vises them not to wait for the decays of life, but to retreat in time, and anchor safely in port before the vessel be disabled. The consequence, he continues, will be, that the man of talents will enjoy a state of complacency, unruffled by mixing in scenes of contention, beyond the voice of detraction, and will be able, while alive, to form an opinion, and even enjoy a posthumous fame..... Lib. 12, ch. 11. LIFE OF THE STUDENT. that to think is to labour; and that as the body is affected by the exercise of the mind, the fatigue of the study is not less than that of the field or the manufactory. But the labour of the mind, though it be equally wearisome with that of the body, is not attended with the same advantages. Exercise gives health, vigour, and cheerfulness, sound sleep, and a keen appetite: the effects of sedentary thoughtfulness are discases that shorten and embitter life; interrupted rest, tasteless meals, perpetual langour, and careless anx-iety. There is scarcely any character so much the object of envy as that of a successful writer. But those who only see him in company, or hear encomiums on his merit, form a very erroneous opinion of his happiness. They conceive him as perpetually enjoying the triumphs of intellectual superiority; as display In an essay, by Dr. Hawkesworth, in which he has happily imitated the style of his illustrious associate, he has no less successfully exposed the vulgar error, that the life of a student is a life of case and indolence. There are few opinions more specious to the careless observer, and yet there is none more lamentably false. They who listening the luxuriancy of his fancy, and with rapture, in the short intervals of leisure which they enjoy from a laborious business, to the soft harmony of Pope, or the majestic period of Johnson, imagine it the inspiration of a willing muse. But that the fact is not so, the furrowed brow and the enfeebled frame of the student daily evince. Those happy expressions which sparkle as the effusions of the moment, are really produced by the most elaborate thought, and are not presented to the reader until they have undergone an anxious and painful revi sion. The multitudes that support life by corporal labour, and eat their bread in the sweat of their brow, commonly regard inactivity as idleness; and have no conception that weariness may be contracted in an elbow chair, by now and then peeping into a book, and musing the rest of the day the sedentary and studious, therefore, raise their envy or contempt, as they appear either to possess the conveniences of life by the mere bounty of fortune, or to suffer the want of them by refusing to work. It is, however, certain, the variety of his knowledge to silent admiration; or listening in voluptuous indolence to the music of praise. But they know not that these lucid intervals are short and few, that much the greater part of his life is passed in solitude and anxiety; that his hours glide away unnoticed, and the day, like the night, is contracted to a moment by the intense application of the mind to its object; locked up from every eye, and lost even to himself, he is reminded that he lives, only by the necessities of life; he then starts up as from a dream, and regrets that the day has passed unenjoyed, without affording means of happiness to the morrow. So far the essayist; and however melancholy a picture he may have drawn, it is yet a faithful representation of what every student has undergone in his toilsome but delightful journey to the Temple of Fame. The recluse, who does not easily assimilate with the herd of mankind, and whose manners with difficulty bend to the peculiarities of others, is not likely to have many real friends. His enjoyments, therefore, must oe solitary, lone, and melancholy. His only friend is himself. As he sits immersed in reverie by his midnight fire, and hears the wild gusts of rain fitfully careering over the plain, he listens sadly attentive; and as the intonations of the howling blast articulate to his enthusiastic ear, he converses with the spirits of the departed, while, between each dreary pause of the storm, he holds solitary communion with himself. Such is the social intercourse of the recluse. Few students, as "they trim the midnight lamp," will read the following lines without some idea of the gloomy feelings of the author: Nor undelightful is the solemn noon of night - Lo, all is motionless around! Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men, And every beast, in mute oblivion lie; All Nature's hush'd in silence and in sleep. Oh, then how fearful is it to reflect Wharton's Pleasures of Melancholy, from which this extract is made, was first printed in 1745..... Although it abounds with nervous passages, and every where indicates the pen of a poet, it is unaccountably neglected. PLAGIARISM. Our most eminent poets have very freely indulged themselves in the practice of plagiarism, Pope especially; but, as he resorted to the ancients, and works not commonly known, it has not been generally noticed; by most who have observed it, it is esteemed a beauty; as we may find in the sixty-third number of the Adventurer. Besides his professed imitations of Horace, that admired critic, as well as poet, he is evidently indebted to him for many things in his essay, but more considerably to M. H. Vida, a native of Cromona, and bishop of Alba, an elegant Latin writer of the fifteenth century, who has left an Art of Poetry, in three books, of which Pope's Art of Criticism, it may be almost affirmed, is but an ingenious abridgment. To produce the parallel passages would require more room than could conveniently be spared, not much less than to transcribe the whole essay. Addison, though with circumspection and reserve, has trodden the same track, and sometimes plumes himself in borrowed feathers. A REMARKABLE SPEECH OF MR. CUFFE, Secretary to the earl of Essex, who was executed in the reign of queen Elizabeth, for the same offence which brought his master to the block. I am here adjudged to die for acting an act never plotted, for plotting a plot never acted. Justice will have her course; accusers must be heard; greatness will have the victory; scholars and martialists (though learning and valour should have the pre-eminence) in England must die like dogs, and be hanged. To mislike this were but folly; to dispute it but time lost; to alter it impossible; but to endure it is manly; and to scorn it magnanimity. The queen is displeased, the lawyers injurious, and death terrible; but I crave pardon of the queen; forgive the lawyers, and the world; desire to be forgiven; and welcome death. ODD ADVERTISEMENT. The following lines, in four different languages, were scratched on the window of an inn: In questa casa trover te, For the Literary Magazine. FORCE OF EXAMPLE. Concluded. SINCE example is so powerful an engine in the hands of the influential, how important a duty have they to fulfil, and how much vigilance and attention does not the ex ercise of it require! On them depends, in some measure, the formation of the manners, and even the virtucs and vices of mankind: mankind are placed in their hands, like clay in the hands of a potter, who moulds it into whatever form he pleases. We see how readily men obey the influence of example in the most trivial things, such as the form of their garments, the furniture of their houses, their conversation, and their pursuits, and, since the truth must be told, their follies and their crimes. Many vices, detestable and disgraceful in their nature, and terrible in their consequences, have become fashionable from this cause alone. Fashion, considered in the common method of defining it, is but a folly, but its consequences are deeply to be regretted. To how many hardships does she not expose her votaries! to what privations are not the poor and middling classes exposed, by imitating the follies of their betters in fortune! how many wants are created by this agent, wants which but for this would have been for ever unfelt or unregarded. The humble artist must labour hard to satisfy them. Were he left to the free and unbiassed exercise of his understanding, he might enjoy many comforts, many pleasures, for which he is doomed to sigh, and sigh in vain: but it is needless to dwell any longer on these follies or their effects. Yet I will call the reader's attention to one of the vices fashion has introduced-gambling. Virtue, integrity, honour, justice, every thing that adds lustre to the character of man, sink before it, like the wither ed leaves of autumn before the devouring flames. Parents and instructors of youth are still more strongly bound to exhibit good examples to the view of the rising generation; they are more immediately concerned in their welfare. The inefficacy of precept is so well known, that it is a source of astonishment why recourse is not had at all times to example. Youth is like the young and flexile shoots of a delicate plant, which follow that direction which the care of the gardener gives them; they imitate their tutors and parents, without knowing why; they do not (nor are they able to) reason on the propriety or impropriety of any thing they may intend to perform; their minds are not sufficiently powerful to place it in various points of view, and in relation to its probable consequences; nor are they able to comprehend those precepts which have been written by moralists, and sanctioned by the united voice of mankind, and by long experience. These are only understood by those whose dispositions are formed, whose minds are adorned or depraved, whose virtues or vices have been fixed by example and confirmed by habit. Nor is example less useful to legislators and statesmen, and though it but seldom is, yet it might often be successfully employed. The respect which the virtues of a man holding the most important stations his country can bestow, naturally inspire, would make virtue fashionable. If they would encourage patriotism in others, let them be patriotic themselves; if they would encourage disinterestedness, let them be disinterested; if they would inspire courage, let them show a noble contempt of danger. He that would make soldiers of a people, must not expect to effect his purpose by exhortation alone; but let him exhort them sword in hand; let him lead them to the foe, rush into the thickest of the battle, and expose himself to its dangers. Then will the people follow with enthu thiasm; the courage that glows in his bosom will be transfused into theirs; his ardour will animate them, and stimulate them to the noblest exertions. Men are like those vines which wind around the monarchs of the forest, and thereby acquire a support, without which they would perish at their feet; their virtues would lie dormant in their bosoms, or, unsupported, languish in obscurity. But when the example of the great calls forth these hidden qualities, men are stimulated to the performance of great and noble actions; then does merit step forth from its humble retreats; virtue, no longer unfashionable, acts with vigour, produces effects the most happy, and pleasures the most exalted and most durable. Feb. 7th, 1805. VALVERDI. For the Literary Magazine. THE VISITOR. NO. 11. "Weak and irresolute is man.' COWPER. IN reviewing the history of the lives and actions of mankind, how few are to be found who can truly be called good! how few who can justly come under the description of virtuous and wise men, or genuine philanthropists! Extraordinary abilities do not tend to make any so; the irregularities, the vices, the peculiarities of men of genius are proverbial. So dark a shade is cast by them upon superior powers, as to destroy the good effects they were calculated and intended to produce, by destroying the confidence and esteem of the world for their possessor. When I look around among my cotemporaries, I see one of abilities the greatest, of an excellent under standing and cultivated mind, but having passions equally great. I see him hurried away by their influence into dissipation and profligacy; I see his health destroyed, his constitution broken; the victim of disease, and almost on the verge of dissolution. How melancholy, how deplorable, how humiliating a condition! He now confesses his faults, he acknowledges his errors, and can only plead the impetuosity of his passions in excuse. "For he was caught in Folly's snare, And joined her giddy train; But found her soon the nurse of care, And punishment and pain." After struggling with disease, he regains, in part, his former health, and resolves for the future to lead a regular and exemplary life; then Some foe to his upright intent COWPER. He again pursues the same course; the same consequences follow until his constitution being broken, he falls the victim of unruly passions. Such, which is the end of many, is often the fate of genius! Disease and death, caused by their own imprudence, make great inroads among men to whom nature has been most bounteous in the distribution of her intellectual gifts. Their friends who esteemed them, the world who admired them, have frequent cause to lament their destructive failings. Many of this description, when viewed through the medium of their writings, appear the friends of virtue and religion. Such men are surely still entitled to the gratitude of the world. Their works, when of this kind, should atone for many errors. If their example whilst alive was injurious, their works, when they had ceased to exist, and their errors were forgotten (to use the emphatic words of Dr. Johnson), may be the cause of turning many to righteousness. How strongly do such instances prove the instability of human nature, the imbecility of man, and the eternal conflict of good and evil passions in his breast! "The mind of man," says Mrs. Robinson, "is a mixture of incomprehensible propensities. Virtue is sometimes its natural inmate, but there is scarce an instance in which some bad passion does not sully its fair fame, and tarnish its most brilliant attributes." The minds of great men, particularly literary characters, seem actuated at different times by the most different and contradictory propensities. Most, it is true, have some one ruling passion,' and many discover it strong even in death; yet they have also others, though of minor influence, and of the most unlike nature, which at times sway them. Zimmermann, whose elegant work*, which has conferred on him such deserved immortality, would lead us to suppose its author had within himself the most ample sources of philosophy, the most correct ideas of human nature, and the calmest resignation to the evils of humanity, was often as unhappy as the most miserable hypochondriac. Dr. Johnson, who had spent a long life in expatiating on the beauties of the christian religion, and exhorting his readers to place their dependence on another and a better world, as much regretted the approach of death, and had as great a desire to live as the most worldly-minded and ambitious man, whose treasures and whose heart were solely fixed on the earth. Goldsmith, possessing a heart "feelingly alive" to the wants and miseries of his fellow-creatures, and whose charity prompted him to give the last farthing towards the alleviation of their sufferings, had a portion of envy and jealousy in his breast, which put him in tortures at hearing the praise which was bestowed on others. Melancholy and madness clouded the days of the * Reflections on Solitude. worthy Cowper, and the great Hamilton fell a sacrifice at the shrine of false honour. When we reflect that the number of men of genius is so small, compared with the millions existing on the earth, how much is it to be regretted, that those to whom nature has been so liberal should ever be the victims of passion and prejudice! But how much more is it to be regretted, that any who possess talents of superior excellence, and extensive information, should employ them only in endeavouring to disseminate principles destructive of all order, and in introducing a general depravity of manners and morals! This class, unfortunately, has been numerous; and indeed many living instances might be adduced of men of genius and learning, whose conduct has caused nothing but mischief among mankind. For the Literary Magazine. F. SPECIMEN OF POLITICAL IMPROVEMENT. Continued from page 86. THE grand object of human activity is fortune or wealth. How to employ talents and industry so as to convert a little money into a great deal is the subject which employs the faculties of the greater part of mankind. Those who pursue agriculture, as well as those who follow trade or handicraft, have no other object in view than to amass money: but there are some wide differences between the employment of a capital on land, and its employment in any other way. With regard to traders and artizans, the old remark is but too true, that one man can become rich only by making others poor. He adds nothing to the mass of provision or subsistence of the whole society. He only takes a larger share from the previously existing stock than he |