"Envy, (ſays Lord Bacon) has no holidays." There cannot perhaps be a more lively and ſtriking deſcription of the miſerable ſtate of mind thoſe endure, who are tormented with this vice. A ſpirit of emulation has been ſuppoſed to be the ſource of the greateſt improvements; and there is no doubt but the warmeſt rivalſhip will produce the moſt excellent effects; but it is to be feared, that a perpetual ſtate of conteſt will injure the temper ſo eſſentially, that the miſchief will hardly be counterbalanced by any other advantages. Thoſe, whoſe progreſs is the moſt rapid, will be apt to deſpiſe their leſs ſucceſſful competitors, who, in return, will feel the bittereſt reſentment againſt their more fortunate rivals. Among perſons of real goodneſs, this jealouſy and contempt can never be equally felt, becauſe every advancement in piety will be attended with a proportionable increaſe of humility, which will lead them to contemplate their own improvements with modeſty, and to view with charity the miſcarriages of others.

When an envious man is melancholy, one may aſk him, in the words of Bion, what evil has befallen himſelf, or what good has happened to another? This laſt is the ſcale by which he principally meaſures his felicity, and the very ſmiles of his friends are ſo many deductions from his own happineſs. The wants of others are the ſtandard by which he rates his own wealth, and he eſtimates his riches, not ſo much by his own poſſeſſions, as by the neceſſities of his neighbours.

When the malevolent intend to ſtrike a very deep and dangerous ſtroke of malice, they generally begin the moſt remotely in the world from the ſubject neareſt their hearts. They ſet out with commending the object of their envy for ſome trifling quality or advantage, which it is ſcarcely worth while to poſſeſs: they next proceed to make a general profeſſion of their own good-will and regard for him: thus artfully removing any ſuſpicion of their deſign, and clearing all obſtructions for the inſidious ſtab they are about to give; for who will ſuſpect them of an intention to injure the object of their peculiar and profeſſed eſteem? The hearer's belief of the fact grows in proportion to the ſeeming reluctance with which it is told, and to the conviction he has, that the relater is not influenced by any private pique, or perſonal reſentment; but that the confeſſion is extorted from him ſorely againſt his inclination, and purely on account of his zeal for truth.

Anger is leſs reaſonable and more ſincere than envy.—Anger breaks out abruptly; envy is a great prefacer—anger wiſhes to be underſtood at once: envy is fond of remote hints and ambiguities; but, obſcure as its oracles are, it never ceaſes to deliver them till they are perfectly comprehended:—anger repeats the ſame circumſtances over again; envy invents new ones at every freſh recital—anger gives a broken, vehement, and interrupted narrative; envy tells a more conſiſtent and more probable, though a falſer tale—anger is exceſſively imprudent, for it is impatient to diſcloſe every thing it knows; envy is diſcreet, for it has a great deal to hide—anger never conſults times or ſeaſons; envy waits for the lucky moment, when the wound it meditates may be made the moſt exquiſitely painful, and the moſt incurably deep—anger uſes more invective; envy does more miſchief—ſimple anger ſoon runs itſelf out of breath, and is exhauſted at the end of its tale; but it is for that choſen period that envy has treaſured up the moſt barbed arrow in its whole quiver—anger puts a man out of himſelf: but the truly malicious generally preſerve the appearance of ſelf-poſſeſſion, or they could not ſo effectually injure.—The angry man ſets out by deſtroying his whole credit with you at once, for he very frankly confeſſes his abhorrence and deteſtation of the object of his abuſe; while the envious man carefully ſuppreſſes all his own ſhare in the affair.—The angry man defeats the end of his reſentment, by keeping himſelf continually before your eyes, inſtead of his enemy; while the envious man artfully brings forward the object of his malice, and keeps himſelf out of ſight.—The angry man talks loudly of his own wrongs; the envious of his adverſary's injuſtice.—A paſſionate perſon, if his reſentments are not complicated with malice, divides his time between ſinning and ſorrowing; and, as the iraſcible paſſions cannot conſtantly be at work, his heart may ſometimes get a holiday.—Anger is a violent act, envy a conſtant habit—no one can be always angry, but he may be always envious:—an angry man's enmity (if he be generous) will ſubſide when the object of his reſentment becomes unfortunate; but the envious man can extract food from his malice out of calamity itſelf, if he finds his adverſary bears it with dignity, or is pitied or aſſiſted in it. The rage of the paſſionate man is totally extinguiſhed by the death of his enemy; but the hatred of the malicious is not buried even in the grave of his rival: he will envy the good name he has left behind him; he will envy him the tears of his widow, the proſperity of his children, the eſteem of his friends, the praiſes of his epitaph—nay the very magnificence of his funeral.

"The ear of jealouſy heareth all things," (ſays the wiſe man) frequently I believe more than is uttered, which makes the company of perſons infected with it ſtill more dangerous.

When you tell thoſe of a malicious turn, any circumſtance that has happened to another, though they perfectly know of whom you are ſpeaking, they often affect to be at a loſs, to forget his name, or to miſapprehend you in ſome reſpect or other; and this merely to have an opportunity of ſlily gratifying their malice by mentioning ſome unhappy defect or perſonal infirmity he labours under; and not contented "to tack his every error to his name," they will, by way of farther explanation, have recourſe to the faults of his father, or the miſfortunes of his family; and this with all the ſeeming ſimplicity and candor in the world, merely for the ſake of preventing miſtakes, and to clear up every doubt of his identity.—If you are ſpeaking of a lady, for inſtance, they will perhaps embelliſh their inquiries, by aſking if you mean her, whoſe great grandfather was a bankrupt, though ſhe has the vanity to keep a chariot, while others who are much better born walk on foot; or they will afterwards recollect, that you may poſſibly mean her couſin, of the ſame name, whoſe mother was ſuſpected of ſuch or ſuch an indiſcretion, though the daughter had the luck to make her fortune by marrying, while her betters are overlooked.

To hint at a fault, does more miſchief than ſpeaking out; for whatever is left for the imagination to finiſh, will not fail to be overdone: every hiatus will be more then filled up, and every pauſe more than ſupplied. There is leſs malice, and leſs miſchief too, in telling a man's name than the initials of it; as a worthier perſon may be involved in the moſt diſgraceful ſuſpicions by ſuch a dangerous ambiguity.

It is not uncommon for the envious, after having attempted to deface the faireſt character ſo induſtriouſly, that they are afraid you will begin to detect their malice, to endeavour to remove your ſuſpicions effectually, by aſſuring you, that what they have juſt related is only the popular opinion; they themſelves can never believe things are ſo bad as they are ſaid to be; for their part, it is a rule with them always to hope the beſt. It is their way never to believe or report ill of any one. They will, however, mention the ſtory in all companies, that they may do their friend the ſervice of proteſting their diſbelief of it. More reputations are thus hinted away by falſe friends, than are openly deſtroyed by public enemies. An if, or a but, or a mortified look, or a languid defence, or an ambiguous ſhake of the head, or a haſty word affectedly recalled, will demoliſh a character more effectually, than the whole artillery of malice when openly levelled againſt it.

It is not that envy never praiſes—No, that would be making a public profeſſion of itſelf, and advertiſing its own malignity; whereas the greateſt ſucceſs of its efforts depends on the concealment of their end. When envy intends to ſtrike a ſtroke of Machiavelian policy, it ſometimes affects the language of the moſt exaggerated applauſe; though it generally takes care, that the ſubject of its panegyric ſhall be a very indifferent and common character, ſo that it is well aware none of its praiſes will ſtick.

It is the unhappy nature of envy not to be contented with poſitive miſery, but to be continually aggravating its own torments, by comparing them with the felicities of others. The eyes of envy are perpetually fixed on the object which diſturbs it, nor can it avert them from it, though to procure itſelf the relief of a temporary forgetfulneſs. On ſeeing the innocence of the firſt pair,

As this enormous ſin chiefly inſtigated the revolt, and brought on the ruin of the angelic ſpirits, ſo it is not improbable, that it will be a principal inſtrument of miſery in a future world, for the envious to compare their deſperate condition with the happineſs of the children of God; and to heighten their actual wretchedneſs by reflecting on what they have loſt.

Perhaps envy, like lying and ingratitude, is practiſed with more frequency, becauſe it is practiſed with impunity; but there being no human laws againſt theſe crimes, is ſo far from an inducement to commit them, that this very conſideration would be ſufficient to deter the wiſe and good, if all others were ineffectual; for of how heinous a nature muſt thoſe ſins be, which are judged above the reach of human puniſhment, and are reſerved for the final juſtice of God himſelf!