'Le temps, qui change tout, change aussi nos humeurs: Chaque âge a ses plaisirs, son esprit et ses mœurs.' Boileau, Art Poet. Chant III,

Aurelio Brandolini celebrated the age of Lorenzo de' Medici after the following manner :—

-Cuncta beatus habes,

O fortunatos homines, O sæpe beata
Sæcula, quæ tanto digna fuere viro.'

Men, however, seldom praise the age they live in, at the expense of the past. The path leads, in general, quite the contrary way. The Mennesinger, therefore, who laments the degeneracy of his age, and laments that of the past, is the poet of human nature, rather than that of a city, town, village, or house *.

Men are ever complaining of the excellence of the times in which they were boys: and they insist, that every thing is altered for the worse. Whence arises this? from the circumstance, that life has lost its greenness and its blossom. Hope cannot cheat so easily, as she was wont: disappointment has opened our eyes; age has succeeded to vigorous manhood; every thing is discoloured; and the blood circulates coldly. No-no! the times are better; and we are Modern writers, however, are less attractive;

worse.

*Do man der rehten minne pflag

Da pflag man ouch der ehren;
Nu mag man naht und tag
Die bösen sitte leren :

Swer dis nu siht, und jeus do sach,
O we! was der nu clagen mag
Tugende wend sich nu verkeren !'

Henry of Veldig.

probably from the circumstance, that when they begin to write, they feel almost weighed down by the vast mass of their materials.

This is, certainly, an age of licence, frippery, and enlightenment; of real, affected, and of false refinement. Other ages may have been equally so, as those of the Persians, Babylonians, Greeks, and imperial Romans; but of those we only read; whereas of this we know. We worship novelty, too, as some nations worshipped the wind. With these drawbacks, I am inclined to believe, that the age we live in is better than any age preceding; if we except certain short periods between the calamities of Rome and Greece. Neither can we attribute to the present age, except in some few instances, the moral of La Fontaine's fable, respecting animals, ill of the plague; who all preferred their several accusations; the result of which was, that the wolves, the bears, and the lions, were pardoned; but a poor innocent sheep was sacrificed, because he had eaten a small portion of grass.

This age, perhaps, is deficient in strength. That we have not so sound a regard for liberty, as our fathers in the reigns of James, Charles, William, Anne, and George I., is, perhaps, certain; but this may be attributed, in a great measure, to our being in possession of liberty from our infancy; and to the distrust, with which the public listen to the professions of public men, since the coalition of Mr. Fox with Lord North. As it is, fortunate is it for us, that our fathers lived before us.' For, had they not erected the constitution, we, assuredly,

could never have erected it for ourselves; we, who can do almost all things except frame a plain, practical act of parliament, without blemish or spot.

In respect to rewards, perhaps there never was a time, when the field was so fairly open to talent; (though not to genius ;) and where virtue was so sure of a certain species of favour; and industry of reward.

'Hic patet ingeniis campus: certusque merenti
Stat favor; ornatur propriis industria donis.'

Claudian.

Patriotism, however, is not much in request. The public virtues are dying; but the private and domestic ones flourish more than ever. The patriot, therefore, 'must look for reward no where, but in the sanctuary of his own bosom; in which respect we may apply a passage in Horace; for most men argue thus-' where is the satisfaction of beholding a magnificent road before us, well lighted, and well watched, if we feel assured, 'that it leads us to the spot, whither it is not our pe'cuniary interest, and, therefore, not our inclination, to go?'

LXXI.

WHO WILL PERMIT NO ONE TO BE A PROPHET IN HIS OWN

COUNTRY.

PASSING a field of beans, yesterday, it came into my head that no one is a prophet in his own country.' A field of beans,-why, it is only a field of beans!therefore unheeded; yet Thomson poetically sings

Arabia cannot boast

A fuller gale of joy.'

The Indus, for a multitude of ages, was regarded by the natives on its banks only as a river having little comparative distinction. It has lately been discovered to be a longer river than the Ganges; and to discharge nearly as many cubic feet of water in the dry season as the Mississippi *.

Many men (in the country) are valued much after the same manner. They have talent and virtue; but, living amongst us, who allows the one; and who celebrates the other?

A great authority has assured us, that no one is a prophet in his own country.

There are several reasons for this. Envy and jealousy, on the part of observers; their acuteness and knowledge of the prophet; and the folly and presumption of the prophet himself. Men hate eminence; and despise those, who presume to be more skilled than themselves. Besides-no hero is always a hero; and a valet never is one.

The senate at Rome occasionally disgraced itself in a manner, associating with this. Its members were men, belonging to the first families; and yet we are assured by Paterculus †, that they listened with much greater complacency to those whose motives might be suspected, than to those whose wisdom and virtue no one could doubt.

* Eighty thousand cubic feet in a second. The Ganges only twenty-one thousand five hundred.

† Lib. ii., c. xiii.

When young, Titian painted so that his pictures might be seen at a distance or near; when old, all his works required distance. We may apply this, in certain cases, to our knowledge of man. And this reminds me of what has been said of Nicholas Poussin; viz. that he lived so long with ancient statues, that he might be said to have been better acquainted with statues than

men.

The Ganges was known to Europeans at a much later period than the Indus; yet it required more than two thousand years to ascertain that the length of the Indus, as I have just now said, is much greater than that of the Ganges. Thus is it of man. We appreciate those soonest whom we have known but a short time; —a curious circumstance; since most men resemble those seeds, in which, if nicely examined, we may discover the radicle, the plume, and the organ of nourish

ment.

Even Kepler, during his life, was but little appreciated. Descartes never once mentions him. It required a Newton to estimate his value. In more recent times, more than one philosopher has been fated to assert, that it is necessary sometimes to go abroad, to preserve self-esteem. At home they are buried.