of his noble Sonnets, seems to hint this opinion; and there is a fine passage in Cowper's Task, from whence I infer, that that amiable and virtuous Poet thought the same. It is this which often soothes me, when I shrink in fear or disgust from those public exertions, to which at other times ambition, or a sense of duty, urges my impetuous and irregular spirit. When overwhelmed with the dry jest of hard insensibility, the oblique sneer of Envy, or the dark sarcasm of Malice, which it requires the calmness of dull indifference, or the ready retort of unfeeling Wit, to defeat, I resolve to bury myself in the woods for the remainder of my days, and to amuse my time with intellectual creations, better suited to the turn of my unworldly disposition. If there are occasions on which I have overcome this dread of popular assemblies, if I have not totally failed in attempting public duties, the endeavour ought to win me a licence at other seasons for more than ordinary seclusion. From a very early age, the luxury of a retreat to the depths of woods and shades fastened upon my imagination. I was then familiar with the secluded scenes, which Sir William Temple chose for his last retirement; and every image of that enchanting spot, as it then appeared to me, is impressed in the most vivid colours on my mind. Perhaps this has given me an additional interest in the character and writings of Temple; which have through life been favourite objects of my admiration. This spot of the deepest solitude and seclusion, was Moor Park, near Farn ham, in Surry. The house and gardens stood on the banks of a small river, in the very bed of a narrow valley, defended on each side by precipitous hills. A small Dutch garden alone intervened between the back of the house and the water; which together filled the whole breadth of this diminutive vale. At this seat Sir William died, in 1700, æt. 72. In the Life prefixed to his Works, in two vols. folio, 1731, it is said, that "Having gone through these, and other difficult employments, in a Court that did not always reward merit, but usually exercised the strength of its ministers; in the year 1680, Sir William chose to leave the Court and public affairs, in order to enjoy retirement, and a more philosophical life; as also to enjoy his pen, which really had been far from being idle in the midst of his business. Indeed, it is a common thing for men, who live in the splendour and hurry of Courts, sometimes to wish for a retreat, where they may relieve themselves after the fatigue of state and business; yet they seldom do retire, but when they know not how to stay any longer: so that the contempt of a Court is in many men a contrivance of self-love, to alleviate the mortifications of being excluded, by undervaluing greatness, and those that are in power. On the other hand, nothing is more difficult to the generality of men, who have enjoyed the pomp and pleasures of a Court, than to finish the remainder of their lives in privacy and retirement. For few persons have so rich a fund in themselves, as to supply and fill up the great chasm, which the want of public business and diversion leaves on their minds. But Sir William Temple had the happiness to escape both these inconveniences; and as his retiring from business was in all appearance voluntary, so his contempt of greatness and splendour was the result of a thorough know ledge of the emptiness and vanity of those glaring objects. He was sensible that there was little in a Court but a perpetual exchange of false friendship, pretended honesty, seeming confidence, and designing gratitude. So that those, who, as Sir William did, acted upon a sincere bottom, and gave realities instead of shews; 'professed themselves as great bubbles, as such as gave good money, where counterfeit coin passed for current payment.' He had by long experience made the estimate of the advantages of a private life, above those of a public; and was thoroughly convinced, that the blessings of innocence, security, meditation, good air, health, and sound sleep, were clearly preferable to the splendour of Courts; considering the slavish attendance, the invidious competitions, servile flattery, and the mortal disappointments, that usually attend them. He set the frowns of princes, the envy of those that judge by hear-say, and the innumerable temptations, vices, and excesses of a life of pomp and pleasure, in balance against the smiles of bounteous Nature, the diversion of healthful exercises for the body, and the solid and lasting entertainments of the mind; and concluded, 'That he that is a slave in the town, is a kind of a petty prince in the country.' "After a life of great variety on one part, and no less tranquillity on the other, towards the end of the year 1700, and in the 72d year of his age, this eminent man died at Moor Park, near Farnham, in Surry; where, according to the plain directions in his will, his heart was deposited in a silver box, and buried under the sundial in the garden, opposite to the window from whence he used to contemplate and admire the glorious works of Nature, with his beloved sister, the ingenious Lady Giffard: a lady, who, as she had shared and relieved the fatigues of his voyages and travels, during his public negociations, so she was the principal delight and comfort of his last retirement and old age." I now proceed to give a few passages from the writings of this great man, applicable to the subject of my present paper. In his Essay on Gardening, among his Miscellanea, are the following: "The same faculty of Reason, which gives mankind the great advantage and prerogative over the rest of the Creation, seems to make the greatest default of human nature; and subjects it to more troubles, miseries, or at least disquiets of life, than any of its fellow-creatures. "Tis this furnishes us with such variety of passions, and consequently of wants and desires, that none other feels; and these followed by infinite designs, and endless pursuits, and improved by that restlessness of thought, which is natural to most men, give him a condition of life, suitable to that of his birth; so that, as he alone is born crying, he lives complaining, and dies disappointed. "Since we cannot escape the pursuit of passion, and perplexity of thoughts, which our reason furnishes us, there is no way left but to endeavour all we can, either to subdue, or to divert them," &c. "Nothing diverts, nor busies men more than those pursuits, which are usually covered with the pretences of serving a man's country, and of public good. But the true service of the public is a business of so much labour, and so much care, that, though a good and wise man may not refuse it, if he be called to it by his Prince or his country, and thinks he can be of more than vulgar use, yet he will seldom, or never seek it; but leaves it commonly to men, who, under the disguise of public good, pursue their own designs of wealth, power, and such bastard honours as usually attend them; not that which is the true, and only true reward of Virtue." *vཉྩེ����ཉྩ་་་་་་་་་་་་་་་ "I may perhaps be allowed to know something of the trade of gardening, since I have so long allowed myself to be good for nothing else, which few men will do, or enjoy their gardens without often looking abroad to see how other matters play, what motions in the State, and what invitations they may hope for into other scenes. "For my own part, as the country life, and this part of it more particularly, were the inclination of my youth itself, so they are the pleasure of my age; and I can truly say, that among many great employments that have fallen to my share, I have never asked or sought for any one of them, but often endeavoured to escape from them, into the ease and freedom of a private scene, where a man may go his own way and his own pace, in the common paths or circles of life. "Inter cuncta leges et percunctabere doctos, "But above all, the learned read and ask By what means you may gently pass your age, What lessens care, what makes thee thine own friend, What truly calms the mind; honour, or wealth, Or else a private path of stealing life? 66 "These are questions that a man ought at least to ask himself, whether he asks another or no, and to choose his course of life rather by his humour and temper, than by common accidents, or advice of friends; at least if the Spanish proverb be true, that a fool knows more in his own house, than a wise man in another's. "The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes what he has chosen, which I thank God has befallen me; and |