he makes between his own mind, and that of such a mean creature. He mentally worships himself with joy and rapture; and I verily believe, if he lived in a world, where to be vicious was esteemed praiseworthy, the same pride which now makes him take a delight in doing what is right (because for that reason he thinks himself above most of the people he converses with) would then lead him to abandon himself to all manner of vice: for if by taking pains to bridle his passions, he could gain superiority over his companions, all his love of rectitude, as he calls if, would fall to the ground. So that his goodness, like cold fruits, is produced by the dung and nastiness which surround it. He has fixed in his mind, what he ought to do in all cases of life, and is not to be moved to go beyond it. Nothing is more miserable than to have a dependance on him; for he makes no allowance for the smallest frailties, and the moment a person exceeds, in the least degree, the bounds his wisdom has set, he abandons them, as he thinks they have no reasonable claim to anything farther upon him. If he was walking with a friend on the side of a precipice, and that friend was to go a step nearer than he advised him, and by accident should fall down, although he broke his bones, and lay in the utmost misery, he would coolly leave him, without the least thought of anything for his relief; saying, if men would be so mad they must take the consequence of their own folly. Nay, I question, whether he would not have a secret satisfaction in thinking, that from his wisdom, he could walk safely through the most dangerous places, while others fell into them. As polite as you can see he can be when he desires to be so, yet when he converses with any whom he thinks greatly beneath him, or who is forced by circumstances to be any ways obliged to him, he thinks they cannot expect good breeding; and
