the earth presents him chiefly with the crude un-
wrought materials towards his necessities, rather tha n
the supply itself : for (as before noted,) the fruits of
the earth must be extorted from her, and her stub
born soil subdued, iu the strength of his arm and the
sweat of his brow, before she will yield her increase »

friendly showers, that water, fertilize, and refresh the whole

earth : this view alone would prove it a blessing ; but, when we
find, that, instead of being a barrier to all human intercourse,
that it is the very means of promoting it, and indeed the very
grand link itself, of that intercourse. The very means of form
ing the whole earth into one great commercial family, by ren
dering all things in common ; in wafting its varied abundance
from every part to every clime, (hence making, what nature
kindly denies, as well as gives to each portion of the earth, a
source of universal traffic and blessing to the whole) in spreading
ia temperate zones, the table of luxury with the treasures of the
frozen and burning climes, without the feeling of their rigor,
(thus making, the varied tribute of the whole earth, a common
feast for all that breathe.) When we further consider the mil
lions its finny tribes give food to, and the millions as well, that,
in traversing its surface, find bread and employment ; we shall,
with all these manifold advantages, view it as one of our great.
esTbtessings, in adding wings to arts, industry and civilization ;
sad m enlarging, instead of contracting, the circle of our enjoy
ments. Well may we then, on this general view, assent to the
truth of the maxim—
" Privations from Heaven's Sovereign hand are blessings in
disguise,"
For out very wants are ultimately the parents of abundance.
' " -. U.'.' 'v. • : ;
 64
her bowels nrast be explored deep for the treasures
of the mine, and the massy rock hewed in weariness,
before the dwelling of shelter and defence can be
raised ; and the labors of thousands must be combined
before the gorgeous palace and temple can be reared :
great are the hazards and dangers of the deep, before
the mutual blessings of traffic can be enjoyed ; and it
is by slow and persevering industry only, ' that we
enjoy the labours of the loom : 'ihe forest bends only
beneath the stroke of the sturdy hewer; but the
scorching labors of the anvil must be endured, before
even the axe can be laid to the root of the tree. •

This is but a mere sketch of man's various tem

poral nesessities, together with his resources for their
supply. It remains now to touch on the further
means for cultivating the moral principle, in addition
to what has been already observed, touching the na*
tural and moral world, combined with the Sacred
Volume. * *• . ...... ..J
lc I' . . •' ». ♦ V i : • !•• . .. tc
In the natural world, the dawn meridian and sun
set of a single day, with the darkness of the nights
succeeding it, presents an emblem of the dawn meri
dian and evening of life, succeeded by the night c*
image of death, and incites to a daily and nightly me
ditation thereon.

And how forcibly does the ever-grateful sncees

 sion of the revolving seasons—the cheerful spring*
the fervent summer, the warm autumnal gleams, and
the cheerless wintry portions of the year—image forth
to ns a yet stronger symbol of the various stages of
Our fleeting days—in the sprightly youth, the lusty
vigor of manhood, the hoary crown and the evening
vale of year3—that man is destined to pass through.
For thus, as the chilling blasts, and all the chastening
rigors of winter, with its fertilizing stores of ice*.
and snow, and hail, subdue and prepare the stubborn
soil, for the opening buds of spring unfolding their
blossoms with their fostering leaves, in summer su»»,
for ripening to fruits by mellowing autumnal heats ;
and all these chequered with the varied scene of clou
dy gloom and cheerful sunshine, calm and storm, and
all tending to the harvest of abundance.—Thus, here
is pictured the chastening rigors, needful to subdue.
and form the infant and youthful seed-plot of the
mind, to receive the seeds of virtue and science, to
be displayed in the unfolding germs of knowledge
and virtue, to be brought forward by the summer of
manhood, (the fruiting season of those venial blos
soms of knowledge and virtue) and all blended with .
the varied scenes of prosperous and adverse days,
(the storm and calm, the cloud and sunshine, of hur
man life) and those fruits, fully matured, to a rich
and plentiful harvest of virtue by the mellowed expe
rience and wisdom of ripening years, when the hoary
head becomes the crown of glory, through bringing
forth in due season and abundance, the fruits of all
the cardinal and other virtues of the heart; when
(like the fall shock of corn) it is gathered in its doe
season. Bat the revolving seasons, are pregnant
with yet further consoling premonitions and symbols
of the future hopes of man ; for as our year opens as
well as closes with winter, (the infancy and wane as
it were of nature) again to be renovated by the sue-
ceeding spring, what a striking mirror is here, of
man's infancy, and the close of his mortal race : when
his frail tabernacle, rising from babyhood, sinks and
rolapses to its earliest imbecility, and drops into the
dast, from whence formed !—but from that dust
to be renovated in an immortal spring, crowned with
war blooming laurels, that no succeeding winter shal^
ever tarnish or deface. i . . . .. .i. .. •. .

This is the mirror, that the face of nature presents

ns with, in the regular course of things, while we de
serve and enjoy the smiles of heaven; when our
garners are fall and plenteous, and oar flocks and
herds bring forth. abundantly. But front the historic
page, in all ages, we learn that man bath often abus«d
those gifts, and forgotten the Giver : and thus prove*
ftai the frowns of heaven—the frowns. of merciful
m«m«ntosfor«s. What frail, what helpless, thankless
creatures we are, and the hourly pensioners on theboun
ty of Him, who can withhold those blessings. as well
as takethem from as when given. Thenit is that (over
aifttttbove the desolating sword of war and captivity)
we are visited with pestilence and famine, when. the
 67
earth becomes iron, and the heavens brass. Then it
is that we are visited with the blast, the worm and the
mildew ; with tempest and the flame of a devouring
fire; with thunder and earthquake—when the earth
in her strong pangs of convulsion cleaves asunder,
and ingulphs her thousands in a moment: these are
the stores that Almighty Power lays up, against the
days of incensed majesty, as ministers of his dis
pleasure; but which his mercy often suspends the
execution of. But we must never forget, that—
" Even chastenings from Heaven's Sovereign hand
are blessings in disguise." These hints (which the
studious reader may enlarge in his own mind) are
sufficient to shew the natural world to be a type, or
a reflecting mirror of the moral world, as well as the
storehouse, or treasury, that supplies all our tempo
ral needs and enjoyments.
• • . ' • ,» " i«i
The whole life of man, in a moral point of view,
or in other words, his probation for a better state,
has been often represented under various similitudes,
or allegories; such as a pilgrimage to the Holy Land;
a race for the goal of immortality ; a voyage on the
tempestuous ocean to the haven of eternity; and,
likewise, under the similitude of a warfare, to obtain
a crown of glory. The first of these analogies, might
be said to be the actual state of the Israelites, in their
sojourning through the wilderness, to the earthly Ca
naan, as a type of their heavenly one. But a state
of warfare, rather than being a similitude of humaa
 68
life, might well be deemed, the actual state itself, a
warfare of which that of man with man, bears a very
faint resemblance ; for whether we consider the foes
without us in the tinsel lures of worldly pomp and
grandeur, with the pride, ambition anrt lust of power,
of our fellow-creatures ; or the more formidable foea
within us, of our turbulent and rebellious passions,
goaded on by the arch rebel of heaven itself—
we shall find it by far the most momentous of all
warfare, and that man has ample need, indeed, of the
science of self-knowledge (in his hardy march through
life) to sustain this formidable conflict, with honor.

'A reconnoitre, therefore, of those deadly foes,

their numbers, positions, outworks, ambushes, saps,
mines, weapons, modes of attack and retreat, must be
an indispensible prelimary step, toward coming off
triumphant. ..

On this review, then, we shall find, that we have

not distant foes to contend with ; but foes (like Hani-
bal) even at our gates, and not only at our gates, b.flt
in our very camp, the very heart of our camp ; ene
mies for ever at their posts ; centinels they are that
never sleep, but ever on the watch and prompt to at.»
tack the weaker posts of the human heart : enemies,
not so, for the campaign of a season or two, or
ten ; but enemies through the whole campaign
of life : enemies, all of whose weapons are faiv
ged and tempered in infernal fires, and all their
 09
darts dipt in the deadliest venom of death : enemies,
that we must hold or make neither truce, peace, nor
parley with. In a parley we are sure to be van
quished ; in a truce, there is neither honor to bind
the offer, nor pledge to guarantee performance; and,
in a peace, nothing but a rope of sand, to bind the
treaty. Enemies they are, that even to fly from be
fore, obtain the surest victory over, for their engines
are not weapons but wiles, not spears but blandish
ments ; and their most fatal daggers are smiles and
caresses. In this general view of the hosts set in ar
ray, as well as in ambush against us, what a field is
here for glory !—where all that intimidates and appals
the dastard sinking spirit, but rouses to the contest,
the warrior in virtue's field, to gird np his loins with
strength and hearten his heart with the refreshing
assurance of triumph; for he goeth forth to meet the
foe, armed with celestial armour; the shield and
buckler, and helmet, and breast-plate of the lion of
tribe of Judah ; who keeps his eternal vigils round
him, and crushes all enemies under his feet as a moth,
and grinds them to powder.

In this conflict then with the passions lies our grand

struggle through life, and to subdue them within their
moral bounds, and come off triumphant lies the whole
glory of man. The trite and common-place adage,
that—" Fire and water are the best of servants, but
the worst of masters," striUnglv illustrates the effects
of the passions ; for these also, are the best of sub
 70
jccts ; but, when our rulers, the 'worst of tyrants.—
On this grand pivot, therefore, whether the soul is the
sovereign over the body, or the slave to it, and the
vile pander of its debasing lusts, and appetites; on
this pivot, I say, hinges all that exalts, and all that
depraves man—all that has ennobled, and all that
has degraded him, from the creation to the present
moment, and all that will continue to, till latest times.
On this conquest is laid the foundation, and on this
foundation alone, is built the sterling fame that illu
mines the brightest page in the most brilliant annals
of glory : on this corner-stone is raised the noblest
fabric tha t eye can mark and behold, and heaven
view on this his faotstool earth. The favorite of hea
ven, the friend of man, and the friend to himself,
The upright man.
The man who braves the conflict, with all that earth
and vice can oppose ; whose mind is ever on its cen
tre, amid all the smiles and all the frowns that flesh is
heir to:—under the wreaths of glory, the sorrows of
adversity, and in the arms of death ; swerving on nei
ther hand, from the path of honor and integrity, for
his heart is established on the rock of virtue.

For man, then, to subdue himself, is the touchstone

that brings all his deeds to the test, from the cot to
the throne, and stamps them for sterling or base,
whether it be the hero that bleeds for his country, th"
martyr that burns at the stake, the benefactors of
 71
their country in high, or the humble labors of honest
industry in the walks of peaceful life. In fine, as all
born of woman are candidates for a nobler state, not
those who till the highest, but those who best fill the
parts that are cast for them, (however high or hum
ble) on this mortal stage, will bear and wear the only
lasting palm of fame.

Self-heroism, therefore, (as the rock that all sterling

heroism must be founded on throughout the great
drama of life) fearless of death, falls in the breach or
braves the rack, or lives with honor in the humbler
as well as more. exalted ranks of life. And, if the
heroic sons of Mars and Neptune, at the zenith of
their glory, seemingly eclipse self-heroism in the
shade, it is because their parts are cast (as the dra
ma phrase is,) for different walks in life ; the one has
done what the other, at the first call, stands ready for;
the one has given proofs of what the other has done in
his heart only. But though in civil or secular life
our parts are differently cast, every one's part is cast
for the sworn foe against vice, and cast to win the
palm of moral fame, where the wreaths are won and
worn that bloom for ever. Far be it, however, from
me to pluck a laurel from the brows of the noble
sons of Mars, and Neptune, and of honor. For,
Lavish of all that man can give,
Their very heart's blood for their country,
Of human worthies, in the foremost ranks they stand
I
 72
But ffcc steps to the steep ascent in the temple of Mo
ral Fame, it may not be here ill-timed, to offer a few
farther observations on. ... : vit

The glory that outlives the breath of man, whose

lustre is so dazzling in the field of honor, and the
historic page, is the mental valor of self-heroism,
before spoken of; exceeding animal courage (or what
the philosophers might term physical courage) as far
as thunder exceeds a whisper. Animal courage or
bravery is constitutional, and born with us, in various
portions and degrees, and in some. scarcely appears
at all. This animal bravery, particularly in the ze
nith er frenzy of the blood, may much, by hap, at-
fihieve ; but much oftener defeats its own purposes,
and (like the fiery unreined steed) rushes headlong
into danger, plunging itself and all its followers in
destruction. Charles XII. of Sweden has by numbers
been deemed a glaring instance. But the true men
tal bravery, we find, is won by conflict in the moral
field, and its effects bespeak its noble origin. Whs
«an take the field and meet death coolly, that has nqt
in retirement conquered the fear of it ? This vaioqr
hath vanquished death and all its terrors, before the
trumpet sounds to the charge ; and then it has the
full command of its powers, to subdue the enemy set
in array against it. It nobly dares and defies all that
the arm of fleshcan oppose, and courts death, as the door
tohte and glory; danger here loses its very name and
"Bting, and but gird the loins with strength, and nervea
 73
the arm for puissance, in the deadliest how of con
flict. The head is cool to plan, while the heart is all
fire to obey : it schemes with the coolness of the ma
thematician, but in battle it is the destroying angel :
inspiration seems to attend its legions, and ranks fall
before it, like stubble in the flame, or flee as chaff in
the whirlwind. In the consideration of life or death,
it wins by losing, and rises by falling; by death it
wins the crown and wears it for ever, and in survi
ving insures the meed of human glory; it lives with
honor, or dies with glory, the glory of heaven's ear*
reuty. This is not the phantom of imagination,i but
t«iith, plain truth, and truth will biar me oil in U
Confute it who dave. For. such is the portrait t of
every champion, who graft* the valor of .the field. on.
tumoral heroism. ;....;.L. ^rui mi .rlii .
ui aia"» ''c 'I . " »• j, ''U'.'iiij .t^tuso oini
si.sXM* was the glory that beamed atradiance round
the laurelled brows of Scipio, the greats tiw> .mighty
$«jpio, and eclipsed the lustre of *Bi his other weTl-
MitHed, full-blown honors. He had taken among the
spoil, a captive that was beauty itself, his passions
prompted him to enjoyment, but he spumed their al-
luremeaiU, burst their fascinating bondage, and sacrifi
ced his passions, on the sacred altar of honor and
virtue; he restored his captive, unpolluted, to her
lawful consort. This is the glory that no earthly
crown, not the brightest diadem, can add a lustre to,
and whose worth soars far above all meed of earthly
fame. ''.'i .A,.» *i ~M)\ idi hi \ v.? . :* , .
I2
 74
Stfeh as these .were the lights of ancient days, .that
shone and ever will shine as constellations, and iUaaut
the bright annals of recording glory, that hand them
down examples for latest times ; and where is the
groveling soul that kindles not with ardent zeal, foE
emulating deeds like these. .. ^t . . .^as
'; !.' ' "'-3: 'J' •• f"'' • C' • ..i 1 ; y.J
That those lights shine not in vain to th^usandsyE?
the Mfffeds and Scipios of modern times bear nohjlg
testifcHMiy indeed, and will be transmitted to futon*
ages as these heroes of old are to our times. . . ...t

.. Btrt the page of historic lore must . be gleaflt^d

with cautions.caution grejtfiBjd.eed/j foij, there many
a vile tare is mixed with the wheat, and I cannot for-
bea^WbbsenOiitdmy young readers .&a£,)ftf rava-
gers' .oPAtfiattliiiueife there . too. *ften crept into &ej
SriflbBled .'tosW'ief human^worthies; blotching .ntfcesfB
bright 'aMfel^^with. unhallowed., stains* The mind!?
eye' bf 'the historian., dhKtled with tb« spfeodoft
tearHSf atcTfia^afeais/ hath. often thus been sot«hisqni
red, as tb'bMdtStefcdftand ifeB itogether-¥7th« deed*
KtoJrs of"the?* Wtt&i-ynvltli?the defenders>fc{dtpand
iXMead ''of .e^ttsigniiig their names to oblivdoB»^oy
to' exeeration, %y holding them up as warning htd)
coBsfor StbersV^'We see, blended .Tenti :Sciptsfc wad
Alfreds, wretches. standings as ednoaizetl sainfc; and
heroes \ktXhWtj)tlmdm, and ranking high in thschraojj
teles. <rf.felrte. bnWraU^es,.that^wer^tt»thiBg m^renor
less than the most loyal subjects his satannic ma
 76
jesty can boast, and the best slaughter-men in his
infernal service.

Our passions then, as ruled and ruling, being the

best of subjects, cr the worst of all tyrants, we find,
that as subjects, under the pilot of reason and virtue,
they bear our vessel (thus ballasted and steered with
tile moral principle) with favoring gales to our destined
haven of happiness ; but when we reverse heaven's
law, and, like dastard slaves, submit to their debasing
tyranic yoke, they, then, (instead of piloting us to
the port we are bound for) like whirlwinds and tem
pests, are sure to wreck us, on the rocks and quick
sands of death, and founder us in the deep.

To these truths all history, antient and modern,

sacred and prophane, bears the most incontestible
testimony ; and on a general view thereof, we may
there behold scarce ought else, but the numberless
wrecks suffered from the unbridled appetites, in all
their various shapes, ranks and degrees, and amongst
those hosts of vice thus set in array, as well as in
ambush, to attack and beset us through our stormy
passage. It is more than probable, that they may,
(like the muster-roll of an army) each have their vari
ous posts assigned them for annoyance, from the pri
vate to the generallissimo ; and might, I presume to
guess, at the principal posts in the muster-roll of vice.
1 should certainly single out pride and ambition as
18
 76
chieftains of those legions of vice, that has forces
enlisted under the banners of such formidable leaders,
make such havoc on the earth; as before hinted, we
know they first prompted rebellion in heaven, and
•what then so likely as these, to ravage and desolate
the earth?—though they were expelled heaven, they
were not annihilated, but still rage on earth with the
same venom as above.

In the high science, then, of self-knowledge, pride

should as the champion of all the host of evil, be
the first to be attacked and subdued ; for, as already
observed, and which cannot be too often and too
strongly impressed, it is an enemy probably lurking
in some degree, in every breast ; but lurks as a Pro
teus, assuming at times every shape but its own : it ap
pears in rags, as well as struts in brocade; masks itself
. often under the habits of virtue, in various kinds and
degrees, not excepting even that of its strongest con
trast, the virtue of humility itself ; for where is...jt
greater. than in affected humility? Nor am I. c^-
. tain that at this very moment, while I am drawing a
dagger against it, that I am not under its influence ;
Tor to blind the world, and the breast also that
harbors it, it often declaims against itself.
-q'j„ .. . \. .i ' ' » i»so
All vices it is. 'well known defeat their own purpo
ses, but this does in by far the greatest degree of
^any ; for all ranks sneer it, and withhold payment of
Jhe homage it would pa«$j,.. bejng then our very
 77
earliest concern in the science of self-investigation,
to purge and cleanse the seed-plot of the heart, from
this weed of pride, this weed of poison, that blasts
and stifles every germ of virtue, springing up in its
soil, and crushes them in embryo, and against this
herculean foe its entrance to guard with the flaming
sword of fortitude. Fory j
" Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the is
sues of life,"
Said the wisest of kings and of men. It may be
asserted, that, in its least harmful consequences,
and from its very essence, which is self-suffi
ciency, it shuts the door against knowledge, and
verities the adage—" That pride ever has a fall," for
it must, when stumbling in its own darkness, and of
course must be an insuperable bar to self-knowledge:
it hardens and steels the mind against virtue, for It
spurns it as needless, disputes the moral equality of
all the race of Adam—is blind to every thing but its
.*bwn Consequence, and would enact the homage 'of all
io its assuming superiority and merit ; and, of course,
"Vdbs society and itself also of all those charms jbf
friendly and mutual courtesy, dictated by humility
.'an'd benevolence, as due to all our fellow-creatures,
and is the very grave of all the social virtues.—Pride
naturally enlists in its train every vice for its sup-
pof¥, and amongst the most harmless of that train is
' ihe chilling vice of avarice, as one means to prop us
' consequence, at all events ; but when' avarice and the
like meam} fail, it'wift stick at nothing to attain L\ta
 78
object and feed its vanity ; and when once cherished
in the bosom, to what lengths does not this deadly vi
per cam us. . ...... , iU

It was pride, the pride of being as Gods, that

occasioned the fall of man—it was pride that first
polluted the hands with human gore, the pride of
Cain's thinking himself equal to Abel, (heaven's favo
rite) this prompted him to envy that preference, and
that envy goaded him to fraticide ; and the first mur-
murder, and that stung him to the soul through life :
pride may be said to end in a fall, also, for of all fa
brics it is the most baseless—baseless, as Shak-
speare's fabric of a vision ; for what has man to glory
in but his shame? Though this vice may be bora
with us, it can hardly be said to die with us ; for (be
sides assuming all shapes and forms) it may be added,
that it displays itself on all occasions also, and that
not only in the gaudy days of human glory, but in the
times of its deepest humiliation likewise : in the pomp
and pride of human power, when on some triumphant . ;
day, the hero in the zenith of his blood, with browjS.1£
encircled with the wreaths ofvictory ,with captive kings
in chains at his chariot wheels, and crowds of admiring
thousands prostrate at his feet, offering the incense
of adoration; as man, he might, under these intoxi
cating fumes of glory, for the moment, forget he was
mortal—but in the day when all our towering pomp.
is laid low, when our dust is committed to our kind
red dust, to see pomp and pride attendant on oar very
 79
corruption, and as it were glorying in its very abase*
ment—to see the trains of sorrow and mourning,
tricked out with all the pageant trappings that can
attract the gaze and wonder of the gaping crowd—
Oh, what a lashing satire on human pride is here !—
Yea, not content with this, we carry it beyond the
grave, we link falsehood and vanity together, and (if j
I may so term it) give a kind of mortal immortality
to both, for we make the very brass and marble ac
cessary to the lying farce, by recording on our truth
less. faithless tombs (instead of the shame and infamy
of the departed) honors and virtues they were utter .
strangers to themselves, and had ever drawn a dagger
against in others : well then might the Royal Preach
er exclaim, when. the very stones, our very tombs
thus ery out1'-" All is vanity beneath the sun."—For, s
go seek the mangled mausoleum once blazoned with
the'^rond, the lying trophies ef vice triumphant'! See. ,
its diadem in the mire, ask of its mouldered bust^
sjiefHts half-lettered tale, learn (if thoiucan&t) where. rJ
is departed sceptre ?—view its strong bow brok*bp£
arittits* spear knapped ia sunder ;—see here the al. fc
cornering hand of time humbling the mighty., andiii
vanquishing the vanquisher of nations, and his dustii
wftbJ hisSculpture trophies laid low and scattered U»!i
the^wftids;— see here pride shorn of its brightest
beams, and its honors now no more. But faithless 0
to its trust as is the recording marble, yet how faithful.
is it in thus holding up to us the mirror of hum*njW. p
nity^^-fc&w strong its ilaow(!iaB&Jfl»«hy wfctydnnijfe*
 80
eloquent things. Oh man, go thy ways, humble thyself
in the dust, consider thy latter end, and be wisjfjl
—for from the cradle to the tomb, and beyond this;
tomb, vain glorious are all the thoughts, words and.
works of the proud and lofty. . tje

As pride appears thus foremost in the ranks of

rice, humility surely, as its opposite in the extreme*
bids fair for making foremost ia the lists of virtue.—.
As pride shuts the door against knowledge, so humi
lity may be deemed a principal key for opening {he
temple of knowledge ; for humility tells us we are full
of ignorance and full of nete**Uie« of every kind, and
of course prompts us to seek out for every source for
their supply, and draw water from every fountain that
can in any respect alleviate the thirst for that know
ledge, R so much needs : it will consult the page that
will inform bini of whatever has been done in the days
of old, as well 'as consider what is doing around him,
in the present day; but above all, it will for its rule.
and guide, apply with avidity to " read, mark, harm,,
and inwardly digest," the Sacred Volume, as the tr«ft<
and grand fountain of living waters, that alone can
allay that thirst of mind for the knowledge that alL
other surpasseth. Humility, with this clue and as a.
guide for its further progress, will take a general vievfl^
of civil history, but especially that of the saered, where
it will find the best of precepts, enforced by the best
and likewise by the worst of examples ; I say by tho
worst of examples^ for however paradoxical it may
 81
appear, it may be difficult to determine, whether
the good example is a stronger stimulus to emu
late virtue, than that of the bed one a stimulating
warning to avoid vice. But whether they are quite
equally powerful in their operations or not, it may, I
presume, hence be averred, that wisdom is justified,
not only of all her children, but even of her very
enemies also : for as the one shews the snare's and
precipices to avoid, so the other are the lanthorns to
our paths, throughout the chequered journey of life's
hardy march. History, indeed , throughout, presents
us with the certain consequences of good and evil,
in all the numberless instances of virtue and vice,
through all their respective ramifications, shades and
gradations; and traces all the dreadful host of vice
and corruption up to their grand source—the unreined.
passions of man ; all which is there depicted in the
strongest language, and most vivid colors, that the page
of history, to the inquiring mind can exhibit,—pride
and ' ambition apparently standing foremost in the
rstolfs of human vices as chieftains, and their effects
hating heen pointed out, in a few of their baleful con
sequents. 1 Happy, alas, would it have been for the
vtirrlA} comparatively speaking, if those few particu
larized instances, had been all of the worst of those
effects {'fb* all history through, is but little more than
a dreadful chain of their dire evil consequences, and
little less than a gory calendar of human butchery.
What a frightful picture is here presented, of guilt
and degradation, exhibited in all its hydra characters,
 of carnage, rapiue, desolation and every other vice, ia
every kind and degree ! How few the peaceful and
happy days, and how few the worthies, among those
early annals of villainy triumphant! —At a transient
view of those noble few, those scattered lights (like
watery beams of wintry suns) appear to scarce dare
shoot their feeble gleams athwart the gloom of these
guilty scenes of death and desolation, as loth to blend
their rays, with the dark polluted page ; but on a
nearer view, they shine, they blaze, and ever will,
with more meridian splendor, through the dimness of
. the gloomy scenes around them.—But what pen can
paint, or tongue declare the half the horror of those
scenes of carnage and devastation, that might (one
would think) wring tears from hearts of flint, and melt
the breasts of those sons of pride and ambition, who
with horrid sway, goaded on by lust of power and
lawless savage dominion over the peaceful sons of earth
in fury and wild uproar, break down all the sacred
. barriers of honor, and (trampling law and justice un
der foot) wade through seas of blood, to thrones from
whence they are hurled in turn, by ministers like
themselves, swallowing and swallowed up by each
other, like the surges of the troubled deep; an3^ phi
what heart-rending horrors fill up the train of this
frenzied hell-bom thirst of blood am) rapine, when
deaf to the mother's shrieks and infant's crie3, they
(with .the ravages of fire and sword) like an over
whelming torrent, deluge and sweep before the»i, in
one blended mass of destruction, the blessings of the
year, the toilful labors of man, the stores of winter, the
sheltering home, and all life's peaceful comforts ; while
babes and bending age, bowing before its merciless
sway, either in vain their life implore, or fly the seen* in
wild distraction, marking their steps with blood, without
a where to lay their head, and left a prey to famine and
the elements. And where is the corner of the earth
that has not been drenched with the blood of this in
human human butchery? But let us mark the avenging
hand of heaven :—the cries of blood follow close on the
heels of these human vultures, and like a daemon haunt
their slumbers, affrighting the balm of repose from their
eyelids and from their restless couch, chasing that peace
of which they robbed the innocent and helpless. But
why need we detail the evils of pride, when we may well
ask the question,- -Not what evils it has, but what curse
it has not given rise to? But I find my pen labors and
in vajn labors in this dire theme, and drops unequal to
the task.
.•.i... ....... .. .. .
" How dreadful it is, alas ! to think, that man who
^ias the seeds of honor in him, 'springing up to glory,
should blast those seeds and cherish hatred in their
stead, and give his heart to pride and lust of power and
blood ; turn slaughterman to powers infernal, and dim
the lustre of heaven's fairest image here below !"—
" casting off all of human but its form I"
* ' .' '. ' s •'' « ' C
Hideous as is this view of human depravity, in thi»
valley of death, we have, as before observed, to contrast
vritk those, a noble a dignified band indeed ;—not the
oppressors of the earth, but the defenders thereof—the
fathers of their country and of their people—the cham
pions of the innocent—the strong pleader for the widow
—the shield of the helpless, and the patrons of science
and learning,—who, glowing with ardent patriotic zeal,
have stepped forth and made an undaunted stand against
the ravisher and the despoiler, and (spurning inglorious
ease and sloth) have, for their country's weal, freely
devoted life and all its blandishments. These are the
worthies that have attained the loftiest summits of dea'h-
less glory that the eagle pinions of fame can soar to,
and whose names stand the foremost of those dial the
pen of angels with joy register in the everlasting rolls of
heaven.

I have endeavoured to be the more particularly pointed

in the effects of pride and ambition in general history, an
cient and modern,that my brotherBritons may, in the strong
contrast, estimate and duly prize the laws and liberties
6f that constitution which even foreign lauds aliow to be
the glory, the envy, the wonder, and admiration of the
world ; and in modern times, more particularly, has
raised Albion so high in the scale of nations, if not at
the summit of them, and outstripped even the fabled
deeds of ancient days.

For when the earth was filled with slaughter, uproar,

cruelty, and violence, convulsed to her very centre, and
kingdoms and empires shaken to their very foundation,
 8o

Britain, the empire of contending nations, in the strength

of the Lord of hosts, went forth (the little David) against
the Goliah power that defied all other powers, and sub
dued this Goliah.
Tims awing a jarring werld to peace.
Britons ! let us not sully the mighty blessing, by vain-
gloriously vaunting on the deed and forgetting the source ;
but let the incense of grateful praise and thanksgiving
ascend from every altar, before the throne of him who
alone ruleth.

Having thus pointed out the main sources for attain- .

ing self-knowledge, as fully 1 trust as from an introduc
tory work might be expected, and which the young rea
der, it is hoped, will turn in his mind and improve on
in his leisure moments, as affording a noble scope for
cultivating the intellect and ameliorating the heart, my
next endeavour will be to touch on the principal heads
of the moral duties, more specifically inculcated Mason-
ically, as arranged under the three grand heads or sec
tions of—our duty to the Supreme, our duty to ourselves,
and our duty to society.

To the power supreme, the only High and Mighty

One, the Great Architect of the universe,- -of space
without all bound ;—the I Am,—who alone is from ever
and for ever the grand fountain of life and all its bles
sings. It enjoins our bowing down with reverence,
love, gratitude. and adoration ; for
K2
 m
This higher than the highest, this King of Kings and Lord oi
Lords 11 called us into beiug to be blessed to eternal ages*'.*
And it enjoins us to walk in obedience to his pure)
and holy laws, contained in the sacred rolume of bis
word, which he ordained and revealed as the grand
means for attaining the end and designation of our crea
tion—happiness.

To ourselves the first and highest duty it enjoins, is

reverence also, as bearing the image of the Most High,
and beidg' the last and best work of his hands beneath
the sun ; for this self-reverence is ever the best and
strongest guard against vice, and tends to a dread of
every thing that may debase or sully the honor, the
tfignity, and the purity of our nature, arid thus debar us
of the glorious hopes we are born to and born for :—
ilns self-reverence will be therefore one of the strdngjest
prompters to the grand leading virtues of purity; fiihb-
cence, and temperance, as well as to one of the foremost
in the rank of the virtues termed tempora!—Laudhble,
honorable industry ; for, as in the account of our work
the improvement of our time (as one of our chief Ta
lents) will be strictly required at our hands ; so fetrfts
never, never forget, that industry is what no man (how
ever exalted his rank) can honorably exempt himself
from : can the subject expect to be a drone ill the hfve
of society, whil 3 his sovereign fills the most arduous
post in it 1
isoi^o! *r:««n I): ft .muni ,wrj,t> >* ... 1 r»
 87
The symbols, therefore, which we are invested with,
should never be lost sight of, but be ever a remembrance
of what we owe ourselves and what we owe our off
spring likewise (as emanations of ourselves) and may
justly claim at our hands, in the first instance, what the
brotherhood may claim in the second, and then the
claim of the whole human race.

To society at large, Masonry enjoins benevolence,

courtesy, and urbanity of manners, and that to all ranks
and degrees of it, as all children of one Supreme ; apd
therefore it views the whole human race as one great
family in the eyes of heaven, and all equal in its sight
from the cot to the throne. If we, therefore, love the
Supreme as we ought, it is impossible to slight his fa
mily ; for
" He hateth nothing that be hath made."
But he goes farther and puts the comforting question :
(Mark it, ye flinty-hearted and ye sons of mammon,—
ye beasts chilled and frozen by the icy bands of avarice,
—come and thaw them into a glow of benevolence at
the animated warmth of its sound.)
. " Can any love his creatures equally with him who created
them ?"—What balm for the wonnded spirit ! ! !

But this equality that Masonry inculcates is restricted

to society, merely in a moral point of view ; for, in a
secular light, it respects the barriers that custom. has
K. 3
 88
among all civilized nations established between one or
der of society and another, in all their ranks and gra
dations, and pays them all due deference accordingly :
but in this currency of human courtesy to all ranks,
whether above, equal to, or below us, (as it never loses
sight of the respect due to one's self also), so far is this.
deference to rank from betraying the meanness of servile
submission, or cringing, fawning adulation, (altogether
incompatible with Free-masonry), that what Masonry
inculcates is a dignified deference, condescension, and
affability to all ranks,—a deference that is at once both
giver and receiver, and commands respect in the very
act of showing or giving it.

But among all the various ranks in society there must

be a highest. Common sense indeed tells ns, there
must be a leader, invested with a supremacy of power,
blended with wisdom and goodness, as a groat band of
union for the mutual welfare and happiness of that so
ciety, both at home and with the kindred powers of
the earth, and essentially necessary to the very existence
df it ;—for as well might the body natural and its mem*
bers expect to exist without the head, its director, aft
society to exist without one. r . > •
'.'•«•'. ..
Masonry, therefore, ever has, does, and ever will
enjoin respect to and support that happy land of a happy
government, as the greatest of temporal blessings, and
the very source of all its comforts, and therefore strongly
inculcates loyalty and reverest obedience to the sore
 80
reign, as heaven's vicegerent of that society in which
we.are placed. It is therefore a leading principle in
Masonry to revere and support it, and without this
loyalty no one can be a worthy member of it.

It is self evident, that without the people support go

vernment, government cannot support the people ; for
they are mutual props and aids to each other ; and with
out this support, we may as well expect the house to
shelter us that we are hourly sapping the foundation of ;
and thtrefore rebels and traitors have ever been deserv
edly deemed pests of society, and treated as such -
for in vain does the pilot steer the helm of state, unless
bis subjects tug lustily at the oars, with a cordial pull
altogether, for it is this pull in unison that makes states
flourish and rise the envy of their neighbours, and it is
the reverse of this that founders and sinks them, making
them become the scorn and prey of their enemies.

The clamors raised by the turbulent, the ignorant, and

the rebellious, against the ruling powers, generally arise
from want of making liberal allowances for imperfections
inevitably incident to human nature. Before we pre
sume to scan the ways of others, let us be cool and per
fect ourselves : till then, our judgment (like the jaundiced
eye) will view every thing through a false medium, and
of course it will be sure to form a blind judgment :—this
will hold just in the censure of all human conduct, in
that of governors as well as of individuals in private life ;
and a cool review of human nature will shew the loudest

>
 90
clamourers to be the blindest judges, who have never
thought of clearing the mote from the mind's eye, that
they might discern clearly whither or no there were any
motes in those of others.

Thus Masonry, both in its secular and moral depart

ments, calls forth into action all the higher powers and
energies of the human mind,—every art and science
subservient to die use of man, as well as all that ean
adorn and dignify life and give rational delight:—it
awakens also all the noblest faculties of the soul, point
ing out its high origin and destination—viz. happiness,
as the crown of the race set before it, gives those facul
ties their full force and operation, in cultivating the means
for winning and wearing that crown ; as it not only points
out the way to it but furnishes the mind with the viands
of refreshment on the road, that will ensure the victory.
In fine, Masonry tends to restore man to that semblance
he in Eden fell from, and to his compleat dominion over
all beneath the sun. Nor need we (I beg leave once
again to hint) wonder at its being the glory of ancjenA
as well as modern times, nor at its surviving the shocks of
time and ignorance, as well as every other human instil
tution, when we reflect that it is founded on the broad
and firm base of reverence and love to the Supreme,
loyalty to the powers he hath set in authority over us on
earth, and good will to the whole human race.. ..
» . . .
What a boundless field, then, i* here opened for the
range of the mind, thirsting for knowledge, human and
 91
divine, to satiate its largest desires and amplest hopeSi
from the first steps of honorable industry up to the dig
nified summit of human science, and from thence to the
celestial attainments of wisdom and goodness ; forming
(like the patriarch's vision) an ascent from earth to hea
ven, as embracing, for its benevolent exertions, no less
than the comprehensive objects of mind, body, and
fame :—of mind, by the cordial medicine of friendly
counsel to the afflicted wounded spirits,—of body, bjf
contributing to its personal necessities in the hour of
need,—of fame, by defending it against the wounds of
calumny and detraction : -for in the days of joy and
gladness, in rejoicing with a brother it doubles thatjoy ;
and in the days of mourning, by sympathising in condo
lence, it alleviates his sorrows ; and when the lamp of
lifo is glimmering in its socket, there is the brother
found, cheering pining age and disease, in the trying
hour, by pointing to the bliss that awaits our departure
hence. But Masonic beneficence confines not itself
within the limited bounds of common charity, but ex
pands itself to far higher degrees. To give from abun
dance, though a virtue, is but a minor virtue; to give
from the earnings of persevering rigid industry, enhances
it to a major one. But to give from the now and then
privations of even the sanctionable enjoyments of life,
raises this virtue to the most exalted height, a height
that may be equalled, but cannot be exceeded. This
may well be styled heroic, or the beneficence of an he
roic mind, and is the Stirling beneficence that scorns t»
shrink from exertion, and exeuse itself through deficiency
 1)2
of means ; for it will draw on industry and rigid tempe
rance for the deficiences of fortune :—it will lie by, as
a hallowed store, towards it something in the days of
prosperity, and where those days come not, it will con
secrate something even from the hard earnings of our
labour, and piously steal a little now and then from the
every day enjoyments : it will even encrease those con
secrated stores, by extending the hours allotted to busi
ness,—through borrowing a little from the morning's
pillow, and contracting the hours allotted to evening's
relaxation, and sometimes foregoing the pleasures of the
festive board and convivial hour. These are sacrifices
far exceeding whole hecatombs from the altar, and
their grateful incense will arise to the highest heaven.—
We thus from labor and privation create a fund for be
neficence that affluence has denied us,—find a better than
the philosopher's stone, for making more than fine gold
itself, and by thus contracting our expenditure, we ex
pand our souls and qualify them for lasting the purest of
all pleasures.—Oh ! What a holocaust is this to offer to
the Giver of all things, and may I dare call such bene
ficence a strong and powerful pull at the lever that
moves heaven itself ? I will dare to. For the sacred
unerring word of truth condescends to call this little
given to the needyj (and though but given to the giver,)
" A loan advanced to Heaven itself,"

The good Mason, like the good Samaritan, may con

sole himself in reflecting, that when he is laid low his.
children after him will often hear the benediction—
 " Heavens bless thee, children !" thy father Was the
friend of me and mine in our want and oppression : he
defended our cause and redressed our wrongs, and oft
have we eaten of his morsel and drank of his cup in our
days of need. And like our venerable Job in the days
of old, might justly say,—" That the blessing, of him
that was ready to perish was upon him, and he caused
the widow's heart to sing for joy : he was eyes to the
blind and feet to the lame, and a support to the feeble,
and he ate not his morsel alone ; the naked also felt the
warming fleece of his flock,—when the ear heard him
it blessed him, and when the eye saw him it beamed on
him with delight." s

The stranger, wrecked on a foreign shore, severed

by oceans from his dear fire-side, his circle of friends,
the wife of his bosom, and the olive branches round his
table,—a captive wounded and stretched on the couch
of disease, in a dungeon,—hears the glad voice of a
brother, starts with fresh life in every vein, and with the
fire pf animation beaming in his eye, hails his welcome
approach, presses him to his bosom, and (leading cap
tivity captive) remembers wounds, bonds, captivity,
and pains no more.

Oh Beneficence ! at thy approach sorrow flees far

away, and for mourning and heaviness thou givest joy
and gladness, and in the sunshine of thy presence tears
and anguish brighten into smiles and songs of thanks
giving.
 Let us then, my brothers, never swerve from the steps
of our venerable ancestors, but (like them) cberisbuig ,in
our bosoms the heaven-born germs of charity and bene
ficence ; let us nourish them as plants, whose fragrance is
beyond frankincense ; and, though plants of celestial
climes,. they will bud, blossom, and fruit in our incle
ment soil, and will bear their healing produce not once
only but tire year throughout :—they will be the cheering
beams around the soul, in the most cloudy gloom of life,
and at the awful close of this mortal scene they will
shed their celestial rays of comfort around the departing
spirit, and usher it, amid the melodious gratulating hail
of ministering angels, to the blissful realms of joy and
loye ; where we may present them, hallowed with the
increase of a thousand fold, at the thrrae of the grand
architect from whence they sprung ; where they will, as
heaven's sterling currency, be our ready passport to the
grand temple oi the blessed.

This is Masonry, and less than this is not Masonry.

Put I hear the tongue of detraction say—(and what will
it not say ?)—Where are the fruits of this fine tree? .t-m

Will the most envenomed tongue of calumny dan

pronounce that the least worthy that ever assumed the
order of Masonry was not the better for it, or (which
amounts to the same) that he might not have been still
less worthy without it ? The tongue that will dare pro
nounce it, must be prompted by a worse than the worst
of human beings. To those who ask, " Where are the
fruits of this troe V we must subjoin another question,—
Where are the fruits of Christianity itself? Such calum
ny, however, if it stands for any thing, must stand for
praise; for the arrows of malice lost their sting, and ever
recoil on the assailant, and therefore instead of lessening
heighten the merit they wish to depreciate. The most
venial follies are generally the most open to the eyes of
the world, while vices as well as the best of virtues are
done in secret, and purposely hidden from light. The
follies that are unheeded in the world at large, are
marked in the Mason, noised abroad by the malice that
would willingly bring down every thing to its own base
level. That Masonry is often perverted is admitted, but
this is so far from a stigma on the order itself, that it is
rather itseulogium and a proof of its excellence;—Good
things may be perverted, bad things cannot : purity may
be sullied and innocence corrupted, but we cannot cor
rupt corruption, blacken black, nor polute pollution :-«-
our very food, as well as our greatest cordials, are,
through abuse, converted to poison ; what allays thirst
may thus become our deadly bane ; our very clothing,
instead of hiding our shame, may, in the service of vice,
porclaim it ; even Christianity itself is often perverted to
the ministry of evil, instead of being its denunciator.—
The virtues we all know are the mintage of heaven ;
but the evil one ever counterfeits the bullion, issues a
base coin, and circulates dross for gold ; and thus the
semblance of all the virtues are assumed to give a larger
and safer currency to fraud, hypocrisy, and every other
 vice :—ostentation thus passes for charity, avarice for
frugality, cunning for wisdom, and even murder itself
(when the holy physician of the soul piously kills to cure)
passes current for holy zeal and all for the love of .
alas, what !—Thus the vices are veiled under the sem
blance of the virtues, and the worst of crimes pass cur
rent under the best of names. In fine, we may well' ask
what good is there that is not perverted ? But it shocks
common sense to condemn therefore and avoid what
may be thus abused,—and is just as wise as dying of a
fast to avoid dying of a surfeit.

Ifwould be a miracle, indeed, if Masonry had escaped

the general contagion ;—but what is there that malevo
lence will not blacken and envy attempt to. deform !

In a treatise of this nature, my younger readers may

expect somewhat to be said touching the arcana or mys
teries of the Order :.^~to speak in their defence is need
less, for they cannot be an object of censure in my
opinion, as I never heard objections made against tjjejij
by any one whpse censure or applause was of the conse
quence to any one but themselves. Did mysteries ex
ist in no other profession, (however defensible they are
in themselves), it might with clamorous cavillers afford
somewhat like a handle for objection ; but such aire
adopted in all other professions, civil, military naval,
and mechanical ; yea, even down to the mark on a six
penny handkerchief. Our Masonic mysteries, more
than sanctioned by their prerogative of immemorial
 97
adoption, with the best of all nations and ages down to
the present, smile with contempt on the vain puny
efforts of detraction, that, like bees, die with shooting
their own stings, and defeat their own purposes ; for
censure from such must ever be praise, when it has any
weight at all. Our mysteries are found of all who duly
seek them : there is one avenue, and that avenue is suf
ficient for any rational man;—but the world might be
much better employed than in censuring what is never,
never was, nor ever will be obtruded on if ; for it courts
110 proselytes, but often rejects those who seek it unduly,
and such will of course decry as sour the grapes that
are beyond their reach.

That the exclusion of the fair sex from the order, is so

far from a bar to their happiness, yea rather heightens it,
innumerable instances might be adduced ; for, however
harsh on a transient view it may appear, it vanishes
•when we reflect that this exclusion is far from being pe
culiar to our order ; for in tenderness also they are ex
cluded from legislation, from war, from the arduous
cares of the state, and the dangers of the field ; as like
wise from various other functions in civil life,—indeed,
from all but domestic cares ; for so great a favourite is
the fair sex of the laws and institutions of man, that
their very disabilities are their safest and best guardians,
and that often against the undue influence of their lords.
Their exclusion or rather exemption from the arduous
posts of Masonry, (if that exemption wanted a sanction)
K2 ' ' *° "
would be more than sufficient ; but, a3 if it had been
designed for a test of that amiable deference which forms
one of their most fascinating attractions,* and convinces
them of this happy truth :—that this deference is the very
charter by which they hold their soft empire (an empire
that hath no bounds, at least none but those they them
selves please to set to it). 'What a further—what an
incontrovertible sanction might we not plead in the num
berless hymenial unions that reflect such high honor on
the sex ! What a test of their good sense ! And how
vastly the lustre of it is enhanced by this very circum
stance of exemption ! If more than enough had not
been already said on the subject, I would have appealed
t© their own breasts, and would have asked,—whether
jhe extensive province of their domestic sphere, with all
its importance, was not sufficiently arduous to claim all
their attention ?

Having exerted my best endeavours to introduce my

young brethren to the temple of self-knowledge, by tak
ing a general review of man, touching his necessities and

*.r*.r r~r
* An eminent proof of this was manifested in their withholding
their patronage from. and cool treatment of, a certain fair authoress,
appearing as a heroine for their asserting their right to coequal pri
vileges ; but who, in contending for the palm of equal intellect with
their lords. forgot that it was an object that was lost in the very act
of contending for it ; as completely indeed as in the case of two con
tending for their respective superiority of politeness, or which was
the most of the gentleman.
 9*
resources, his dignity and his humanity, his lights and
bis shades, his glory and his shame, as acting up to or
deviating from the gracious designations of his Creator,
By treading in the paths of rectitude, or yoked as the
groveling slave of his lusts ; I follow them up with a few
cursory observations on the more obvious pueportof the
symbols that are worn officially ; for they are (over and
besides their typical designations) like the window to
the breast,—an honorable tpye of the worth within, in
the true Mason ; but in the unworthy one, .tfiey are but
the badge of what we should be> and therefore arast give
the lie to his conduct. They are, in short, the glory of
the good, but the shame and disgrace of the bad one Hrf
What a burlesque, then, to see those symbols of laud
able deeds borne by tliose who are utter strangers to
exertion, of whatever description, save that of pampering
for the body. They thus reduce themselves to mere
white-washed dunghills, and are far worse than the
fools cap and bells, to make them the scorn and derision
of.'alFbehotders. As these symbols then are so insigni
ficant, so let them ever be remembrancers of the when
and the why we are invested with them ; and as laud
able industry stands among the foremost in the rank of
temporal virtues, so let it never, never be lost sight of,
as ever held in high estimation by the wise and good of
all times ; let us ever bear in mind, that it is the wealth,
the sterling wealth of nations, as well as of individuals,
and never caH enough be said in its praise; for as indo
lence (the mother of famine and the daughter of pride
 100
and infamy) makes of an Eden a dreary desart, so in
dustry, on„the contrary, converts a desart into a smiling
Eden, with its vallies that laugh and sing with plenty.
It is industry that nerves the arm with strength, and
makes the heart of man joyous : it invigorates and
brightens the understanding, makes the plainest morsel
a dainty, and the slumbers of the couch sound, sweet,
and .refreshing, and makes every returning evening a
kind of festival unknown to sloth and idleness : it sanc
tions (hallows I had almost said) the chearful evening
hour, and gives a flow of joy that " after no repenting
draws." As among the temporal virtues it ranks high
indeed, if not at the bead of the roll, so is it the source
of every comfort, as well as of food and raiment. ..•.'.'• '
v> . . )\[s I.. ' . !' «* ; '" in^l'i*
It has been already observed, and I beg here again
to repeat, that natnre prevents for our service the un-
wrought materials only, leaving the maturing them for
the exertion ofour art and industry, even in appeasing the
tommoB calls of nature, as well as in furnishing the ele
gancies of life ; for the earth uncultured presents us wiin
tires instead of bread, and the briar, the thistle, and the
noisome weed, instead of the green pasture, the olive,
and the clusters of the vine, and demands the sweat of
the brow before the table can be with plenty spread ;
besides ten thousand labors of the file, the loom, the
amvik .aod the chizel, as well as pressing in our service
tie .aidsof the beasts of the held, and the elements, fire,
air, and water, to lessen and expedite our manual labors
in every department. That these uuwrought materials
 1«1
are much enhanced by art and industry the most heed
less, if they think at all, must be well convinoed ; bnt to
what a vastly extended degree how few, till pointed
but, have any conception ; and true as it is, how will it
astonish the unthinking to find they are thus in general
enhanced to a hundred fold beyond the raw value ; but
in a number of instances they are thus encreased a thou
sand fold, in some to ten thousand fold, and in others
again to above a million fold. The finest products of the
loom and the lace pillow, and the choice works of the
potter and the chymist, are indisputable proofs of what
immense perfection a common thread and the clay we
tread under our feet may be brought to : thread may be
enhanced to ten times the value of gold, weight for
weight, and ten thousand times the value of the raw
material : common steel may be magnified to three hun
dred times the value of standard gold, weight for weight,
and to be a million times the value of the raw iron ore :
so precious (so omnipotent I had almost said) is art and
industry. What a tax ! What a dead weight, then !
What a nuisance ! must every robust idler be in the
community he breathes in ! Can we rate him at so
little as an annual fifty pounds burthen? . ! . . •• * » ~.i
i. . . • •.;•.».
What Dr. Young, in his exalted strains of poetry,
has displayed, on the powers of art and industry, is a
strong and happy illustration of them ; and though by
him mentioned, not as an euloghtm on and stimulus to
exertion, but as a sarcasm on pride and ambition, I
have cited it, but cited it therefore with some vari
ations.
 102
" book down an earth, what see'st thou ? WouJ'rOO* things f
Wonders! TTie proofs of man's high gifted powers. "•'i' oj afoi
What length of labor'd lands ! What loaded seas !
Loaded by man for pleasure, wealth, and war.
Seas, wiads, and planets into service brought :
His art acknowledge, and obey bis ends.
Nor can the eternal rocks his will withstand :
What lerel'd mountains ! and what lifted rales !
O'er rales and mountains sumptuous oities swell, t;
And gild our landscapes with their glitt'ring spirts :
Some 'mid the wond'ring waves majestic rise,
And Neptune holds a mirror to their charms.
Far greater still ! What cannot mortal might !
See wide dominions ravish'd from the deep
And at his curbed bounds, old Ocean foams indignant.
Or southward turn to delicate and grand,—
The finer arts there ripen in the sun.
How the tall temples, heaven ward aspiring,
To tho skies ascend ! The proud triumphal arch
Shews us half heaven beneath its lofty bow ;
High through mid air here streams are bid to flow ;
Whole rivers there, laid by, in basins sleep': ....j• .
Here plains turn oceans—there vast oceans join,
Through kingdoms chanuel'd deep from shore to shore :
Thus a new face creation wears from man.
How yon enormous mole, projecting, breaks •• "Ji'ocns)
The mid sea forious waves ; their roar amidst, • ..a no gm
Would emulate the thunder : saying, Omais! . ..
Thus far. nor further. New laws obey thou—
Earth's diseubowel'd ; measur'd are the skies;
Stars are detected in their deep recess ; I't'jUl uim
Creation widens ; vanquish'd nature yields ; .. i.i . .
,Her secrft^.aje .extorted ; art prevails ;—
What monuments of Genius ! Spirit ! Pc Power !
!•.».*( fir. t"i, lii.. fit /'! tui.i.i i
These ate matfs Jaighty friends of art and industry ; and tlies*
aie great. . „ j^.ayim .h. t. 'v: .. m J v t» . "j
 163
But moral grandeur makes the more than mighty man. Bat, a
dole to distress (in heaven's balance) far outweighs them all.

It may not be/leemed irrelevant here to remark, like

wise, in addition to what has before been observed on
our passions, that these also are the uuwrought, the un
cultured materials that need the most arduous labor
and maturation before they will (as our best and obedient
loyal subjects) yield their noble tribute of increase ; and
eh ! may we never, never forget what dire, imperious
fiends they are, when once they yoke and enslave us ;
for they are then set on fire by that centinel who never
sleeps, but watches every crany of the soul to enter it :
and where is he so likely to enter as at the weakest posts
of it ? And where are these weakest posts in every man ?
Are they not in his pride and vanity ?

At these posts therefore it is that he is ever prompt

to steal in and demoralize every thought, word, nnd
deed of the heart of man, and, as already hinted,
(among his various other wiles and machinations), palm
ing on ns vanity for beneficence, anger and deadly re
venge for just resentment, and (horrible to think !) plung
ing a dagger in the bosom of a friend :—he dares prompt
man to call honor ! and palms this deadly vengeful dross
fbr sterling gold upon us ! What a prostitution of this
hallowed thing, honor, to the most unhallowed, direful
deed the arm of flesh, goaded by the evil one, can dare !
Surely this must be Lucifer's grand master-piece, and
Oh ! that I had a pen of celestial adamant to draw this
 104
infernal frenzy in all its unmasked gorgon * *
» « • * * * * * » %
shapes, in colors never to be blotted out !*

Where then is our safety but in ever opposing to this

sleepless foe the eyes of an argus, with the sharpness
of the lynx in all its motions. In the war of man with
man, it is death to sleep on our posts:—it is far worse
here. But as it is worse than death to sleep on our
posts, what must it be to desert them ?—to lift the hand
of violence against ourselves, quit our station, spurn at
fife, (Heaven's best blessing), cast it from us as not
worth accepting, and reeking with the guilt of blood on
our hands, rush into the presence of our dread Sovereign

• The following copy of an answer to a duel challenge !> submitted to>

the reader's consideration :—
Sir,— Yoox challenge I do not accept: I am not weary of my life,
tor dare I thai hazard it, for it does not belong to me : it belongs to
my king, my country, and to heaven who gave it, for their service
and defence ; and till they claim it, the laws of heaven and earth teu
me, it is murder to part with it. I durst not, therefore, risk ii vrittt
e?ery ............ ..who thirsts for my blood, and dares to cajl it
honor : I allow it to be honor indeed, such as the D—1 Jubs all his
knight's.errant with ; but should yon (regardless of these hints) be
still determined, at all events, to throw yours away, I woeld advise'
you not to involve two in the guilt of blood, but rather to torn eseom*
tioner, and be your own butcher. 1V; _u
N.B. I leave the blank for you to fill up, as every one is, or at least
•ught to be, best acquainted with his own title.
Yours. &o.
 105
before he issues his decree for it ! !—To press this point
farther would be but an insult to the understanding of
my readers.

Having now to the best of my abilities ushered my

young brothers to the science of self-knowledge, by a
clue that, it is hoped, they will preserve unbroken, it
is presumed, (if they are not wanting to themselves), that
they will perceive clearly the means for acquiring the
three grand objects of moral Masonry,—our duty to the
Supreme, to ourselves, and to society ; and more espe
cially to the head of that society as (under heaven) the
source of all our temporal blessings.

That they may not be deficient in exerting them, and

that with a zeal, too, becoming the dignity and high im
portance of those objects in view, will be the purport of
the address that closes the work. • u

A* every one initiated into the order of Masonry must

\)e. .classed under one or other of three characters,—ei
ther as an ornament of it, a cypher in it, or a disgrace
to it,—it may not be amiss for the noviciate to view
himself awhile in this compendious mirror here held up
to him, and seriously consider, by turning over in his
mind, the consequences of adopting either of those cha
racters here presented to his view.

As hoping for the best, we will suppose the major

part wiH nobly aspire to support the dignity of their na
 106
ture and the order. To the few (the very few it is hoped)
that will lower themselves down to the ignoble cypher,
I would only pres3 them to consider the sentence passed
on him who hid his talent ; but whoever may be the
third and last character mentioned, oh ! let such con
sider, that, as he who hid his talent was condemned,
how must it fare with him who destroys it \ But let if
be remembered also, that both honor and dishonor are
progressive, and never at a stand still ; therefore, without
amendment, he who is now the cypher will soon descend
to the lowest, and the lowest character still descend to
lower degrees of shame and ignominy.

We see then, my brothers, that in our march through

the warfare of life, it must be a hardy, a prompt, and a
vigilant one, to come off triumphant ; and hence, let us
ever remember, springs the source of all sterling glory.
To conquer indolence, as the principal foe to all exer
tion, and one that will way-lay us in our march, is (as
often before observed) among the first of our temporal
concerns, of which our earliest typical investments,
should be faithful monitors and remembrancers. 1

Since then, in love, in war, and in all other indeed of

life's concerns, we scorn an easy conquest, why there
fore should we ignobly shrink from an arduous one in
life's moral conflict.—Industry and exertion goes before,
and leads to every solid enjoyment, as surely as a
haughty spirit goes before a fall :—who expects to reap
without sowing, to drink of the vine before it is planted,
 107
or to wear the crown before it is won. Faint Iieart
did ne'er fair lady win : the balm of repose is a
stranger to the sluggard, the morsel yields not its
relish but to toil and labour ; who prizes the victory
that is not hotly contested ?—we must build before
we can repel the storm : the hive is not stored with
out a summer's gathering : and the bee and the ant
have ever been the examplars, the sluggard has been
sent to for reproof. In fine, every thing around us is
on the alert, and fulfilling the end of their designations,
and (with the luminaries of heaven) fulfilling their
destined courses, and improving the passing hours,
that, when mispent, never again return for better use.
Yea, and as though all else might, peradventure, fail
to rouse man's indolence and goad it to action, the
great architect of the universe has led the great ex
ample in his glorious work of the creation.

He could, we know, have willed the heavens and

the earth as they are by a word, or even a thought.—
What a lesson, then, his working six days herein and
resting on the seventh, as a pittern for our imitation !
Once more, let me ask, therefore, shall man ignobly
degrade his nature and be the only idler on earth, who
is gifted with all the powers of body and mind, to be
the most active in it ?—Shall man be the drone to con
sume, instead of the bee, to bring honey to the hive of
society ?—shall he by the cankering rust of sloth,
destroy soul, body, credit, health and estate ; wallow
 106
in the miry stye of sensuality a bnrthen to himself,
and all around hiin—and sink shamefully into the
grave, unmourned and forgotten, or worse than for
gotten ; despised above gronnd, and cursed when pdt
under it ; and, oh, dreadful ! entail that curse on hia
innocent offspring ?— Shall he thus become worse
than a blank in society, a noisome weed, a very
cumberer of the ground, both dead and alive, and
grudged the ^ery earth to rot in ; for how often . are
ashes of the infamous scattered 1o the winds ?—Where
is the brother then that blushes not, at being a foul
T)lbt in an order, the dignity whereof makes his infa
my ten-fold conspicuous?—Every worthy brother,
'therefore, dares burst the fetters of slotli and sensu
ality, (which arei evier companions) scorns their de
feasing Tilfe allurements as unworthy a man, especially
a mason, and is a mason indeed, and not in name
only ; for, viewing the insignia of his order, as perpe
tual mementos of the banners he has enlisted under,
'he disdains to shrink from fulfilling its high engage
ments, and having put his hand to the plough,.i.^
''sCoWWlfltoit BaSk."" " * '* '" 'qmoiq
"Olj ,.Hl*ol, U fulfil" )J ... . .'.,.„. ;. .;.i. J,JsJ ,w
".""iiet us then never dare to call ourselves free, while
wading in the slough of debauchery, yoking our souls
down to mean caterers to the body, and the pander
of its vile lusts and appetites, and drudging under the
slavery of groveling desires, that sinks us far below all
' ilie animarcreation around Us. ' •.»... ti..o
*i If { modai. y,. s.y^ oiU il. i... .. j
 109
Let honor kindle and prompt our resolves. tp .act
up to and fulfil our trusts, let fortitude nerve ;us vi
gorously to enforce those resolves, let us often refresh
those resolves by recalling to our remembrance the
deeds of our venerated sages of old.- -Yea, let us
present their hallowed shades to our mind's eye, as
ministering guardians watchful around our paths, and
about our beds, and their eyes ever on us, to rouse
ns from our apathy. and kindle in us the sparks of
zeal, to rally round the order as firm unshaken pillars,
in supporting and adorning it; and let us fan those
sparks into a noble, an anient (lame, for following their
high examples, by treading in their steps and emulating
their great and worthy deeds. Let the duties we owe
ourselves, o«* country, society at large, the djgnityof
oar nature, the enlightened age wo live in, (an age
conspicuous among its numerous shining acquisitions
for knitting, m still stronger bonds of harmonious
union, every olass of order :)—let I say, all those
weighty considerations, united together also, with the
idread of sullying the banners we have enlisted under,
prompt us as watchful guardians over the high trust
we have pledged ourselves in, to hand it down to pos
terity,' pure and unsullied, as we have received it from
our irreat and good ancestors, and to hand it. thus
down, as their just claim at. our hands, and as the
best bequest that we can leave, or they from us re
ceive ; that they, in their days to come,. animated by
our example, may dothe like. £or..|he'ri succeeding
generations, and for all the ages yet unborn ; it is
12
 110
thus that the fraternity become the shining lights
of the earth, and the glory of the age they live in.

I cannot dismiss this subject, without giving a hint

to my younger brothers, that whenever they purpose
tasting the fascinating pleasures of the convivial board
(especially on high festivals) to forearm themselves
against its lures : that they may relish the honey,
without the sting ; enjoy the roses unmixt with the
thorns ; avoid the snares that lurk in every banquet
(not forgetting the invisible sword of Democles, that
typically hangs by its single hair, over the head of
every guest,) and this happy foresight double the joys,
by making the reflections on the festive hour sweeter
than the festivity itself. The four cardinal virtuesjTm.y
brothers, (the best of companions at all times) will on
these occasions, be our more especial guardians* onr
monitor?, and our bosom friends. For cautious pru
dence from her watch-tower, will foresee many dan"
gers to avoid, as well as pleasures to enjoy : fortitude
will arm us with a shield, war-proof against them :
temperance, as our true and unerring compass* will
keep us within the pale of rational, dignified delight,
and justice to ourselves, and particularly to what we
commemorate, will act as our rear-guard, through
these treacherous, flowery paths of pleasure: thus
shall we, under the shield of these virtues, even con
secrate the festive hours, that excess ever desecrates
and (by dashmg the oup of joy, with gall and bitter
ness) gives an after sting to. .-
 Ill
That around the convivial board of our friends
we should encounter so many lurking foes, is a truth,
though an unwelcome one, none will dispute, and
which, as a brother, I am strongly prompted to re
mind you of ; for those foes, until vanquished, ever
did and ever will damp the hour of joy with after days
of sorrow. And among the various straggles through
our pilgrimage, let us never forget, that this is far
from a trifling one. But let us be comforted ; our
conflict, though arduous, is short; but the peace it
insures is for ever.—Heaven's the prize. Tho infers
nal one is our enemy—that vanquished, a triple Peace
succeeds our warfare,—that nothing beneath the sun
can add to or lessen the joys of. Peace with heaven,
with earth peace, and peace with ourselves: and.for
victory let us ever remember, that we are enlisted
nnder the banners of that captain, that leadeth capti
vity captive; that hath tasted death, and conquered
death, hell, and the grave, and livethfor ever. ii

As vice, then, is the mill-stone that sinks us to

: death, so virtue's the lever that lifts us to gloryvj.i' >
i'isit'i . . ' ,. i „.. .
Operative Masonry raised that temple which was
the glory of every age, 'till (through iniquity) its glory
(like Adam's at the fall) was levelled in the dusfc'

i . . • But moral Masonry pulls down the altars of vice,

and on their ruins, raises temples to virtue, that will
 112
outlive the day of doom, survive the reign of time,
outshine the sun, and flourish amid the wrecks of
sinking worlds. Temples, whose foundations (when
the earth shall quake, and the mountains are no more
found) shall never be shaken, for (when the earth and
the very heavens shall depart as a scrowl) these shall
for ever stand, for they are founded on the adamantine
rocks of truth and virtue.

These are the temples, that (when the sun and the
moon shall be dark, and the stars shall withdraw their
shining) shall be illumed by the glory of the celestial
fire for ever and ever.

Let every brother of us, then, (like our great and

venerable Nehemiah of old, when raising the ramparts
round Zion) set stoutly and manfully about laying
the foot.soue of, and raising this out moral fabric,
and putting the cape-stone to this our temple of Zion,
whose summit is to reach not to heaven only, but to
the heaven of heavens.

Nehemiah, remember, in his great work, had his

sword girt on his thigh, and the sound of alarm ever
at hand, against his opposing enemies ; but let us
remember that (in raising this our moral pile) we have
far more than the arm of flesh—we have powers infer
nal to contend with ; against which, like Nehemiah*
we must, with our moral weapons, be ever ready to
make a daring stand.
 113
Let me not then address you, brothers, in the cold
term of the propriety of fulfilling our trusts ; it
.would be an insult to intellect. A mere sense of its
propriety will never pull us through our arduous
work. Hercules is not to be felled with a distaff, and
we have all the hercules of vice to vanquish. To
out-hercules Hercules, with all his might, we must
oppose weapons, war-proof from the armoury of
heaven,—these, and no less than these, are the wea
pons that will lay in the dust the Goliah vice, and give
us the victory.

Once more, brothers, and advice is done with.-—

Let me adjure you then, by all the energies of masonic
dignity, to spurn at, with indignation, the debasing a
heaven-born soul with the earth-born grovelling bac
chanalian riot and debauchery, that makes the human
form a very satyr on its own depravity : and let me
also adjure you to rouse virtue from her slumbering
apathy, and kindle a flame in her dying embers, till
they rise into a noble glow of enthusiasm ; " into the
live coal from her altar," for supporting and adorning
our venerated cause : and as the eyes of the world
are ever on us, so let them be, not to behold our dis
grace, but to behold an example worthy a Mason to
set, and the world to follow. Thus shall we put to
silence the envenomed tongue of slander and detrac
tion, and cherish our order as the boon of heaven,
" The cordial drop it in our cup has thrown,
To make the bitter draught of life go down,'*
 114
We shall then find it the bosom friend through all
the smiles and frowns of good and adverse days ; the
solace of our present and the foretaste of our future .
state, and at the close of our mortal span, when the
hovering celestial spark is about to quit its house of
clay, as our latest friend, its cheering beams will gild
the awful moments that wing the soul from earth to
its eternal mansions.

Thus, my brothers, you have my best, though hum

ble endeavors, to plant ; be yo\i the Apollos to wa
ter, and may heaven bless you with an abundant
increase. ! • • • . -
. " '— • ... . . .. i . .
As far as my pen can delineate him, I close this
work with a sketch of the free and the accepted
Mason. f,

He isfree, for he has waged war with, vanquished

and burst the bonds of vice, and is therefore free
from the vilest of all bondage, that of his lusts and
appetites; thus his soul reigns the sovereign over.
his body, as over an obedient and loyal subject, un.r
der all its mandates and decrees. His mind is ever
firm on its centre : in the smiles and sunshine of pros
perity unelated, in the clpuds and rugged paths of
adversity undepressed ; in the bed of sickness unrepia-
ing and resigned ; thus all that are commonly deemed
the arrows of fortune, fall blunted at his feet. To the
wounded spirit, he, through his counsel, pours in the
 115
sovereign balm of the heavenly Gilead; his blessing
of wealth he makes a blessing to others, for as the dew
on the tender herb it refreshes the poor and needy ;
and as manna, it is showered round the dwellings of
those who hunger and thirst. To the good fame of
his neighbour he is a shield against the viper stings
of detraction ; he doubles the joys of gladness,
and in sympathizing with, alleviates the anguish of
the mourner, neither are his feet a stranger to the
sick couch of helpless infirmity, He is the accepted
as well as the free Mason, as having in his war with
vice overcome all things, and gained his acceptance
with heaven, his peace with earth and with himself,
and thus every pulse of his heart vibrates in union
with the West above : for, u. ... u. ?t
.» • ; .. . . .. , . „ 4. ,
" Serene he views both worlds, and here
Sees nothing worth a hope, or there to fear."
And this harmonious frame of soul beams on his
countenance, a strong semblance of that bright image,
iriPwhioh our first parent was formed: for even by
the sons of shame and infamy, as well as by the wise
and good, 's he so revered, that in his presence the
the tongue of the scoffer and the prophane is dumb ;
even the harlot forgets her blandishments, and loaths
her polluted ways ; and vice in all its forms, shrinks
abashed with shame and confusion at its own deform
ity; Having pluck out the sting of death he meets
its most awful terrors, as the welcome prelude to that
moment, when, from the Grand Architect, at whoso
 lie
feet all powers in earth and in heaven cast theie
crowns, and fall down and worship—from that powet
he hears the blissful hail of— '»,i,«
Come thou blessed and be a pillar in my temple.

►
- .. . i - . .\
A

ETERNAL and gracious Father, who of one blood

hastformed all nations upon earth, who hast plentifully
poured down upon all, the blessings of thy providential
mercies : who hath, in the person of thy beloved Son,
paid a rich unfailing price for all the world : 1o thee,
eternal fountain of love, we pray that thou wouldest
give us of that uniting spirit, by which all thy perfec
tions are magnified and all thy creatures are eternally
benefitted, that we in thee, and thy eternal Son of tove,
our everlasting Reedeemcr, may become one united
fherhood of everlasting truth and fidelity. Give^ffs
an united heart of brotherly affection towards the w&rW.
in general, and each other in particular. May we al
ways be unitedly engaged in tlie furtherance of each
others spiritual and eternal welfare, in the establishment
of each others good fame, and in the increase of each
others present andfuture felicity. With all the wisdom
thou shalt give us (for it is thou alone who givest
all we can enjoy) give us the heart to diffuse it among
 117
those minds that are still, than ourselves, more rin-
leurned, and may we all from the wisest to the most
ignorant excel in that wisdom which comcthfrom above,
which is pure, simple, without partiality, full of good
works. Yes, Lord, give us that wisdom which is above
all wisdom, the knowledge of thee, the fountain of wis
dom, and Jesus, our Saviour, whom thou hast sent.

With all the riches which thou shalt give us to pos

sess, give us also we pray thee, the true estimation of
those riches ; give us to know that they flowfrom thee,
to be dispersed abroad to others, that those whom thou
hast blessed with abundance thou hast also appointed at
the stewards only of thy treasures, to dispense them to
other thy needy creatures : and may our ears, our hearts,
and our hands be open tofeed the hungry, to clothe the
naked, to give medicine to the sick, and comfort the
distressed. Impress the love of thy pure and sacred
•word suck an horror of sin on every heart, that wt may
shun sin, and the author of it, as the occasion (through
thy great lovefor thy creatures) of all our Redeemer's
sufferings in theflesh, and ofseparating us from thee,
.oyr father, andforfeiting thyfavor. And grant that
we may dread worse than death, the breach of thy holy
laics, and banish from our bosoms all impurity, as
sullying and debasing the honor, the dignity, and the
purity of our nature, and make us clean and pure
hearts, hearts worthy of thy in-dwelling in them, that
so we may purify ourselves, even as thou art pure.—
That above and before all things, we may all postest
 118
those pure and inestimable jewels, which are far above
rubies, even the riches of thy everlasting favor ; which,
when all worldly riches shall take wings and flee away,
may give us an eternal inheritance, among them that are
justified : and that when all the trifling concerns of
this frail perishable state are at an end—when the
transitory business of this short day of our existence
shall have finished its fleeting course, and thou, the
great architect of the universe, shall commend us to
close tJit lodge of earthly labor, we may all be admitted
into that great and innumerable assembly of thefaithful
andjust made perfect, where faith.shall be truly reali
zed, hope terminate in enjoyment, and love divine fill
every bosom. To this great end, the salvation of our
immortal souls, bless we pray tliee, heavenly Father, all
the dispensations of thy providence, whether prosperous
or afflictive. £less all the social meetings af all the
societies in the world; and above all, the present
opportunity of this momentary adoration at the foot
stool of thine all-gracious throne : may thefeeble efforts
of thine unworthy servant, be blessed to every heart,
and thy name everlastingly the glory of every masonic
meeting, through Jesus Christ the Mediator for all.—
Amen and Amen.

THE END.

William Hodgetts, Printer, Birmingham.