an enterprising disposition, was little inclined to sit down contented without a considerable share of reputation. Influenced by his love of fame, he ventured to appeal to the public taste, and actually sent into the world a performance of great merit: but as the work wanted some popular attractions, it was soon neglected and sunk into oblivion.

An evil of this kind, perhaps, the merchant or the manufacturer may treat with contempt. They, however, who, with the same feelings, have been in the same predicament, will know the anguish which secretly tormented the disconsolate Stoicus. This disappointment was the first affliction of his life, and on this he long meditated without intermission. He has not again ventured to publish, and therefore has had no cause of uneasiness from the ingratitude of the many-headed monster; but the evils of his private life have been numerous and afflictive beyond conception. The death of an amiable wife, a constant state of sickness, expectations continually disappointed, have concurred to overwhelm himbut all their efforts have been fruitless. The reflections of philosophy and religion fortify him against every attack, and I never visit him without observing a placid smile of resignation diffused on his countenance. He is sensible of the real weight of every evil, and at the same time sustains it with alacrity. He draws resources from himself in every emergency, and with the nicest feelings is become perfectly callous.

This is genuine Patience; and though the former may by some be thought a happiness, the latter only can be esteemed a virtue.

Sensibility, with all its inconveniences, is to be cherished by those who understand and wish to maintain the dignity of their nature. To feel for

others disposes us to exercise the amiable virtue of charity, which our religion indispensably requires. It constitutes that enlarged benevolence which philosophy inculcates, and which is indeed comprehended in Christian charity. It is the privilege and the ornament of man; and the pain which it causes is abundantly recompensed by that sweet sensation which ever accompanies the exercise of beneficence.

To feel our own misery with full force is not to be deprecated. Affliction softens and improves the heart. Tears, to speak in the style of figure, fertilize the soil in which the virtues grow. And it is the remark of one who understood human nature, that the faculties of the mind, as well as the feelings of the heart, are meliorated by adversity.

We

But, in order to promote these ends, our sufferings must not be permitted to overwhelm us. must oppose them with the arms of reason and religion; and to express the idea in the language of the philosopher, as well as the poet, of Nature; every one, while he is compelled to feel his misfortunes like a man, should resolve also to bear them like a man.

No. CLXIV.

Cursory Remarks on the Eloquence of the Pulpit. In a Letter.

ELOQUENCE is numbered among those arts which, instead of making a progressive improvement in the course of revolving ages, have greatly receded from their original excellence.

The funeral orations and panegyrics of a few Frenchmen are the only pieces among the moderns which make pretensions to rhetorical composition. These, however, appear very elaborate and unnatural; whether from the barrenness of the subjects, or from the weakness of the orators, is foreign to our purpose. From whatever cause it proceeds, it appears, that ancient eloquence is not restored by those efforts which are allowed to have been most successful.

In England, so generally is a taste for solid argument and subtle reasoning diffused, that mere flights of imagination, when unsupported by truth and argument, are little attended to. Thus it has been said, we have no truly classical history of our own country. Elaborate collections of facts, proceedings of parliament, and accurate descriptions of our navies and armaments, fill up, with a jejune detail, some of our most celebrated histories. A great

deal of sagacity has, indeed, been exerted in the adjustment of contested eras, unwearied labour in illustrating obscure passages in our annals, and much patience in the examination of our records. But where, after all, is the painting of a Livy, and the concise elegance of a Sallust?

It is not therefore surprising that a people who admit not unnecessary embellishments in matters of taste, and who can fall in love with naked truth even when she is at liberty to dress herself in the garb of fancy, should reject mere ornamental flourishes in the important transactions of political debate, and the serious proceedings of a court of judicature.

Thus the eloquence of the ancients is not, perhaps, to be found either in the senate or the forum of Britain. There is, indeed, a very great degree of merit in many of the harangues spoken in those places, but they come not up to the idea of Grecian or Roman eloquence. The defect however is probably not so much owing to a want of ability as to a voluntary compliance with the taste and genius of

the nation.

In the pulpit, indeed, we may find some vestiges of ancient oratory: but waving at present the inquiry, whether we resemble the ancients in this point, I shall proceed to transcribe a few observations on pulpit eloquence in general, which I collected not long ago by accident.

One evening last autumn, as I was walking in the fields near the city, to enjoy a little fresh air, I observed a man, somewhat advanced in years, and of a composed aspect, sauntering in the same path with myself, seemingly in profound meditation. For a considerable time neither of us chose to commence a conversation; till at length, when a tacit familiarity between us had removed the reserve of strangeness, the old man opened with a usual introductory topic, the serenity of the evening. For my own part I never refuse to join in one of the most reasonable as well as most agreeable pleasures of human life. By degrees the severity of my companion's countenance brightened up as the conversation grew warm, and he told me he had just been hearing an excel

lent sermon at an evening lecture, and, as was his usual way, had taken this little turn in the fields to meditate on serious subjects without interruption. I must own I was rather startled at hearing this, apprehending I had fallen into the company of some methodistical enthusiast, who would endeavour to make a proselyte; but upon farther conversation I found myself agreeably mistaken. The old man made some reflections, which, as they struck me at the time, I entered among my minutes as soon as I returned home.

"You must know, sir," said he, "that I am an old fashioned man. I go to church on Wednesdays and Fridays, according to my good old grandmother's directions, who (well I remember it) used always to appoint me the bearer of her large print prayer book bound in purple morocco. To these early impressions, perhaps, I owe all my oddities; and you will easily imagine what a queer fellow I am, when I inform you that I put my family to the inconvenience of dining, on Sundays, a full hour sooner than common, for no other reason in the world but that I may do my duty towards my Maker by going to church in the afternoon. While my neighbours are at the playhouse or the tavern, I can make shift to kill time at an evening lecture; and I often follow a famous preacher of a charity sermon, with all the ardour with which a favourite player inspires the frequenters of theatrical entertainments. These are my usual diversions, and really, sir, they have some advantages attending them. In the first place, they are not expensive; for what is a shilling thrown away now and then upon a trifling whim, since every man has his hobbyhorse; such as relieving a suffering fellow creature, or contributing to the education and support of a poor orphan? Secondly, I can go into any church within the Bills of Mortality, with