Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

written on the common affairs of life; because the mind is usually at ease while they are composed. But, even in these, there incidently arises a topic, which requires elevated expression and an inverted construction. Not to raise the style on these occasions is to write unnaturally; for nature teaches us to express animated emotions of every kind in animated language.

The impassioned lover writes unnaturally, if he writes with the ease of Sevigné. The dependent writes unnaturally to a superior, in the style of familiarity. The suppliant writes unnaturally, if he rejects the figures dictated by distress. Conversation admits of every style but the poetic, and what are letters but written conversation? The great rule is, to follow nature and to avoid an affected manner.

No. CLXXII.

On the Necessity of Exercise, Amusements, and an Attention to Health in a Life of Study. In a Letter.

I HAPPENED accidentally to meet a fellow collegian, with whom, before we were separated by the caprice of fortune, I was intimately acquainted. Surely it is he, said I; but, alas, how changed! pale, emaciated, with hollow and lack lustre eye, is this my old schoolfellow, whose ruddy cheeks and cheerful countenance displayed health and happiness? What can have reduced my poor friend to so wretched a condition? Intemperance, or some dreadful disease,

must have stolen away his youth, and hurried him to a premature old age.

While I was thus reflecting he passed me without taking notice. He seemed indeed to be so entirely wrapped up in contemplation, as to pay no regard to external objects. My curiosity and friendship were too much interested to suffer him to leave me without giving some account of himself. I soon overtook him, and he no sooner recognised me, and perceived my surprise at his appearance than he proceeded to assign the causes of it.

[ocr errors]

You know, my friend," said he, "my first and strongest passion was for literary fame. Flattered by my friends, and encouraged at my school, I persuaded myself I was advancing in the career of glory, and, with all the ardour of enthusiasm, devoted every moment of my life to the pursuit of learning. Puerile diversions had no charms for me. A book was my sole delight, my constant companion, and was never laid aside but while my mind was employed in composition. During my residence at the university I spent the time, which my companions allotted to rural amusements, in examining those repositories of ancient learning, the public libraries. I saw indeed the futility of scholastic logic, but a desire to qualify myself for the public exercises led me to the attentive perusal of Wallis and Saunderson. The same motive engaged me in the dreary subtilties of metaphysics. Such studies engrossed the greater part of my first three years, with little advantage and no pleasure. The fatigue would have been intolerable, had it not sometimes been alleviated by the charms of poetry. My favourite Virgil and Horace, and every polite writer of modern times, afforded, in their turn, an agreeable recreation. My exercises were honourably distinguished, and

praise to an ingenuous mind is the best reward of learned labours.

"With my character for application and sobriety (not to boast of my attainments), I found no difficulty in obtaining orders. The head of my house procured me a curacy in a small country town. Thither I went, not without my collection of books, the use of which I would not have foregone for a mitre. I had no other wish than to improve myself in learning, and to perform the duty of an ecclesiastic with decency and devotion. I was happy in the prospect of spending my time uninterrupted by the intrusion of my academical friends, whom youth and high spirits would often lead to a noisy behaviour little consistent with meditation. My want of experience concealed from me the difficulty of pursuing the line of conduct which inclination pointed out. I found it was necessary, to my good reception among my parishioners, to give up the greatest part of the day to a participation in their amusements. In vain was it that I laboured to excel in the pulpit. There was not a man in the place who had an idea of the dignity or utility of literary excellence, and who would not most cordially have hated even a Clark or a Tillotson, if he had never been in at the death of a hare, nor drunk his bottle at the club. The parson, in their idea of his character, was a jolly fellow in black, who was to lead a careless life all the week, and preach against it on Sundays. I could not bring myself to take delight in a foxchase, and, though goodnature prevented me from showing my dislike, I could never meet any of the hunters with satisfaction. The little pleasure I took in the only society that was to be obtained, still farther confirmed me in my recluse mode of life. When my resolution appeared unchangeable, I was suffered to live as I pleased, with the character of an odd, but inoffensive

man. In this unmolested retreat I found time to go through a complete course of ecclesiastical history. I acquired a sufficient knowledge of the Oriental languages to enable me to read the Polyglott. I wrote a great number of sermons and theological treatises, and made many corrections in the vulgar translation of the Bible. So wholly engrossed was I by my darling pursuits, that I seldom left my chamber. In vain did the vernal sun invite. The music of a pack of hounds, which frequently passed my window, had no charms in my ears. The rural sports of every kind were tedious and insipid. To my books I returned from every trifling avocation with redoubled pleasure, and endeavoured to repay the loss of an hour in the day, by devoting a great portion of the night to study.

"It is really true, that my chief motive for application was a love of learning. Yet I will be so ingenuous as to own, I sometimes formed a wish that my small share of merit, if I had any, might attract the notice of my superiors. There is a time of life when fame alone appears to be an inadequate reward of great labour. It flatters that natural love of distinction which we all possess, but it furnishes no convenience in the time of want and infirmity. There was in the neighbourhood a little living of one hundred a year, with a house and garden, in a style of decent elegance which becomes a scholar. The patron was the esquire of the next parish, who had always treated me with singular respect. I was foolish enough to suppose his regard for my character would induce him to bestow his benefice on me; but I found when it became vacant, he had staked and lost the next presentation at a game at whist with a clerical foxhunter.

66

I was at last taken notice of by my diocesan. He had heard of my indefatigable diligence, and

recommended me to an eminent publisher, as a proper person to make an index to a very voluminous work. I eagerly undertook the task, with a view to please so great a man, and finished it in less than a year and a half. The books were printed on a small letter, and this work did my eyes an injury which they will never recover; but it must be owned, on the other hand, that the bookseller gave me in return a bank note of ten pounds. An index author seldom acquires reputation. He is indeed seldom known; but if he happens to be discovered, the accuracy of his work is, in the opinion of many, a kind of disgrace to him. It seems to argue a degree of phlegmatic dulness and of patient labour, rarely in the power of genius. It will not therefore be thought wonderful that this laborious work produced no other effects than the injury of my eyes, and the payment of my tailor's bill.

"In this curacy I still continue, without any prospect of change, unless when blindness, occasioned by intemperate study or the infirmities of age, shall oblige me to resign. I am not of a discontented disposition, nor do I relate my condition with a design to criminate others for their neglect of me. Preferment I never sought by those methods which the world agrees to be the best suited to procure it. I have therefore no right to complain of the want of that which I did not rightly pursue. My motive for this communication is to prevent others from incurring misery by too great attachment to objects lau-. dable in themselves. I can never discountenance an attention to literature. I still love it. 1 still venerate those that have excelled in it. But a sincere regard for many of the most amiable and useful of my species induces me to remind them that they have a body which requires a great share of their attention, and that no satisfaction arising from study

« AnteriorContinua »