tions of adverfity. Man must be in a certain degree the artificer of his own happiness; the tools and materials may be put into his hands by the bounty of Providence, but the workmanship must be his own.

I lately took a journey into a distant county, upon a visit to a gentleman of fortune, whom I fhall call Attalus. I had never feen him fince his acceffion to a very confiderable estate; and as I have met with few acquaintance in life of more pleasant qualities, or a more focial temper than Attalus, before this great property unexpectedly devolved upon him, I flattered myself that fortune had in this inftance beftowed her favours upon one who deserved them; and that I fhould find in Attalus's fociety the pleafing gratification of feeing all thofe maxims, which I had hitherto revolved in my mind as matter of speculation only, now brought forth into actual practice; for amongst all my obfervations upon human affairs, few have given me greater and more frequent difappointment, than the almost general abuse of riches. Thofe rules of liberal œconomy, which would make wealth a bleffing to it's owner and to all he were connected with, feem fo obvious to me, who have no other intereft in the subject than what meditation affords, that I am apt to wonder how men can make

fuch

fuch falfe eftimates of the true enjoyments of life, and wander out of the way of happiness, to which the heart and understanding feem to point the road too plainly to admit of a mistake.

With these fanguine expectations I pursued my journey towards the magnificent feat of Attalus, and in my approach it was with pleasure I remarked the beauty of the country about it; I recollected how much he used to be devoted to rural exercises, and I found him fituated in the very spot most favorable to his beloved amufements; the foil was clean, the hills easy, and the downs were chequered with thick copfes, that seemed the finest nurseries in nature for a sportsman's game: When I entered upon his ornamented demefne, nothing could be more enchanting than the scenery; the ground was finely fhaped into hill and vale; the horizon every where bold and romantic, and the hand of art had evidently improved the workmanship of nature with confummate tafte; upon the broken declivity stately groves of beech were happily difpofed; the lawn was of the finest verdure gently floping from the house; a rapid river of the pureft tranfparency ran through it and fell over a rocky channel into a noble lake within view of the manfion; behind this upon the northern and eaftern flanks I could difcern the

tops

tops of very stately trees, that sheltered a spacious enclosure of pleasure-ground and gardens, with all the delicious accompaniments of hothoufes and confervatories.

It was a scene to feize the imagination with rapture; a poet's language would have run fpontaneously into metre at the fight of it; "What a fubject," faid I within myself, "is "here present for thofe ingenious bards, who "have the happy talent of describing nature in "her faireft forms! Oh! that I could plant the "delightful author of The Task in this very spot! Perhaps, whilft his eye-in a fine phrenfy rolling-glanced over this enchanting prospect, "he might burft forth into the following, or "fomething like the following, rhapsody-"

Bleft above men, if he perceives and feels
The bleffings he is heir to, He! to whom
His provident forefathers have bequeath'd
In this fair diftri&t of their native ifle
A free inheritance, compact and clear.
How sweet the vivifying dawn to him,
Who with a fond paternal eye can trace
Beloved fcenes, where rivers, groves and lawns
Rife at the touch of his Orphéan hand,

· And Nature, like a docile child, repays
Her kind disposer's care! Mafter and friend
Of all that blooms or breathes within the verge
Of this wide-ftretcht horizon, he furveys
His upland pastures white with fleecy flocks,

Rich meadows dappled o'er with grazing herds
And vallies waving thick with golden grain.

Where can the world difplay a fairer scene? And what has Nature for the fons of men Better provided than this happy ifle ? Mark! how he's girded by her watery zone, Whilft all the neighb'ring continent is trench'd And furrow'd with the ghastly seams of war: Barriers and forts and arm'd battalions ftand On the fierce confines of each rival state, Jealous to guard, or eager to invade; Between their hoftile camps a field of blood, Behind them desolation void and drear, Where at the fummons of the furly drum The rifing and the fetting fun reflects Nought but the gleam of arms, now here, now there Flashing amain, as the bright phalanx moves : Wafteful and wide the blank in Nature's map, And far far diftant where the fcene begins, Of human habitation, thinly group'd Over the meager earth; for there no youth, No sturdy peafant, who with limbs and ftrength Might fill the gaps of battle, dares approach; Old age instead, with weak and trembling hand Feebly folicits the indignant foil

For a precarious meal, poor at the best.

Oh, Albion! oh, bleft ifle, on whofe white cliffs Peace builds her halcyon neft, thou, who embrac'd By the uxorious ocean fit'ft fecure,

Smiling and gay and crown'd with every wreath,
That Art can fashion or rich Commerce waft
To deck thee like a bride, compare these scenes
With pity not with scorn, and let thy heart,
Not wanton with profperity, but warm
C

VOL. IV.

With

With grateful adoration, send up praise
To the great Giver-thence thy bleflings come.
The foft luxurious nations will complain
Of thy rude wintry clime, and chide the winds
That ruffle their fine forms; trembling they view
The boisterous barrier that defends thy coaft,
Nor dare to pafs it till their pilot bird,
The winter-fleeping swallow, points the way;
But envy not their funs, and figh not thou
For the clear azure of their cloudless skies;
The fame strong blaft, that beds the knotted oak
Firm in his clay-bound cradle, nerves the arm
Of the ftout hind, who fells him to the ground.
Thefe are the manly offspring of our isle;
Their's are the pure delights of rural life,
Freedom their birth-right and their dwelling peace;
The vine, that mantles o'er their cottage roof,
Gives them a fhade no tyrant dares to spoil.

Mark! how the sturdy peasant breasts the storm,
The white snow fleeting o'er his brawny cheft;
He heeds it not, but carols as he goes

Some jocund measure or love-ditty, foon
In fprightlier key and happier accent fung

To the kind wench at home, whofe ruddy cheeks
Shall thaw the icy winter on his lips,

And melt his frozen features into joy.

But who, that ever heard the hunter's shout,,
When the fhrill fox-hound doubles on the fcent,
Which of
you,
fons and fathers of the chace,
Which of your hardy, bold, adventurous band
Will pine and murmur for Italian skies?
Hark! from the covert-fide your game is view'd!
Mufic, which none but British dryads hear,
Shouts, which no foreign echoes can repeat,

Ring thro' the hollow wood and sweep the vale.

Now,