"society, virtue is thereby exposed to the most dan66 gerous attacks.

"But, say some, the authors of these romances "have nothing in view, but to represent vice pun“ished, and virtue rewarded. Granted. But will "the greater number of readers take notice of these "punishments and rewards? Are not their minds "carried to something else? Can it be imagined, "that the art with which the author inspires the love "of virtue can overcome that crowd of thoughts "which sway them to licentiousness. To be able "to inculcate virtue by so leaky a vehicle, the "author must be a philosopher of the first rank. "But in our age we can find but few first-rate philo"sophers.

"Avoid such performances, where vice assumes "the face of virtue; seek wisdom and knowledge "without ever thinking you have found them. "A man is wise while he continues in the pursuit "of wisdom; but when he once fancies that he has "found the object of his enquiry, he then becomes a fool. Learn to pursue virtue from the man that "is blind, who never makes a step without first "examining the ground with his staff.

"The world is like a vast sea, mankind like a "vessel sailing on its tempestuous bosom. Our "prudence is its sails, the sciences serve us for "oars, good or bad fortune are the favourable "or contrary winds, and judgment is the rudder: "without this last, the vessel is tossed by every bil"low, and will find shipwreck in every breeze. "In a word, obscurity and indigence are the pa"rents of vigilance and economy; vigilance and 66 œconomy of riches and honour; riches and ho"nour of pride and luxury; pride and luxury of "impurity and idleness; and impurity and idleness "again produce indigence and obscurity. Such are "the revolutions of life." Adieu.

LETTER LXXXIV.

From Lien Chi Altangi to Fum Hoam, first president of the Ceremonial Academy at Pekin, in China.

I FANCY the character of a poet is in every country the same, fond of enjoying the present, careless of the future; his conversation that of a man of sense, his actions those of a fool; of fortitude able to stand unmoved at the bursting of an earthquake, yet of sensibility to be affected by the breaking of a tea-cup: such is his character, which, considered in every light, is the very opposite of that which leads to riches.

The poets of the west are as remarkable for their indigence as their genius, and yet among the numerous hospitals designed to relieve the poor, I have heard of but one erected for the benefit of decayed authors. This was founded by Pope Urban VIII, and called the retreat of the incurabies, intimating, that it was equally impossible to reclaim the patients who sued for reception from poverty or from poetry. To be sincere, were I to send you an account of the lives of the western poets, either ancient or modern, I fancy you would think me employed in collecting materials for a history of human wretchedness.

Homer is the first poet and beggar of note among the ancients; he was blind, and sung his ballads about the streets; but it is observed, that his mouth was more frequently filled with verse than with bread. Plautus, the comic poet, was better off; he had two trades; he was a poet for his diversion, and helped to turn a mill, in order to gain a livelihood. Terence was a slave, and Boethius died in a jail.

Among the Italians, Paulo Borghese, almost as good a poet as Tasso, knew fourteen different trades, and yet died because he could get employment in

none. Tasso himself, who had the most amiable character of all poets, had often been obliged to borrow a crown from some friend, in order to pay for a month's subsistence. He has left us a pretty sonnet, addressed to his cat, in which he begs the light of her eyes to write by, being too poor to afford himself a candle. But Bentivoglio, poor Bentivoglio! chiefly demands our pity. His comedies will last with the Italian language; he dissipated a noble fortune in acts of charity and benevolence; but falling into misery in his old age, was refused admittance into an hospital which he himself had erected.

In Spain it is said the great Cervantes died of hunger; and it is certain that the famous Camoens ended his days in an hospital.

If we turn to France, we shall there find even stronger instances of the ingratitude of the public. Vaugelas, one of the politest writers, and one of the honestest men of his time, was surnamed the owl, from his being obliged to keep within all day, and venture out only by night, through fear of his creditors. His last will is very remarkable; after having bequeathed all his worldly substance to the discharging his debts, he goes on thus:...." but as there may "still remain some creditors unpaid, even after all "that I have shall be disposed of; in such a case, "it is my last will, that my body should be sold to "the surgeons to the best advantage, and that the "purchase should go to the discharging those debts "which I owe to society; so that if I could not "while living, at least when dead, I may be useful."

Cassander was one of the greatest geniuses of his time, yet all his merit could not procure him a bare subsistence. Being by degress driven into a hatred of all mankind, from the little pity he found amongst them, he even ventured at last, ungratefully, to impute his calamities to Providence, In

his last agonies, when the priest intreated him to rely on the justice of heaven, and ask mercy from him that made him: " if God," replies he, "has "shown me no justice here, what reason have I to expect any from him hereafter?" But being answered that a suspension of justice was no argument that should induce us to doubt of its reality; let me intreat you, continued his confessor, by all that is dear, to be reconciled to God, your father, your maker, and friend. "No," replied the exasperated wretch, "you know the manner in which "he left me to live," and pointing to the straw on which he was stretched," and you see the manner "in which he leaves me to die!"

But the sufferings of the poet in other countries is nothing when compared to his distresses here; the names of Spencer and Otway, Butler and Dryden, are every day mentioned as a national reproach; some of them lived in a state of precarious indigence, and others literally died of hunger.

At present the few poets of England no longer depend on the great for subsistence; they have now no other patrons but the public, and the public, collectively considered, is a good and generous master. It is indeed too frequently mistaken as to the merits of every candidate for favour; but, to make amends, it is never mistaken long. A performance indeed may be forced for a time into reputation, but, destitute of real merit, it soon sinks; time, the touchstone of what is truly valuable, will soon discover the fraud, and an author should never arrogate to himself any share of success, till his works have been read at least ten years with satisfaction.

A man of letters at present, whose works are valuable, is perfectly sensible of their value. Every polite member of the community, by buying what he writes, contributes to reward him. The ridicule