M

On Good-Nature.

'AN is fubject to innumerable pains and forrows by the very condition of humanity; and yet, as if nature had not fown evils enough in life, we are continually adding grief to grief, and aggravating the common calamity by our cruel treatment of one another. Every man's natural weight of afflictions is ftill made more heavy by the envy, malice, treachery, or injustice of his neighbour. At the fame time that the ftorm beats upon the whole fpecies, we are falling foul upon one another.

Half the misery of human life might be extinguifhed, would men alleviate the general curfe they lie under, by mutual offices of compaffion, benevolence, and humanity. There is nothing therefore which we ought more to encourage in ourselves and others, than that difpofition of mind which in our language goes under the title of good-nature.

Good-nature is more agreeable in converfation than wit, and gives a certain air to the countenance which is more amiable than beauty. It fhews virtue in the faireft light, takes off in fome measure from the deformity of vice, and makes even folly and impertinence fupportable.

There is no fociety or conversation to be kept up in the world without good-nature, or fomething which muft bear its appearance, and fupply its place. For this reafon mankind have been forced to invent a kind of artificial humanity, which is what we exprefs by the word good-breeding. For if we examine thoroughly the idea of what we call fo, we fhall find it to be nothing elfe but an imitation and mimickry of good-nature, or, in other terms, affability, complaifance, and eafinefs of temper reduced into an art.

Thefe exterior fhows and appearances of humanity render a man wonderfully popular and beloved, when

they

they are founded upon real good-nature; but, without it, are like hypocrify in religion, or a bare form of holinefs, which, when it is difcovered, makes a man more deteftable than profeffed impiety.

Good-nature is generally born with us: Health, profperity, and kind treatment from the world, are great cherishers of it where they find it: But nothing is capable of forcing it up, where it does not grow of itself. It is one of the bleffings of a happy conftitution, which education may improve, but not produce.

DWARD III, after the battle of Creffy, laid fiege to Calais. He had fortified his camp in fo impregnable a manner, that all the efforts of France proved ineffectual to raife the fiege, or throw fuccours into the city. The citizens, under Count Vienne, their gallant governor, made an admirable defence. France had now put the fickle into her fecond harvest, fince Edward with his victorious army fat down before the town. The eyes of all Europe were intent on the iffue. At length, a famine did more for Edward than arms. After fuffering unheard-of calamities, they refolved to attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly fallied forth: The English joined battle; and, after a long and defperate engagement, Count Vienne was taken prifoner, and the Citizens who furvived the flaughter retired within their gates. The command

devolving

devolving upon Euftace St Pierre, a man of mean birth but of exalted virtue, he offered to capitulate with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart with life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cruelty, confented to fpare the bulk of the plebeians, provided they delivered up to him fix of their principal citizens with halters about their necks, as victims of due atonement for that fpirit of rebellion with which they had inflamed the vulgar. When his meffenger, Sir Walter Mauny, delivered the terms, confternation and pale dismay were impreffed on every countenance. To a long and dead filence, deep fighs and groans fucceeded, till Euftace St Pierre, getting up to a little eminence, thus addreffed the affembly: My friends, we are brought to great ftraits this day. We must either yield to the terms of our cruel and enfnaring conqueror, or give up our tender infants, our wives, and daughters, to the bloody and brutal lufts of the violating foldiers. Is there any expedient left, whereby we may avoid the guilt and infamy of delivering up thofe who have fuffered every mifery with you on the one hand, or the desolation and horrors of a facked city on the other? There is, my friends, there is one expedient left; a gracious, an excellent, a God-like expedient! Is there any here to whom virtue is dearer than life! Let him offer himself an oblation for the safety of his people! He shall not fail of a bleffed approbation from that Power, who offered up his only Son for the falvation of mankind!" He spoke ;-but an universal silence enfued. Each man looked around for the example of that virtue and magnanimity which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted the refolution. At length St Pierre refumed, "I doubt not but there are many here as ready, nay more zealous, of this martyrdom than I can be, though the station to which I am raised by the captivity of Lord Vienne, imparts a right to be the first in giving my life for your fakes. I give it freely; I give it cheerfully. Who comes next?"

"You

«Your fon," exclaimed a youth not yet come to matu-rity" Ah, my child!" cried St Pierre; "I am then twice facrificed. But, no: I have rather begotten thee a fecond time. Thy years are few, but full, my son. The victim of virtue has reached the utmost purpose and goal of mortality. Who next, my friends? This is the hour of heroes." Your kinfman," cried John de Aire. "Your kinfman," cried James Wiffant. "Your kinfman" cried Peter Wiffant.” Ah!” exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears, "why was not I a citizen of Calais !" The fixth victim was ftill wanting, but was quickly fupplied by lot from numbers who were now emulous of fo ennobling an example. The keys of the city were then delivered to Sir Walter. He took the fix prifoners into his cuf tody; then ordered the gates to be opened, and gave charge to his attendants to conduct the remaining citizens, with their families, through the camp of the English. Before they departed, however, they defired permishion to take their laft adieu of their deliverers. What a parting! What a fcene! They crowded, with their wives and children, about St Pierre and his fellow-prisoners. They embraced; they clung around ; they fell proftrate before them. They groaned; they wept aloud; and the joint clamour of their mourning paffed the gates of the city, and was heard throughout the English camp. The English, by this time, were apprised of what paffed within Calais. They heard the voice of lamentation, and their fouls were touched with compaffion. Each of the foldiers prepared a portion of his own victuals, to welcome and entertain the half famished inhabitants; and they loaded them with as much as their prefent weaknefs was able to bear, in order to fupply them with fuftenance by the way. Af length St Pierre and his fellow victims appeared under the conduct of Sir Walter and a guard. All the tents of the English were inftantly emptied. The foldiers poured from all parts, and ranged themselves on each