It is the nature of human society, and its correspondent duties, which he here undertakes to examine. The important characters of father, husband, son, and citizen, impose on man a variety of obligations, which are always dear to virtuous minds, and establish between him, his country, his family, and his friends, relations too necessary and attractive to be disregarded. “What wonder, therefore, since th’ endearing ties Of passion link the universal kind Of man so close; what wonder if to search This common nature through the various change Of sex, of age, and fortune, and the frame Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind With unresisted charms? The spacious west, And all the teeming regions of the south, Hold not a quarry to the curious flight, Of knowledge half so tempting or so fair, As man to man.” But it is not amidst tumultuous joys and noisy pleasures; in the chimeras of ambition, or the illusions of self-love; in the indulgence of feeling, or the gratification of desire, that men must expect to feel the charms of those mutual ties which link them so firmly to society. It is not in such enjoyments that men can feel the dignity of those duties, the performance of which nature has rendered productive of so many pleasures, or hope to taste that true felicity which results from an independent mind and a contented heart: a felicity seldom sought after, only because it is so little known, but which every individual may find within his own bosom. Who, alas! does not constantly experience the necessity of entering into that sacred asylum to search for consolation under the real or imaginary misfortunes of life, or to alleviate indeed more frequently the fatigue of its painful pleasures? Yes, all men, from the mercenary trader, who sinks under the anxiety of his daily task, to the proud statesman, intoxicated by the incense of popular applause, experience the desire of terminating their arduous career. Every bosom feels an anxiety for repose, and fondly wishes to steal from the vortex of a busy and perturbed life, to enjoy the tranquillity of solitude. “Hackney’d in business, wearied at that oar Which thousands, once chain’d fast to, quit no more, But which, when life at ebb, runs weak and low, All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego; The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, Pant for the refuge of a peaceful shade Where all his long anxieties forgot, Amidst the charms of a sequester’d spot, Or recollected only to gild o’er And add a smile to what was sweet before, He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, Lay his old age upon the lap of ease, Improve the remnant of his wasted span, And having liv’d a trifler, die a man.”