ing to be fickle: I retained it, therefore, fifteen months; nor were the smiles of the corpora tion, who were the patrons of the living, a sufficiently powerful inducement with me to alter my resolution. Accordingly I took a house in the neighbourhood with the view of being employed in private tuition. After waiting a year, in which time two young gentlemen only were offered to me for instruction, I thought the prospect of success very unpromising, and resolved no longer to be the sport of caprice or vulgar criticism, but to accept the first. easy curacy which might present itself. This happened to be situated in the fens of Lincolnshire, from which place my narrative is written. Scarcely had I come hither, when several letters arrived from gentlemen, who were desirous of placing their sons under my care but my scheme of life was altered, and their proposals arrived too late. In my present situation there is little to raise my admiration or delight. I have an eye capable of deriving pleasure from the beauties of nature; but here, wherever I look, I see nothing during half the year but an extended plain of waters: I am not averse to social intercourse; but here I am doomed to uninterrupted solitude. Wearied, however, with disappointments and restlessness

of change, I have given up the pursuit of happiness, and will content myself with intercepting her as she may come into my way. In this place I have now resided forty months, and am in my thirty-eighth year. Thus am I struggling with the difficulties of life, when I ought to be enjoying its comforts.

How dangerous a propensity is this love of change? In almost every situation into which fortune has thrown me, I might, by patience and perseverance, have acquired a competency; but, like the eager husbandman, I have never waited till the fruits of my labour have attained maturity, but have pronounced the soil barren, which has not been immediately productive.

I am, sir, &c.

Lincolnshire, April, 1793.

MUTABILIS.

THE COUNTRY SPECTATOR, No. 28, April 16, 1793.

No. CLXII.

Thou captivating simplicity! 'tis thine at once to effect what all the artifices of rhetoric, with all its tropes and figures, tediously and vainly labour to accomplish. From our admirable translation of the Bible an English writer may select a diction better suited to raise the sympathy of grief, than from the most celebrated models of human composition.

KNOX.

AM not so much surprised at your fondness for the writings of Sterne, as disappointed at finding your praise so vague and indiscriminate. It is time for you to learn that, in this world, the good and the bad are so intimately blended together, that there is no possibility of finding either the one or the other pure and unadulterated. No man is so perfect, but there is something about him that might be amended; and none are so bad, but we may find something belonging to them that merits applause. The great business of candid criticism is, to separate the chaff from the corn, and neither to approve nor condemn by the lump.

Few writers are better calculated for captivating youthful minds than Sterne. Throughout his whole works there are interspersed many lively sallies of wit, many happy strokes of hu

mour. Even the desultory manner in which he proceeds seems to be so natural to him, and is so well suited to the volatility of youthful minds, that it is, to them, rather alluring than disgustful; and the innumerable touches of nature so frequently recurring, and so happily expressed, give to his writings a charm that is ineffably pleasing. Without being able to distinguish what are the particular ingredients in this tout ensemble that please, they admire even his quaintnesses and eccentricities. They think too often that the charm proceeds from the levity and frivolity of his manner, when it in fact arises from the singular powers of his mind. To this circumstance we are to attribute those countless swarms of imitators of his manner, and the disgusting insipidity of these miserable productions,

A talent for discriminating human characters, and delineating their traits with perfect accuracy, is one of the rarest gifts of heaven; and whoever possesses that talent in an eminent degree, will not fail to produce performances that will obtain a high degree of applause, whatever may be their defects in other respects. Shakspeare, who possessed this happy talent in a degree superior to that of any other of the sons of men who have yet appeared on the globe, has, notwithstanding the innumerable defects

that abound in his works, obtained a degree of celebrity that nothing else could ever have given him; and which, notwithstanding the attacks of snarling critics, will continue to increase as long as the language in which he writes shall be understood. There have been people weak enough to believe that if they could imitate Shakspeare in the irregularity of his plots, in the disregard of the much-talked-of unities, in the antiquated turn of his phrases, and in the low buffoonery of some of his scenes, they would be entitled to a considerable share of that approbation which has been so liberally bestowed upon him. They did not advert that it was his superlative genius which made him triumph, not in consequence of these defects, but in spite

of them.

In like manner, Sterne possesses in a very eminent, though far inferior degree, that rare talent of discriminating characters, and of delineating them with precision by light touches of nature, which ever and anon occur even in the most trifling scenes. It is this which gives to these otherwise trifling scenes an interest which nothing else could ever have conferred upon them. It is from the certainty of meeting with these delicate touches of nature, that the man of taste is induced to tolerate that nauseating affectation