did ostentation; thou wast born to be wealthy, but never canst be great. He then contracted his desires to more private and domestic pleasures. He built palaces, he laid out gardens, he changed the face of the land, he transplanted forests, he levelled mountains, opened prospects into distant regions, poured fountains from the tops of turrets, and rolled rivers through new channels. trunk, and prosperity dances on his top. Now, Almamoulin, look upon me withering and prostrate; look upon me, and attend. I have trafficked, I have prospered, I have rioted in gain; my house is splendid, my servants are numerous; yet I displayed only a small part of my riches; the rest, which I was hindered from enjoying by the fear of raising envy, or tempting rapacity, I have piled in towers, I have buried in caverns, I have hidden in secret repositories, which this These amusements pleased him for a time; scroll will discover. My purpose was, after ten but languor and weariness soon invaded him. months more spent in commerce, to have with His bowers lost their fragrance, and the waters drawn my wealth to a safer counteve, to haja out notice. He purchased large given seven yearg to denomande na pag imporan on loven distant provinces, adorned them the remaining kla repentance; maar am now leavi a frigorific tork must be thy bu The thought of din with such grief, became delirious, and e Almamoulin, who loved his pleasure, and diversified them with ions for different seasons. Change first relieved his satiety, but all the situation were soon exhausted; he objects, ravaging himself. therefore returned to Samarcand, and set his doors to those whom idleness sends out in search of pleasure. His tables were always ed awhile with honest sorrow, and sat two hours covered with delicacies; wines of every vintage in profound meditation, without perusing the sparkled in his bowls, and his lamps scattered paper which he held in his hand. He then re- perfumes. The sound of the lute, and the voice ured to his own chamber, as overborne with af- of the singer, chased away sadness; every hour fliction, and there read the inventory of his new was crowded with pleasure; and the day ended possessions, which swelled his heart with such and began with feasts and dances, and revelry transports, that he no lo ted his father's and merriment. Almamoulin cried out, "I have death. He was ne mposed to at last found the use of riches; I am surrounded order a funeral of suitable by companions, who view my greatness without at once to the ra on, and envy; and I enjoy at once the raptures of poputhe reputation next larity, and the safety of an obscure station. What nights he spen e ca- trouble can he feel, whom all are studious to verns, and fou eye please, that they may be repaid with pleasure? than to his in What danger can he dread, to whom every man Almamo is a friend? couch Lop heart vacant, and his desires, for want exact fruge on the fine the therefor his power, had hitherto He resolved vel in enjoym more. He immedia He dressed his s Such were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he looked down from a gallery upon the gay assembly, regaling at his expense; but in the midst of his soliloquy, an officer of justice entered the ouse, and in the form of legal citation, summoned Almamoulin to appear before the em peror. The guests stood awhile aghast, then stole imperceptibly away, and he was led off without a single voice to witness his integrity. He now found one of his most frequent visitants accusing him of treason, in hopes of sharing his confiscation; yet, unpatronized and unsupported, he cleared himself by the openness of innocence, and the consistence of truth; he was dismissed with honour, and his accuser perished in prison. Almamoulin now perceived with how little reason he had hoped for jutisce or fidelity from those who live only to gratify their senses: and, being now weary with vain experiments upon life and fruitless researches after felicity, he had He then sought to strengthen himself, by an recourse to a sage, who after spending his youth alliance with the princes of Tartary, and offered in travel and observation, had retired from all the price of kingdoms for a wife of noble birth. human cares, to a small habitation on the banks His suit was generally rejected, and his presents of Oxus, where he conversed only with such as refused; but a princess of Astracan once conde- solicited his counsel. "Brother," said the phiscended to admit him to her presence. She re-losopher, "thou hast suffered thy reason to be ceived him sitting on a throne, attired in the robe of royalty, and shining with the jewels of Golconda; command sparkled in her eyes, and dignity towered on her forehead. Almamoulin approached and trembled. She saw his confusion and disdained him: How, says she, dares the wretch hope my obedience, who thus shrinks at my glance? Retire, and enjoy thy riches in sor deluded by idle hopes and fallacious appearances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou hadst taught thyself to think them more valuable than nature designed them, and to expect from them, what experience has now taught thee, that they cannot give. That they do not confer wisdom, thou mayest be convinced, by considering at how dear a price they tempted thee, upon thy first entrance into the world, to purchase the empty sound of vulgar acclamation. That they cannot bestow fortitude or magnanimity, that man may be certain, who stood trembling at Astracan, before a being not naturally superior to himself. That they will not supply unexhausted pleasure, the recollection of The greater part of students are not born with forsaken palaces, and neglected gardens, will abilities to construct systems, or advance knoweasily inform thee. That they rarely purchase ledge; nor can have any hope beyond that of friends, thou didst soon discover, when thou wert becoming intelligent hearers in the schools of left to stand thy trial uncountenanced and alone. art, of being able to comprehend what others Yet think not riches useless; there are purposes discover, and to remember what others teach. to which a wise man may be delighted to apply Even those to whom Providence hath allotted them; they may, by a rational distribution to cater strength of understanding, can expect those who want them, ease the pains of lung smosemper. In every other disease, still the throbs of restless allied pas la punchingus fhe content to follow lieve innocence from oppression, and fustes, bunchran and ammable to examine: cility to cheerfulness and vigour. This sales and has bawls, word fluum as peculiarly enable thee to perform, and this will afford Lige only happiness ordained for our present stula the confidence of Divine favour, and the hope of future rewards." I HAVE been informed by a letter from one of the universities, that among the youth from whom the next swarm of reasoners is to learn philosophy, and the next flight of beauties to hear elegies and sonnets, there are many, who, instead of endeavouring by books and meditation to form their own opinions, content themselves with the secondary knowledge, which a convenient bench in a coffee-house can supply: and, without any examination or distinction, adopt the criticisms and remarks which happen to drop from those who have risen, by merit or fortune, to reputation and authority. These humble retailers of knowledge my correspondent stigmatizes with the name of Echoes; and seems desirous that they should be made ashamed of lazy submission, and animated to attempts after new discoveries, and original sentiments. It is very natural for young men to be vehement, acrimonious and severe. For as they seldom comprehend at once all the consequences of a position, or perceive the difficulties by which cooler and more experienced reasoners are restrained from confidence, they form their conclusions with great precipitance. Seeing nothing that can darken or embarrass the question, they expect to find their own opinion universally prevalent, and are inclined to impute uncertainty and hesitation to want of honesty, rather than of knowledge. I may perhaps, therefore, be reproached by my lively correspondent, when it shall be found, that I have no inclination to persecute these collectors of fortuitous knowledge with the severity required; yet, as I am now too old to be much pained by hasty censure, I shall not be afraid of taking into protection those whom I think condemned without a sufficient knowledge of their cause. He that adopts the sentiments of another, whom he has reason to believe wiser than himself, is only to be blamed when he claims the vunom wanisation and more than some small torbyos to the hereditary stock debooth or fruit ghent times, the collective Tatodo Sperrionsind intellects. In science, which, being fixed and limited, admits of no other variety than such as arises from new methods of distribution, or new arts of illustration, the necessity of following the traces of our predecessors is indisputably evident; but there appears no reason why imagination should be subject to the same restraint. It might be conceived, that thise who profess to forsake the narrow very one may deviate toward nephrosince, though rectitude is donatoa onuity, may be infinitely one of science are narrowissied becue wel them, must eithealthy roaster; but in the bouton dadoso Jaming which fiction cow it in het en surely a thou sling and flowers unroteination ma se usted, comodtone de este dates and races blang en de gusan mid described. 1-ong femoro.made, or reason are bord you are very few addi to a alebo was of Troy, and a travels of leashed almost all seeding porn characters, and sentments. The tilt onfessed to have atter bred uit lange display in their own worthe mopoide Greeks. There is, in all a perpetual recurrence of all the tales of the fabulous age, that they must be confessed often to want that power of giving pleasure which novelty sup plies; nor can we wonder that they excelled so much in the graces of diction, when we consider how rarely they were employed in search of new thoughts. The warmest admirers of the great Mantuan poet can extol him for little more than the skill with which he has, by making his hero both a traveller and a warrior, united the beauties of the Iliad and the Odyssey in one composition; yet his judgment was perhaps sometimes overborne by his avarice of the Homeric treasures; and, for fear of suffering a sparkling ornament to be lost, he has inserted it where it cannot shine with its original splendour. When Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he found among the heroes that perished at Troy, his competitor Ajax, who, when the arms of Achilles were adjudged to Ulysses, died by his ten no language. His stanza is at once difficult and unpleasing; tiresome to the ear by its uniformity, and to the attention by its length. It was at first formed in imitation of the Italian poets, without due regard to the genius of our language. The Italians have little variety of termination, and were forced to contrive such a stanza as might admit the greatest number of similar rhymes; but our words end with so much diversity, that it is seldom convenient for us to bring more than two of the same sound together. If it be justly observed by Milton, that rhyme obliges poets to express their thoughts in improper terms, these improprieties must always be multiplied, as the difficulty of rhyme is increased by long concatenations. own hand in the madness of disappointment. | that Jonson boldly pronounces him to have writHe still appeared to resent, as on earth, his loss and disgrace. Ulysses endeavoured to pacify him with praises and submission; but Ajax walked away without reply. This passage has always been considered as eminently beautiful; because Ajax, the haughty chief, the unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of immoveable constancy, but without the power of recommending his own virtues by eloquence, or enforcing his assertions by any other argument than the sword, had no way of making his anger known but by gloomy sullenness, and dumb ferocity. His hatred of a man whom he conceived to have defeated him only by volubility of tongue, was therefore naturally shown by silence, more contemptuous and piercing than any words that so rude an orator could have found, and by which he gave his enemy no opportunity of exerting the only power in which he was superior. When Eneas is sent by Virgil to the shades, he meets Dido the queen of Carthage, whom his perfidy has hurried to the grave; he accosts her with tenderness and excuses; but the lady turns away like Ajax in mute disdain. She turns away like Ajax; but she resembles him in none of those qualities which give either dignity or propriety to silence. She might, without any departure from the tenor of her conduct, have burst out, like other injured women, into clamour, reproach, and denunciation; but Virgil had his imagination full of Ajax, and therefore could not prevail on himself to teach Dido any other mode of resentment. If Virgil could be thus seduced by imitation, there will be little hope that common wits should escape; and accordingly we find that, besides the universal and acknowledged practice of copying the ancients, there has prevailed in every age a particular species of fiction. At one time, all truth was conveyed in allegory; at another, nothing was seen but in a vision; at one period all the poets followed sheep, and every event produced a pastoral; at another, they busied themselves wholly in giving directions to a painter. It is indeed easy to conceive why any fashion should become popular, by which idleness is favoured, and imbecility assisted; but surely no man of genius can much applaud himself for repeating a tale with which the audience is already tired, and which could bring no honour to any but its inventor. There are, I think, two schemes of writing, on which the laborious wits of the present time employ their faculties. One is the adaptation of sense to all the rhymes which our language can supply to some word that makes the burden of the stanza; but this, as it has been only used in a kind of amorous burlesque, can scarcely be censured with much acrimony. The other is the imitation of Spenser, which, by the influence of some men of learning and genius, seems likely to gain upon the age, and therefore deserves to be more attentively considered. To imitate the fictions and sentiments of Spenser can incur no reproach, for allegory is perhaps one of the most pleasing vehicles of instruction. But I am very far from extending the same respect to his diction as his stanza. His style was in his own time allowed to be vicious, so darkened with old words and peculiarities of phrase, and so remote from common use, The imitators of Spenser are indeed not very rigid censors of themselves, for they seem to conclude that, when they have disfigured their lines with a few obsolete syllables, they have accomplished their design, without considering that they ought not only to admit old words, but to avoid new. The laws of imitation are broken by every word introduced since the time of Spenser, as the character of Hector is violated by quoting Aristotle in the play. It would indeed be difficult to exclude from a long poem all modern phrase, though it is easy to sprinkle it with gleamings of antiquity. Perhaps, however, the style of Spenser might by long labour be justly copied; but life is surely given us for higher purposes than to gather what our ances tors have wisely thrown away, and to learn what is of no value, but because it has been forgotten. By secret charms our native land attracts. NOTHING is more subject to mistake and disap pointment than anticipated judgment concerning the easiness or difficulty of any undertaking, whether we form our opinion from the performances of others, or from abstracted contemplation of the thing to be attempted. Whatever is done skilfully appears to be done with ease; and art, when it is once matured to habit, vanishes from observation. We are therefore more powerfully excited to emulation, by those who have attained the highest degree of excellence, and whom we can therefore with least reason hope to equal. In adjusting the probability of success by a previous consideration of the undertaking, we are equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It is never easy, nor often possible, to comprise the se ries of any process with all its circumstances, incidents and variations, in a speculative scheme. Experience soon shows us the tortuosities of ima ginary rectitude, the complications of simplicity, and the asperities of smoothness. Sudden diffi cuities often start up from the ambushes of art, stop the career of activity, repress the gayety of confidence, and, when we imagine ourselves almost at the end of our labours, drive us back to new plans and different measures. There are many things which we every day see others unable to perform, and perhaps have even ourselves miscarried in attempting; and yet can hardly allow to be difficult; nor can we forbear to wonder afresh at every new failure, or to promise certainty of success to our next essay; but when we try, the same hindrances recur, the same inability is perceived, and the vexation of disappointment must again be suffered. Of the various kinds of speaking or writing, which serve necessity, or promote pleasure, none appear so artless or easy as simple narration; for what should make him that knows the whole order and progress of an affair unable to relate it? Yet we hourly find such an endeavour to entertain or instruct us by recitals, clouding the facts which they intend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their auditors in wilds and mazes, in digression and confusion. When we have congratulated ourselves upon a new opportunity of inquiry, and new means of information, it often happens that without designing either deceit or concealment, without ignorance of the fact, or unwillingness to disclose it, the relator fills the ear with empty sounds, harasses the attention with fruitless impatience and disturbs the imagination by a tumult of events, without order of time, or train of consequence. They who can believe that nature has so capriciously distributed understanding have surely no claim to the honour of serious confutation. The inhabitants of the same country have opposite characters in different ages; the prevalence or neglect of any particular study can proceed only from the accidental influence of some temporary cause; and if we have failed in history, we can have failed only because history has not hitherto been diligently cultivated. But how is it evident, that we have not historians among us, whom we may venture to place in comparison with any that the neighbouring nations can produce? The attempt of Raleigh is deservedly celebrated for the labour of his researches, and the elegance of his style; but he has endeavoured to exert his judgment more than his genius, to select facts rather than adorn them; and has produced a historical dissertation, but seldom risen to the majesty of history. The works of Clarendon deserve more regard. His diction is indeed neither exact in itself, nor suited to the purpose of history. It is the effusion of a mind crowded with ideas, and desirous of imparting them; and therefore always accumulating words and involving one clause and sentence in another. But there is in his negligence a rude, inartificial majesty, which, without the nicety of laboured elegance swells the mind by its plenitude and diffusion. His narration is not perhaps sufficiently rapid, being stopped too frequently by particularities, which, though they might strike the author who was present at the transactions, will not equally detain the attention of posterity. But his ignorance or carelessness of the art of writing is amply compensated by his knowledge of nature and of policy; the wisdom of his maxims, the justness of his reasonings, and the variety, distinctness, and strength of his characters. It is natural to believe, upon the same principle, that no writer has a more easy task than the historian. The philosopher has the works of omniscience to examine; and is therefore engaged in disquisitions, to which finite intellects are utterly unequal. The poet trusts to his inventions, and is not only in danger of those inconsistencies to which every one is exposed by departure from truth; but may be censured as well for deficiencies of matter, as for irregularity of disposition, or impropriety of ornament. But the happy historian has no other labour than of gathering what tradition pours down before him, or records treasure for his use. He has only the actions and designs of men like himself to con- But none of our writers can, in my opinion, ceive and to relate; he is not to form, but copy justly contest the superiority of Knolles, who, in characters, and therefore is not blamed for the his history of the Turks, has displayed all the inconsistency of statesmen, the injustice of ty- excellences that narration can admit. His style, rants, or the cowardice of commanders. The though somewhat obscured by time, and somedifficulty of making variety inconsistent, or unit- times vitiated by false wit, is pure, nervous, eleing probability with surprise, needs not to dis-vated, and clear. A wonderful multiplicity of turb him; the manners and actions of his per- events is so artfully arranged, and so distinctly sonages are already fixed; his materials are pro- explained, that each facilitates the knowledge of vided and put into his hands, and he is at leisure the next. Whenever a new personage is introto employ all his powers in arranging and dis-duced, the reader is prepared by his character for playing them. Yet, even with these advantages, very few in any age have been able to raise themselves to reputation by writing histories; and among the innumerable authors, who fill every nation with accounts of their ancestors, or undertake to transmit to futurity the events of their own time, the greater part, when fashion and novelty have ceased to recommend them, are of no other use than chronological memorials, which necessity may sometimes require to be consulted, but which right away curiosity and disgust delicacy. It is observed, that our nation, which has produced so many authors eminent for almost every other species of literary excellence, has been hitherto remarkably barren of historical genius; and, so far has this defect raised prejudices against us, that some have doubted whether an Englishman can stop at that mediocrity of style, or confine his mind to that even tenor of imagiration which narrative requires. his actions; when a nation is first attacked, or city besieged, he is made acquainted with its his tory, or situation; so that a great part of the world is brought into view. The descriptions of this author are without minuteness, and the digressions without ostentation. Collateral events are so artfully woven into the contexture of his principal story, that they cannot be disjoined without leaving it lacerated and broken. There is nothing turgid in his dignity, nor superfluous in his copiousness. His orations only, which he feigns, like the ancient historians, to have been pronounced on remarkable occasions, are tedious and languid; and since they are merely the voluntary sports of imagination, prove how much the most judicious and skilful may be mistaken, in the estimate of their own powers. Nothing could have sunk this author in obscurity but the remoteness and barbarity of the people whose story he relates. It seldom happens, that all circumstances concur to happiness or SIR, THOUGH I have so long found myself deluded by projects of honour and distinction, that I often resolve to admit them no more into my heart; yet, how determinately soever excluded, they always recover their dominion by force or stratagem; and whenever, after the shortest relaxation of vigilance, reason and caution return to their charge, they find hope again in possession, with all her train of pleasures dancing about her. Even while I am preparing to write a history of disappointed expectations, I cannot forbear to flatter myself, that you and your readers are impatient for my performance; and that the sons of learning have laid down several of your late papers with discontent, when they found that Misocapelus had delayed to continue his narrative. But the desire of gratifying the expectations that I have raised, is not the only motive of this relation, which, having once promised it, I think myself no longer at liberty to forbear. For, however I may have wished to clear myself from every other adhesion of trade, I hope I shall be always wise enough to retain my punctuality, and amidst all my new arts of politeness, continue to despise negligence, and detest falsehood. confidence, by the habit of accosting me, staid at home till it was made. This week of confinement I passed in practising a forbidding frown, a smile of condescension, a slight salutation, and an abrupt departure; and in four mornings was able to turn upon my heel, with so much levity and sprightliness, that I made no doubt of discouraging all public attempts upon my dignity. I therefore issued forth in my new coat, with a resolution of dazzling intimacy to a fitter distance; and pleased myself with the timidity and reverence, which I should impress upon all who had hitherto presumed to harass me with their freedoms. But, whatever was the cause, I did not find myself received with any new degree of respect: those whom I intended to drive from me, ventured to advance with their usual phrases of benevolence; and those, whose acquaintance I solicited, grew more supercilious and reserved. I began soon to repent the expense, by which I had procured no advantage, and to suspect that a shining dress, like a weighty weapon, has no force in itself, but owes all its efficacy to him that wears it. Many were the mortifications and calamities which I was condemned to suffer in my initiation to politeness. I was so much tortured by the incessant civilities of my companions, that I never passed through that region of the city but in a chair with the curtains drawn; and at last left my lodgings, and fixed myself in the verge of the court. Here I endeavoured to be thought a gentleman just returned from his travels, and was pleased to have my landlord believe that I was in some danger from importunate creditors; but this scheme was quickly defeated by a formal deputation sent to offer me, though I had now ro tired from business, the freedom of my company. I was now detected in trade, and therefore resolved to stay no longer. I hired another apart. ment, and changed my servants. Here I lived very happily for three months, and, with secret satisfaction, often overheard the family cele brating the greatness and felicity of the esquire; though the conversation seldom ended without some complaint of my covetousness, or some remark upon my language, or my gait. I now be gan to venture into the public walks, and to know the faces of nobles and beauties; but could not observe, without wonder, as I passed by them, how frequently they were talking of a tailor. İ longed, however, to be admitted to conversation, and was somewhat weary of walking in crowds without a companion, yet continued to come and go with the rest, till a lady, whom I endeavoured It was with no common grief and indignation, to protect in a crowded passage, as she was that I found my former companions still daring about to step into her chariot, thanked me for my to claim my notice, and the journeymen and ap- civility, and told me, that as she had often distinprentices sometimes pulling me by the sleeve as I tinguished me for my modest and respectful bewas walking in the street, and, without any ter-haviour, whenever I set up for myself, I might tor of my new sword, which was, notwithstand- expect to see her among my first customers. ing, of an uncommon size, inviting me to partake Here was an end of all my ambulatory pro of a bottle at the old house, and entertaining me with histories of the girls in the neighbourhood. I had always, in my officinal state, been kept in awe by lace and embroidery; and imagined that, to fright away these unwelcome familiarities, nothing was necessary, but that I should, by splendour of dress, proclaim my re-union with a higher rank. I therefore sent for my tailor; ordered a suit with twice the usual quantity of lace; and, that I might not let my persecutors increase their Z When the death of my brother had dismissed me from the duties of a shop, I considered myself as restored to the rights of my birth, and entitled to the rank and reception which my ancestors obtained. I was, however, embarrassed with many difficulties at my first re-entrance into the world; for my haste to be a gentleman inclined me to precipitate measures; and every accident that forced me back towards my old station, was considered by me as an obstruction of my happiness. jects. I indeed sometimes entered the walks again, but was always blasted by this destructive lady, whose mischievous generosity recommended me to her acquaintance. Being therefore forced to practice my adscititious character upon another stage, I betook myself to a coffee-house frequented by wits, among whom I learned in a short time the cant of criticism, and talked so loudly and volubly of nature, and manners, and sentiment, and diction, and similes, and con |