[a] This and the three following articles are metrical versions of collects in the liturgy; the first, of that, beginning, "O God, whose nature and property"; the second and third of the collects for the seventeenth and twenty-first Sundays after Trinity; and the fourth, of the first collect in the communion service.

[Dec. 5, 1784.][a] Summe Deus, cui caeca patent penetralia cordis; Quem nulla anxietas, nulla cupido fugit; Quem nil vafrities peccantum subdola celat; Omnia qui spectans, omnia ubique regis; Mentibus afflatu terrenas ejice sordes Divino, sanctus regnet ut intus amor: Eloquiumque potens linguis torpentious affer, Ut tibi laus omni semper ab ore sonet: Sanguine quo gentes, quo secula cuncta piavit, Haec nobis Christus promeruisse velit!

[a] The day on which he received the sacrament for the last time; and eight days before his decease.

PSALMUS CXVII.

Anni qua volucris ducitur orbita, Patrem coelicolum perpetuo colunt Quo vis sanguine cretae Gentes undique carmine.

Patrem, cujus amor blandior in dies Mortales miseros servat, alit, fovet, Omnes undique gentes, Sancto dicite carmine.

[a]Seu te saeva fames, levitas sive improba fecit, Musca, meae comitem, participemque dapis, Pone metum, rostrum fidens immitte culullo, Nam licet, et toto prolue laeta mero. Tu, quamcunque tibi velox indulserit annus, Carpe diem; fugit, heu, non revocanda dies! Quae nos blanda comes, quae nos perducat eodem, Volvitur hora mihi, volvitur hora tibi! Una quidem, sic fata volunt, tibi vivitur aestas, Eheu, quid decies plus mihi sexta dedit! Olim praeteritae numeranti tempora vitae, Sexaginta annis non minor unus erit.

[a] The above is a version of the song, "Busy, curious, thirsty fly."

[b]Habeo, dedi quod alteri; Habuique, quod dedi mihi; Sed quod reliqui, perdidi.

[b] These lines are a version of three sentences that are said, in the manuscript, to be "On the monument of John of Doncaster;" and which are as follow:

What I gave, that I have; What I spent, that I had; What I left, that I lost.

[a]E WALTONI PISCATORE PERFECTO EXCERPTUM.

Nunc, per gramina fusi, Densa fronde salicti, Dum defenditur imber, Molles ducimus horas. Hic, dum debita morti Paulum vita moratur, Nunc rescire priora, Nunc instare futuris, Nunc summi prece sancta Patris numen adire est. Quicquid quraeitur ultra, Caeco ducit amore, Vel spe ludit inani, Luctus mox pariturum.

[a] These lines are a translation of part of a song in the Complete Angler of Isaac Walton, written by John Chalkhill, a friend of Spenser, and a good poet in his time. They are but part of the last stanza, which, that the reader may have it entire, is here given at length:

If the sun's excessive heat Make our bodies swelter, To an osier hedge we get For a friendly shelter! Where in a dike, Perch or pike, Roach or dace, We do chase, Bleak or gudgeon, Without grudging, We are still contented. Or we sometimes pass an hour Under a green willow, That defends us from a shower, Making earth our pillow; Where we may Think and pray, Before death Stops our breath: Other joys Are but toys, And to be lamented.

[a]Quisquis iter tendis, vitreas qua lucidus undas Speluncae late Thamesis praetendit opacae; Marmorea trepidant qua lentae in fornice guttae, Crystallisque latex fractus scintillat acutis; Gemmaque, luxuriae nondum famulata nitenti Splendit, et incoquitur tectum sine fraude metallum; Ingredere O! rerum pura cole mente parentem; Auriferasque auri metuens scrutare cavernas. Ingredere! Egeriae sacrum en tibi panditur antrum! Hic, in se totum, longe per opaca futuri Temporis, Henricum rapuit vis vivida mentis: Hic pia Vindamius traxit suspiria, in ipsa Morte memor patriae; hic Marmonti pectore prima Coelestis fido caluerunt semina flammae. Temnere opes, pretium sceleris, patriamque tueri Fortis, ades; tibi, sponte, patet venerabile limen.

[a] The above lines are a version of Pope's verses on his own grotto, which begin, "Thou, who shall stop where Thames' translucent wave."



GRAECORTUM EPIGRAMMATUM VERSIONES METRICAE.

Pag. 2. Brodaei edit. Bas. ann. 1549. Non Argos pugilem, non me Messana creavit; Patria Sparta mihi est, patria clara virum. Arte valent isti, mihi robo revivere solo est, Convenit ut natis, inclyta Sparta, tuis.

Br. 2. Quandoquidem passim nulla ratione feruntur, Cuncta cinis, cuncta et ludicra, cuncta nihil.

Br. 5. Pectore qui duro, crudos de vite racemos, Venturi exsecuit vascula prima meri, Labraque constrictus, semesos, jamque terendos Sub pedibus, populo praetereunte, jacit. Supplicium huic, quoniam crescentia gaudia laesit, Det Bacchus, dederat quale, Lycurge, tibi. Hae poterant uvae laeto convivia cantu Mulcere, aut pectus triste levare malis.

Br. 8. Fert humeris claudum validis per compita caecus, Hic oculos socio commodat, ille pedes.

Br. 10. Qui, mutare vias ausus terraeque marisque, Trajecit montes nauta, fretumque pedes, Xerxi, tercentum Spartae Mars obstitit acris Militibus; terris sit pelagoque pudor!

Br. 11. Sit tibi, Calliope, Parnassum, cura, tenenti, Alter ut adsit Homerus, adest etenim alter Achilles.

Br. 18. Ad musas Venus haec: Veneri parete, puellae, In vos ne missus spicula tendat amor. Haec musae ad Venerem: sic Marti, diva, mineris, Hue nunquam volitat debilis iste puer.

Br. 19. Prospera sors nec te strepitoso turbine tollat, Nec menti injiciat sordida cura jugum; Nam vita incertis incerta impellitur auris, Omnesque in partes tracta, retracta fluit; Firma manet virtus; virtuti innitere, tutus Per fluctus vitae sic tibi cursus erit.

Br. 24. Hora bonis quasi nunc instet suprema fruaris, Plura ut victurus secula, parce bonis: Divitiis, utrinque cavens, qui tempore parcit, Tempore divitiis utitur, ille sapit.

Br. 24. Nunquam jugera messibus onusta, aut Quos Gyges cumulos habebat auri; Quod vitae satis est, peto, Macrine, Mi, nequid nimis, est nimis probatum.

Br. 24. Non opto aut precibus posco ditescere, paucis Sit contenta mihi vita, dolore carens.

Br. 24 Recta ad pauperiem tendit, cui corpora cordi est Multa alere, et multas aedificare domos.

Br. 24. Tu neque dulce putes alienae accumbere mensae; Nec probrosa avidae grata sit offa gulae; Nec ficto fletu, fictis solvere cachinnis, Arridens domino, collacrymansque tuo; Laetior hand tecum, tecum neque tristior unquam, Sed Miliae ridens, atque dolens Miliae.

Br. 26. Nil non mortale est mortalibus; omne quod est hie Praetereunt, aut hos praeterit omne bonum.

Br. 26. Democrite, invisas homines majore cachinno; Plus tibi ridendum secula nostra dabunt. Heraclite, fluat lacrymarum crebrior imber; Vita hominum nunc plus quod misereris habet. Interea dubito; tecum me causa nec ulla Ridere, aut tecum me lacrymare jubet.

Br. 26. Elige iter vitae, ut possis: rixisque, dolisque, Perstrepit omne forum; cura molesta domi est; Rura labor lassat; mare mille pericula terrent; Verte solum, fient causa timoris opes; Paupertas misera est; multae, cum conjuge, lites Tecta ineunt; coelebs omnia solus ages. Proles aucta gravat, rapta orbat; caeca juventae est Virtus; canities cauta vigore caret. Ergo optent homines, aut nunquam in luminis oras Venisse, aut visa luce repente mori.

Elige iter vitae, ut mavis: prudenua, lausque, Permeat omne forum; vita quieta domi est; Rus ornat natura; levat maris aspera lucrum, Verte solum, donat plena crumena decus; Pauperies latitat; cum conjuge, gaudia multa Tecta ineunt; coelebs impediere minus; Mulcet amor prolis, sopor est sine prole profundus; Praecellit juvenis vi, pietate senex. Nemo optet, nunquam venisse in luminis oras, Aut periisse; scatet vita benigna bonis.

Br. 27. Vita omnis scena est ludusque: aut ludere disce Seria seponens, aut mala dura pati.

Br. 27. Quae, sine morte, fuga est vitae, quam turba malorum Non vitanda gravem, non toleranda facit? Dulcia dat natura quidem, mare, sidera, terras, Lunaque quas, et sol, itque reditque vias. Terror inest aliis, moerorque, et siquid habebis, Forte, boni, ultrices experiere vices.

Br. 27. Terram adii nudus, de terra nudus abibo. Quid labor efficiet? non, nisi nudus, ero.

Br. 27. Natus eram lacrymans, lacrymans e luce recedo: Sunt quibus a lacrymis vix vacat ulla dies. Tale hominum genus est, infirmum, triste, misellum, Quod mors in cineres solvit, et abdit humo.

Br. 29. Quisquis adit lectos, elata uxore, secundos, Naufragus iratas ille retentat aquas.

Br. 30. Foelix ante alios nullius debitor aeris; Hunc sequitur coelebs; tertius, orbe, venis. Nee male res cessit, subito si funere sponsam, Didatus magna dote, recondis humo. His sapiens lectis, Epicurum quaerere frustra Quales sint monades, qua fit inane, sinas.

Br. 31. Optarit quicunque senex sibi longius aevum, Dignus, qui multa in lustra senescat, erit. Cum procul est, optat, cum venit, quisque senectam, Incusat, semper spe meliora videt.

Br. 46. Omnis vita nimis brevis est felicibus, una Nox miseris longi temporis instar habet.

Br. 55. Gratia ter grata est velox, sin forte moretur, Gratia vix restat nomine digna suo.

Br. 56. Seu prece poscatur, seu non, da, Jupiter, omne, Magne, bonum; omne malum, et poscentibus, abnue nobis.

Br. 60. Me, cane vitato, canis excipit alter; eodem In me animo tellus gignit et unda feras, Nec mirum; restat lepori conscendere coelum, Sidereus tamen hie territat, ecce canis!

Br. 70. Telluri arboribus ver frondens, sidera coelo, Graeciae et urbs, urbi est ista propago, decus.

Br. 75. Impia facta patrans, homines fortasse latebis, Non poteris, meditans prava, latere deos.

Br. 75. Antiope satyrum, Danae aurum, Europa juvencum, Et cycnum fecit Leda petita, Jovem.

Br. 92. Aevi sat novi quam sim brevis; astra tuenti, Per certas; stabili lege, voluta vices, Tangitur haud pedibus tellus: conviva deorum Expleor ambrosiis, exhilarorque cibis.

Br. 96. Quod nimium est sit ineptum, hinc, ut dixere priores, Et melli nimio fellis amaror inest.

Br. 103. Puppe gubernatrix sedisti, audacia, prima Divitiis acuens aspera corda virum; Sola rates struis infidas, et dulcis amorem Lucri ulciscendum mox nece sola doces. Aurea secla hominum, quorum spectandus ocellis E longinquo itidem pontus et orcus erat.

Br. 126. Ditescis, credo, quid restat? quicquid habebis In tumulum tecum, morte jubente, trahes? Divitias cumulas, pereuntes negligis horas; Incrementa aevi non cumulare potes.

Br. 120. Mater adulantum, prolesque, pecunia, curae, Teque frui timer est, teque carere dolor.

Br. 126. Me miserum sors omnis habet; florentibus annis, Pauper eram, nummis diffluit area senis; Queis uti poteram quondam, fortuna negavit, Queis uti nequeo, nunc mihi praebet, opes.

Br. 127. Mnemosyne, ut Sappho, mellita voce, canentem Audiit, irata est, ne nova musa foret.

Br. 152. Cum tacet indoctus, sapientior esse videtur, Et morbus tegitur, dum premit ora pudor.

Br. 155. Nunc huic, nunc aliis cedens, cui farra Menippus Credit, Achaemenidae nuper agellus eram. Quod nulli proprium versat fortuna, putabat Ille suum stolidus, nunc putat ille suum.

Br. 156. Non fortuna sibi te gratum tollit in altum; At docet, exemplo, vis sibi quanta, tuo.

Br. 162. Hic, aurum ut reperit, laqueum abjicit; alter ut aurum Non reperit, nectit quem reperit, laqueum.

Br. 167. Vive tuo ex ammo: vario rumore loquetur De te plebs audax, hic bene, et ille male.

Br. 168. Vitae rosa brevis est; properans si carpere nolis, Quaerenti obveniet mox sine flore rubus.

Br. 170. Pulicibus morsus, restincta lampade, stultus Exclamat: nunc me cernere desinitis.

Br. 202, Mendotum pinxit Diodorus, et exit imago, Praeter Menodotura, nullius absimilis.

Br. 205. Haud lavit Phido, haud tetigit, mihi febre calenti In mentem ut venit nominis, interii.

Br. 210. Nycticorax cantat lethale; sed ipsa, canenti Demophilo auscultans, Nycticorax moritur.

Br. 212. Hermem deorum nuncium, pennis levem, Quo rege gaudent Arcades, furem boum, Hujus palestrae qui vigil custos stetit, Clam nocte tollit Aulus, et ridens ait: Praestat magistro saepe discipulus suo.

Br. 223. Qui jacet hic servus vixit: nunc, lumine cassus, Dario magno non minus ille potest.

Br. 227. Funus Alexandri mentitur fama; fidesque Si Phoebo, victor nescit obire diem.

Br. 241. Nauta, quis hoc jaceat, ne percontere, sepulchro, Eveniat tantum mitior unda tibi!

Br. 256. Cur opulentus eges? tua cuncta in foenore ponis: Sic aliis dives, tu tibi pauper agis.

Br. 262. Qui pascis barbam, si crescis mente, Platoni, Hirce, parem nitido te tua barba facit.

Br. 266. Clarus Ioannes, reginae affinis, ab alto Sanguine Anastasii; cuncta sepulta jacent: Et pius, et recti cultor: non illa jacere Dicam; stat virtus non subigenda neci.

Br. 267. Cunctiparens tellus, salve, levis esto pusillo Lysigeni, fuerat non gravis ille tibi.

Br. 285. Naufragus hic jaceo; contra, jacet ecce colonus! Idem orcus terras, sic, pelagoque subest.

Br. 301. Quid salvere jubes me, pessime? Corripe gressus; Est mihi quod non te rideo, plena salus.

Br. 304. Et ferus est Timon sub terris; janitor orci, Cerbere, te morsu ne petat ille, cave.

Br. 307. Vitam a terdecimo sextus mihi finiet annus, Astra mathematicos si modo vera docent. Sufficit hoc votis, flos hic pulcherrimus aevi est, Et senium triplex Nestoris urna capit.

Br. 322. Zosima, quae solo fuit olim corpore serva, Corpore nunc etiam libera facta fuit.

Br. 326. Exiguum en! Priami monumentum; hand ille meretur Quale, sed hostiles, quale dedere manus.

Br. 326. Hector dat gladium Ajaci, dat balteum et Ajax Hectori, et exitio munus utrique fuit.

Br. 344. Ut vis, ponte minax, modo tres discesseris ulnas Ingemina fluctus, ingeminaque sonum.

Br. 344. Naufragus hic jaceo, fidens tamen utere velis; Tutum aliis aequor, me pereunte, fuit.

Br. 398. Heraclitus ego; indoctae ne laedite liuguae Subtile ingenium, quaero, capaxque mei; Unus homo mihi pro soxcentis, turba popelli Pro nullo, clamo nunc tumulatus idem.

Br. 399. Ambraciota, vale lux alma, Cleombrotus infit, Et saltu e muro ditis opaca petit: Triste nihil passus, animi at de sorte Platonis Scripta legens, sola vivere mente cupit.

Br. 399. Servus, Epictetus, mutilato corpore, vixi, Pauperieque Irus, curaque summa deum.

Br. 445. Unde hic Praxiteles? nudam vidistis, Adoni, Et Pari, et Anchisa, non alius, Venerem.

Br. 451. Sufflato accendis quisquis carbone lucernam, Corde meo accendens; ardeo totus ego.

Br. 486. Jupiter hoc templum, ut, siquando relinquit Olympum, Atthide non alius desit Olympus, habet.

Br. 487. Civis et externus grati; domus hospita nescit Quaerere, quis, cujus, quis pater, unde venis.

POMPEII.

Br. 487. Cum fugere haud possit, fractis victoria pennis Te manet, imperii, Roma, perenne decus.

Br. 488. Latrones, alibi locupletum quaerite tecta, Assidet huic, custos, strenua pauperies.

Fortunae malim adversae tolerare procellas; Quam domini ingentis ferre supercilium.

En, Sexto, Sexti meditatur imago, silente; Orator statua est, statuaeque orator imago.

Pulchra est virgiuitas intacta, at vita periret, Omnes si vellent virginitate frui; Nequitiam fugiens, servata contrahe lege Conjugium, ut pro te des hominem patriae.

Fert humeris, venerabile onus, Cythereius heros Per Trojae flammas, densaque tela, patrem: Clamat et Argivis, vetuli, ne tangite; vita Exiguum est Marti, sed mihi grande, lucrum.

Forma animos hominum capit, at, si gratia desit, Non tenet; esca natat pulchra, sed hamus abest,

Cogitat aut loquitur nil vir, nil cogitat uxor, Felici thalamo non, puto, rixa strepit.

Buccina disjecit Thebarum moenia, struxit Quae lyra, quam sibi non concinit harmonia!

Mente senes olim juvenis, Faustine, premebas, Nunc juvenum terres robore corda senex. Laevum at utrumque decus, juveni quod praebuit olim Turba senum, juvenes nunc tribuere seni.

Exceptae hospitio, musae tribuere libellos Herodoto, hospitii praemia, quaeque suum.

Stella mea, observans stellas, dii me aethera faxint Multis ut te oculis sim potis aspicere.

Clara Cheroneae soboles, Plutarche, dicavit Hanc statuam ingenio, Roma benigna, tuo. Das bene collatos, quos Roma et Graecia jactat, Ad divos, paribus passibus, ire duces; Sed similem, Plutarche, tuae describere vitam Non poteras, regio non tulit ulla parem.

Dat tibi Pythagoram pictor; quod ni ipse tacere Pythagoras mallet, vocem habuisset opus.

Prolem Hippi, et sua qua meliorem secula nullum Videre, Archidicen, haec tumulavit humus; Quam, regum sobolem, nuptam, matrem, atque sororem Fecerunt nulli sors titulique gravem.

Cecropidis gravis hic ponor, Martique dicatus, Quo tua signantur gesta, Philippe, lapis. Spreta jacet Marathon, jacet et Salaminia laurus, Omnia dum Macedum gloria et arma premunt. Sint Demosthenica ut jurata cadavera voce, Stabo illis qui sunt, quique fuere, gravis.

Floribus in pratis, legi quos ipse, coronam Contextam variis, do, Rhodoclea, tibi: Hic anemone humet, confert narcissus odores Cum violis; spirant lilia mista rosis. His redimita comas, mores depone superbos, Haec peritura nitent; tu peritura nites!

Murem Asclepiades sub tecto ut vidit avarus, Quid tibi, mus, mecum, dixit, amice, tibi? Mus blandum ridens, respondit, pelle timorem: Hic, bone vir, sedem, nori alimenta, peto.

Saepe tuum in tumulum lacrymarum decidit imber, Quem fundit blando junctus amore dolor; Charus enim cunctis, tanquam, dum vita manebat, Cuique esses natus, cuique sodalis, eras. Heu quam dura preces sprevit, quam surda querelas Parca, juventutem non miserata tuam!

Arti ignis lucem tribui, tamen artis et ignis Nunc ope, supplicii vivit imago mei. Gratia nulla hominum mentes tenet, ista Promethei Munera muneribus, si retulere fabri.

Illa triumphatrix Graium consueta procorum Ante suas agmen Lais habere fores, Hoc Veneri speculum; nolo me cernere qualis Sum nunc, nec possum cernere qualis eram.

Crethida fabellas dulces garrire peritam Prosequitur lacrymis filia moesta Sami: Blandam lanifici sociam sine fine loquacem, Quam tenet hic, cunctas quae manet, alta quies.

Dicite, Causidici, gelido nunc marmore magni Mugitum tumulus comprimit Amphiloci.

Si forsan tumulum quo conditur Eumarus aufers, Nil lucri facies; ossa habet et cinerem.

EPICTETI.

Me, rex deorum, tuque, due, necessitas, Quo, lege vestra, vita me feret mea. Sequar libenter, sin reluctari velim, Fiam scelestus, nec tamen minus sequar.

E THEOCRITO.

Poeta, lector, hic quiescit Hipponax, Si sis scelestus, praeteri, procul, marmor: At te bonum si noris, et bonis natum, Tutum hic sedile, et si placet, sopor tutus.

EUR. MED. 193—203.

Non immerito culpanda venit Proavum vecors insipientia, Qui convivia, lautasque dapes, Hilarare suis jussere modis Cantum, vitae dulce levamen. At nemo feras iras hominum Domibus claris exitiales, Voce aut fidibus pellere docuit; Queis tamen aptam ferre medelam Utile cunctis hoc opus esset; Namque, ubi mensas onerant epulae, Quorsum dulcis luxuria soni? Sat laetitia sine subsidiis, Pectora molli mulcet dubiae Copia coenae.

[Greek:] Tois Araes brotoloighos enhi ptolemoisi memaene, Kahi toios Paphiaen plaesen eroti thean.

The above is a version of a Latin epigram on the famous John duke of Marlborough, by the abbe Salvini, which is as follows:

Haud alio vultu fremuit Mars acer in armis: Haud alio Cypriam percutit ore deam.

The duke was, it seems, remarkably handsome in his person, to which the second line has reference.

SEPTEM AETATES.

Prima parit terras aetas; siccatque secunda; Evocat Abramum dein tertia; quarta relinquit Aegyptum; templo Solomonis quinta supersit; Cyrum sexta timet; laetatur septima Christo. [a]His Tempelmanni numeris descripseris orbem, [b]Cum sex ceiituriis Judaeo millia septem. Myrias[c] AEgypto cessit his septima pingui. Myrias adsciscit sibi nonagesima septem Imperium qua Turca[d] ferox exercet iniquum. Undecies binas decadas et millia septem Sortitur[e] Pelopis tellus quae nomine gaudet. Myriadas decies septem numerare jubebit Pastor Arabs: decies octo sibi Persa requirit. Myriades sibi pulchra duas, duo millia poscit Parthenope. [f]Novies vult tellus mille Sicana. [g]Papa suo regit imperio ter millia quinque. Cum sex centuriis numerat sex millia Tuscus[h]. Centuria Ligures[i] augent duo millia quarta. Centuriae octavam decadem addit Lucca[j] secundae. Ut dicas, spatiis quam latis imperet orbi [k]Russia, myriadas ter denas adde trecentis. [l]Sardiniam cum sexcentis sex millia complent. Cum sexagenis, dum plura recluserit aetas, Myriadas ter mille homini dat terra[m] colendas. Vult sibi vicenas millesima myrias addi, Vicenis quinas, Asiam[n] metata celebrem. Se quinquagenis octingentesima jungit Myrias, ut menti pateat tota Africa[o] doctae. Myriadas septem decies Europa[p] ducentis Et quadragenis quoque ter tria millia jungit. Myriadas denas dat, quinque et millia, sexque Centurias, et tres decades Europa Britannis[q]. Ter tria myriadi conjungit millia quartae, Centuriae quartae decades quinque[r] Anglia nectit. Millia myriadi septem foecunda secundae Et quadragenis decades quinque addit Ierne[s]. Quingentis quadragenis socialis adauget Millia Belga[t] novem. Ter sex centurias Hollandia jactat opima. Undecimum Camber vult septem millibus addi.

[a] To the above lines, (which are unfinished, and can, therefore, be only offered as a fragment,) in the doctor's manuscript, are prefixed the words "Geographia Metrica." As we are referred, in the first of the verses, to Templeman, for having furnished the numerical computations that are the subject of them, his work has been, accordingly, consulted, the title of which is, a new Survey of the Globe; and which professes to give an accurate mensuration of all the empires, kingdoms, and other divisions thereof, in the square miles that they respectively contain. On comparison of the several numbers in these verses, with those set down by Templeman, it appears that nearly half of them are precisely the same; the rest are not quite so exactly done.—For the convenience of the reader, it has been thought right to subjoin each number, as it stands in Templeman's works, to that in Dr. Johnson's verses which refers to it. [b] In this first article that is versified, there is an accurate conformity in Dr. Johnson's number to Templeman's; who sets down the square miles of Palestine at 7,600. [c] The square miles of Egypt are, in Templeman, 140,700. [d] The whole Turkish empire, in Templeman, is computed at 960,057 square miles. [e] In the four following articles, the numbers in Templeman and in Johnson's verses are alike.—We find, accordingly, the Morea, in Templeman, to be set down at 7,220 square miles.—Arabia, at 700,000.—Persia, at 800,000.—and Naples, at 22,000. [f] Sicily, in Templeman, is put down at 9,400. [g] The pope's dominions, at 14,868. [h] Tuscany, at 6,640. [i] Genoa, in Templeman, as in Johnson likewise, is set down at 2,400. [j] Lucca, at 286. [k] The Russian empire, in the 29th plate of Templeman, is set down at 3,303,485 square miles. [l] Sardinia, in Templeman, as likewise in Johnson, 6,600. [m] The habitable world, in Templeman, is computed, in square miles, at 30,666,806 square miles. [n] Asia, at 10,257,487. [o] Africa, at 8,506,208. [p] Europe, at 2,749,349. [q] The British dominions, at 105,634. [r] England, as likewise in Johnson's expression of the number, at 49,450. [s] Ireland, at 27,457. [t] In the three remaining instances, which make the whole that Dr. Johnson appears to have rendered into Latin verse, we find the numbers exactly agreeing with those of Templeman, who makes the square miles of the United Provinces, 9540—of the province of Holland, 1800—and of Wales, 7011.

TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON MILTON.

Quos laudat vates, Graecus, Romanus, et Anglus, Tres tria temporibus secla dedere suis.

Sublime ingenium Graecus; Romanus habebat Carmen grande sonans; Anglus utrumque tulit. Nil majus natura capit: clarare priores Quae potuere duos tertius unus habet.

EPILOGUE TO THE CARMEN SAECULARE OF HORACE; PERFORMED AT FREEMASONS' HALL.

Quae fausta Romae dixit Horatius, Haec fausta vobis dicimus, Angliae Opes, triumphos, et subacti Imperium pelagi precantes.

Such strains as, mingled with the lyre, Could Rome with future greatness fire, Ye sons of England, deign to hear, Nor think our wishes less sincere. May ye the varied blessings share Of plenteous peace and prosp'rous war; And o'er the globe extend your reign, Unbounded masters of the main!

TRANSLATION OF A WELSH EPITAPH (IN HERBERT'S TRAVELS) ON PRINCE MADOCK.

Inclytus hic haeres magni requiescit Oeni, Confessas tantum mente, manuque, patrem; Servilem tuti cultum contempsit agelli, Et petiit terras, per freta longa, novas.



THE HISTORY OF RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABISSINIA.

PREFATORY OBSERVATIONS.

The following incomparable tale was published in 1759; and the early familiarity with eastern manners, which Johnson derived from his translation of father Lobo's travels into Abissinia, may be presumed to have led him to fix his opening scene in that country; while Rassela Christos, the general of sultan Sequed, mentioned in that work, may have suggested the name of his speculative prince. Rasselas was written in the evenings of a single week, and sent to the press, in portions, with the amiable view of defraying the funeral expenses of the author's aged mother, and discharging her few remaining debts. The sum, however, which he received for it, does not seem large, to those who know its subsequent popularity. None of his works has been more widely circulated; and the admiration, which it has attracted, in almost every country of Europe, proves, that, with all its depression and sadness, it does utter a voice, that meets with an assenting answer in the hearts of all who have tried life, and found its emptiness. Johnson's view of our lot on earth was always gloomy, and the circumstances, under which Rasselas was composed, were calculated to add a deepened tinge of melancholy to its speculations on human folly, misery, or malignity. Many of the subjects discussed, are known to have been those which had agitated Johnson's mind. Among them is the question, whether the departed ever revisit the places that knew them on earth, and how far they may take an interest in the welfare of those, over whom they watched, when here. We shall elsewhere have to contemplate the moralist, standing on the border of his mother's grave, and asking, with anxious agony, whether that dark bourn, once passed, terminated for ever the cares of maternity and love[a]. The frivolous and the proud, who think not, or acknowledge not, that there are secrets, in both matter and mind, of which their philosophy has not dreamed, may smile at what they may, in their derision, term such weak and idle inquiries. But on them, the most powerful minds that ever illuminated this world, have fastened, with an intense curiosity; and, owning their fears, or their ignorance, have not dared to disavow their belief[b].

It is not to be denied, that Rasselas displays life, as one unvaried series of disappointments, and leaves the mind, at its close, in painful depression. This effect has been considered an evil, and regarded even as similar to that produced by the doctrines of Voltaire, Bolingbroke, and Rousseau, who combined every thing venerable on earth with ridicule, treated virtue and vice, with equal contemptuous indifference, and laid bare, with cruel mockery, the vanity of all mortal wishes, prospects, and pursuits. Their motive, for all this, we need not pause, in this place, to examine. But a distinction may be made between the melancholy of the heart, and the melancholy of the mind: while the latter is sceptical, sour, and misanthropic, the former is passionate, tender, and religious. Those who are under the influence of the one, become inactive, morose, or heedless: detecting the follies of the wisest and the frailties of the best, they scoff at the very name of virtue; they spurn, as visionary and weak, every attempt to meliorate man's condition, and from their conviction of the earthward tendency of his mind, they bound his destinies by this narrow world and its concerns. But those whose hearts are penetrated with a feeling for human infirmity and sorrow, are benevolent and active; considering man, as the victim of sin, and woe, and death, for a cause which reason cannot unfold, but which religion promises to terminate, they sooth the short-lived disappointments of life, by pointing to a loftier and more lasting state. Candide is the book of the one party, Rasselas of the other. They appeared nearly together; they exhibit the same picture of change, and misery, and crime. But the one demoralized a continent, and gave birth to lust, and rapine, and bloodshed; the other has blessed many a heart, and gladdened the vale of sorrow, with many a rill of pure and living water. Voltaire may be likened to the venomous toad of eastern allegory, which extracts a deadly poison from that sunbeam which bears health, and light, and life to all beside: the philosopher, in Rasselas, like some holy and aged man, who has well nigh run his course, in recounting the toils and perils of his pilgrimage, may sadden the young heart, and crush the fond hopes of inexperience; but, while he wounds, he presents the antidote and the balm, and tells, where promises will be realized, and hopes will no more be disappointed. We have ventured to detain our readers thus long from Rasselas itself, because, from its similar view of life with the sceptical school, many well-intentioned men have apprehended, its effects might be the same. We have, therefore, attempted briefly to distinguish the sources whence these different writings have issued, and, we trust, we have pointed out their remoteness from each other. And we do not dwell on the subject, at greater length, because Johnson's writings, in various parts, will require our attention on this particular head. To be restless and weary of the dull details and incomplete enjoyments of life, is common to all lofty minds. Frederick of Prussia sought, in the bosom of a cold philosophy, to chill every generous impulse, and each warm aspiration after immortality; but he painfully felt, how inefficient was grandeur, or power, to fill the heart, and plaintively exclaimed to Maupertuis, "Que notre vie est peu de chose;" all is vanity. The philosophy of Rasselas, however, though it pronounces on the unsatisfactory nature of all human enjoyments, and though its perusal may check the worldling in his mirth, and bring down the mighty in his pride, does not, with the philosophic conqueror, sullenly despair, but gently sooths the mourner, by the prospect of a final recompense and repose. Its pages inculcate the same lesson, as those of the Rambler, but "the precept, which is tedious in a formal essay, may acquire attractions in a tale, and the sober charms of truth be divested of their austerity by the graces of innocent fiction[c]." We may observe, in conclusion, that the abrupt termination of Rasselas, so left, according to sir John Hawkins, by its author, to admit of continuation, and its unbroken gloom, induced Miss E. Cornelia Knight to present to the public a tale, entitled Dinarbas, to exhibit the fairer view of life.

FOOTNOTES [a] See Idler, No. 41, and his letter to Mr. Elphinstone, on the death of his mother. [b] Aristot. Ethic. Nich. lib. i. c. 10, 11. In Barrow's sermon on the "the least credulous or fanciful of men." [c] See Drake's Speculator, 1790, No. 1.

THE HISTORY

OF

RASSELAS, PRINCE OF ABISSINIA.



CHAP. I.

DESCRIPTION OF A PALACE IN A VALLEY.

Ye, who listen, with credulity, to the whispers of fancy, and pursue, with eagerness, the phantoms of hope; who expect, that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of Rasselas, prince of Abissinia.

Rasselas was the fourth son of the mighty emperour, in whose dominions the father of waters begins his course; whose bounty pours down the streams of plenty, and scatters over half the world the harvests of Egypt.

According to the custom, which has descended, from age to age, among the monarchs of the torrid zone, Rasselas was confined in a private palace, with the other sons and daughters of Abissinian royalty, till the order of succession should call him to the throne.

The place, which the wisdom, or policy, of antiquity had destined for the residence of the Abissinan princes, was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Amhara, surrounded, on every side, by mountains, of which the summits overhang the middle part. The only passage, by which it could be entered, was a cavern that passed under a rock, of which it has been long disputed, whether it was the work of nature, or of human industry. The outlet of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and the mouth, which opened into the valley, was closed with gates of iron, forged by the artificers of ancient days, so massy, that no man could, without the help of engines, open or shut them.

From the mountains, on every side, rivulets descended, that filled all the valley with verdure and fertility, and formed a lake in the middle, inhabited by fish of every species, and frequented by every fowl, whom nature has taught to dip the wing in water. This lake discharged its superfluities by a stream, which entered a dark cleft of the mountain, on the northern side, and fell, with dreadful noise, from precipice to precipice, till it was heard no more.

The sides of the mountains were covered with trees; the banks of the brooks were diversified with flowers; every blast shook spices from the rocks; and every month dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals that bite the grass, or browse the shrub, whether wild or tame, wandered in this extensive circuit, secured from beasts of prey, by the mountains which confined them. On one part, were flocks and herds feeding in the pastures; on another, all the beasts of chase frisking in the lawns; the sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks, the subtle monkey frolicking in the trees, and the solemn elephant reposing in the shade. All the diversities of the world were brought together, the blessings of nature were collected, and its evils extracted and excluded.

The valley, wide and fruitful, supplied its inhabitants with the necessaries of life; and all delights and superfluities were added, at the annual visit which the emperour paid his children, when the iron gate was opened to the sound of musick; and during eight days every one, that resided in the valley, was required to propose whatever might contribute to make seclusion pleasant, to fill up the vacancies of attention, and lessen the tediousness of time. Every desire was immediately granted. All the artificers of pleasure were called to gladden the festivity; the musicians exerted the power of harmony, and the dancers showed their activity before the princes, in hope that they should pass their lives in this blissful captivity, to which those only were admitted, whose performance was thought able to add novelty to luxury. Such was the appearance of security and delight, which this retirement afforded, that they, to whom it was new, always desired, that it might be perpetual; and, as those, on whom the iron gate had once closed, were never suffered to return, the effect of long experience could not be known. Thus every year produced new schemes of delight, and new competitors for imprisonment.

The palace stood on an eminence, raised about thirty paces above the surface of the lake. It was divided into many squares or courts, built with greater or less magnificence, according to the rank of those for whom they were designed. The roofs were turned into arches of massy stone, joined by a cement that grew harder by time, and the building stood, from century to century, deriding the solstitial rains and equinoctial hurricanes, without need of reparation.

This house, which was so large, as to be fully known to none, but some ancient officers, who successively inherited the secrets of the place, was built, as if suspicion herself had dictated the plan. To every room there was an open and secret passage, every square had a communication with the rest, either from the upper stories, by private galleries, or, by subterranean passages, from the lower apartments. Many of the columns had unsuspected cavities, in which a long race of monarchs had reposited their treasures. They then closed up the opening with marble, which was never to be removed, but in the utmost exigencies of the kingdom; and recorded their accumulations in a book, which was itself concealed in a tower not entered, but by the emperour, attended by the prince, who stood next in succession.



CHAP. II.

THE DISCONTENT OP RASSELAS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY.

Here the sons and daughters of Abissinia, lived only to know the soft vicissitudes of pleasure and repose, attended by all that were skilful to delight, and gratified with whatever the senses can enjoy. They wandered in gardens of fragrance, and slept in the fortresses of security. Every art was practised, to make them pleased with their own condition. The sages, who instructed them, told them of nothing but the miseries of publick life, and described all beyond the mountains, as regions of calamity, where discord was always raging, and where man preyed upon man.

To heighten their opinion of their own felicity, they were daily entertained with songs, the subject of which was the happy valley. Their appetites were excited, by frequent enumerations of different enjoyments, and revelry and merriment was the business of every hour, from the dawn of morning, to the close of even.

These methods were, generally, successful; few of the princes had ever wished to enlarge their bounds, but passed their lives in full conviction, that they had all within their reach that art or nature could bestow, and pitied those, whom fate had excluded from this seat of tranquillity, as the sport of chance, and the slaves of misery.

Thus, they rose in the morning, and lay down at night, pleased with each other and with themselves, all but Rasselas, who, in the twenty-sixth year of his age, began to withdraw himself from their pastimes and assemblies, and to delight in solitary walks, and silent meditation. He often sat before tables, covered with luxury, and forgot to taste the dainties that were placed before him: he rose abruptly in the midst of the song, and hastily retired beyond the sound of musick. His attendants observed the change, and endeavoured to renew his love of pleasure: he neglected their officiousness, repulsed their invitations, and spent day after day, on the banks of rivulets, sheltered with trees; where he sometimes listened to the birds in the branches, sometimes observed the fish playing in the stream, and anon cast his eyes upon the pastures and mountains filled with animals, of which some were biting the herbage, and some sleeping among the bushes.

This singularity of his humour made him much observed. One of the sages, in whose conversation he had formerly delighted, followed him secretly, in hope of discovering the cause of his disquiet. Rasselas, who knew not that any one was near him, having, for some time, fixed his eyes upon the goats that were browsing among the rocks, began to compare their condition with his own. "What," said he, "makes the difference between man and all the rest of the animal creation? Every beast, that strays beside me, has the same corporal necessities with myself: he is hungry, and crops the grass, he is thirsty and drinks the stream, his thirst and hunger are appeased, he is satisfied and sleeps: he rises again and is hungry, he is again fed, and is at rest. I am hungry and thirsty, like him, but when thirst and hunger cease, I am not at rest; I am, like him, pained with want, but am not, like him, satisfied with fulness. The intermediate hours are tedious and gloomy; I long again to be hungry, that I may again quicken my attention. The birds peck the berries, or the corn, and fly away to the groves, where they sit, in seeming happiness, on the branches, and waste their lives in tuning one unvaried series of sounds. I, likewise, can call the lutanist and the singer, but the sounds, that pleased me yesterday, weary me to-day, and will grow yet more wearisome to-morrow. I can discover within me no power of perception, which is not glutted with its proper pleasure, yet I do not feel myself delighted. Man surely has some latent sense, for which this place affords no gratification; or he has some desires, distinct from sense, which must be satisfied, before he can be happy."

After this, he lifted up his head, and seeing the moon rising, walked towards the palace. As he passed through the fields, and saw the animals around him, "Ye," said he, "are happy, and need not envy me, that walk thus among you, burdened with myself; nor do I, ye gentle beings, envy your felicity; for it is not the felicity of man. I have many distresses, from which ye are free; I fear pain, when I do not feel it; I sometimes shrink at evils recollected, and sometimes start at evils anticipated: surely the equity of providence has balanced peculiar sufferings with peculiar enjoyments."

With observations like these, the prince amused himself, as he returned, uttering them with a plaintive voice, yet with a look, that discovered him to feel some complacence in his own perspicacity, and to receive some solace of the miseries of life, from consciousness of the delicacy with which he felt, and the eloquence with which he bewailed them. He mingled, cheerfully, in the diversions of the evening, and all rejoiced to find, that his heart was lightened.



CHAP. III.

THE WANTS OF HIM THAT WANTS NOTHING.

On the next day, his old instructor, imagining that he had now made himself acquainted with his disease of mind, was in hope of curing it by counsel, and officiously sought an opportunity of conference, which the prince, having long considered him, as one whose intellects were exhausted, was not very willing to afford: "Why," said he, "does this man thus obtrude upon me? shall I be never suffered to forget those lectures, which pleased, only while they were new, and to become new again, must be forgotten?" He then walked into the wood, and composed himself to his usual meditations, when, before his thoughts had taken any settled form, he perceived his pursuer at his side, and was, at first, prompted, by his impatience, to go hastily away; but, being unwilling to offend a man, whom he had once reverenced, and still loved, he invited him to sit down with him on the bank.

The old man, thus encouraged, began to lament the change, which had been lately observed in the prince, and to inquire, why he so often retired from the pleasures of the palace, to loneliness and silence. "I fly from pleasure," said the prince, "because pleasure has ceased to please; I am lonely, because I am miserable, and am unwilling to cloud, with my presence, the happiness of others."

"You, sir," said the sage, "are the first who has complained of misery in the happy valley. I hope to convince you, that your complaints have no real cause. You are here in full possession of all that the emperour of Abissinia can bestow; here is neither labour to be endured, nor danger to be dreaded, yet here is all that labour or danger can procure or purchase. Look round, and tell me which of your wants is without supply: if you want nothing, how are you unhappy?"

"That I want nothing," said the prince, "or that I know not what I want, is the cause of my complaint; if I had any known want, I should have a certain wish; that wish would excite endeavour, and I should not then repine to see the sun move so slowly towards the western mountain, or lament when the day breaks, and sleep will no longer hide me from myself. When I see the kids and the lambs chasing one another, I fancy, that. I should be happy, if I had something to pursue. But, possessing all that I can want, I find one day and one hour exactly like another, except that the latter is still more tedious than the former. Let your experience inform me, how the day may now seem as short as in my childhood, while nature was yet fresh, and every moment showed me what I never had observed before. I have already enjoyed too much; give me something to desire."

The old man was surprised at this new species of affliction, and knew not what to reply, yet was unwilling to be silent. "Sir," said he, "if you had seen the miseries of the world, you would know how to value your present state." "Now," said the prince, "you have given me something to desire; I shall long to see the miseries of the world, since the sight of them is necessary to happiness."



CHAP. IV.

THE PRINCE CONTINUES TO GRIEVE AND MUSE.

At this time the sound of musick proclaimed the hour of repast, and the conversation was concluded. The old man went away, sufficiently discontented, to find that his reasonings had produced the only conclusion which they were intended to prevent. But, in the decline of life, shame and grief are of short duration; whether it be, that we bear easily what we have borne long, or that, finding ourselves in age less regarded, we less regard others; or that we look with slight regard upon afflictions, to which we know that the hand of death is about to put an end.

The prince, whose views were extended to a wider space, could not speedily quiet his emotions. He had been before terrified at the length of life which nature promised him, because he considered, that in a long time much must be endured; he now rejoiced in his youth, because in many years much might be done.

This first beam of hope, that had been ever darted into his mind, rekindled youth in his cheeks, and doubled the lustre of his eyes. He was fired with the desire of doing something, though he knew not yet, with distinctness, either end or means.

He was now no longer gloomy and unsocial; but, considering himself as master of a secret stock of happiness, which he could enjoy only by concealing it, he affected to be busy in all schemes of diversion, and endeavoured to make others pleased with the state, of which he himself was weary. But pleasures never can be so multiplied or continued, as not to leave much of life unemployed; there were many hours, both of the night and day, which he could spend, without suspicion, in solitary thought. The load of life was much lightened: he went eagerly into the assemblies, because he supposed the frequency of his presence necessary to the success of his purposes; he retired gladly to privacy, because he had now a subject of thought.

His chief amusement was to picture to himself that world which he had never seen; to place himself in various conditions; to be entangled in imaginary difficulties, and to be engaged in wild adventures: but his benevolence always terminated his projects in the relief of distress, the detection of fraud, the defeat of oppression, and the diffusion of happiness.

Thus passed twenty months of the life of Rasselas. He busied himself so intensely in visionary bustle, that he forgot his real solitude, and, amidst hourly preparations for the various incidents of human affairs, neglected to consider, by what means he should mingle with mankind.

One day, as he was sitting on a bank, he feigned to himself an orphan virgin, robbed of her little portion by a treacherous lover, and crying after him, for restitution and redress. So strongly was the image impressed upon his mind, that he started up in the maid's defence, and ran forward to seize the plunderer, with all the eagerness of real pursuit. Fear naturally quickens the flight of guilt: Rasselas could not catch the fugitive with his utmost efforts; but, resolving to weary, by perseverance, him whom he could not surpass in speed, he pressed on till the foot of the mountain stopped his course.

Here he recollected himself, and smiled at his own useless impetuosity. Then, raising his eyes to the mountain, "This," said he, "is the fatal obstacle that hinders, at once, the enjoyment of pleasure, and the exercise of virtue. How long is it that my hopes and wishes have flown beyond this boundary of my life, which, yet, I never have attempted to surmount!"

Struck with this reflection, he sat down to muse; and remembered, that, since he first resolved to escape from his confinement, the sun had passed twice over him in his annual course. He now felt a degree of regret, with which he had never been before acquainted. He considered, how much might have been done in the time which had passed, and left nothing real behind it. He compared twenty months with the life of man. "In life," said he, "is not to be counted the ignorance of infancy, or imbecility of age. We are long, before we are able to think, and we soon cease from the power of acting. The true period of human existence may be reasonably estimated at forty years, of which I have mused away the four and twentieth part. What I have lost was certain, for I have certainly possessed it; but of twenty months to come, who can assure me?"

The consciousness of his own folly pierced him deeply, and he was long before he could be reconciled to himself. "The rest of my time," said he, "has been lost, by the crime or folly of my ancestors, and the absurd institutions of my country; I remember it with disgust, yet without remorse: but the months that have passed, since new light darted into my soul, since I formed a scheme of reasonable felicity, have been squandered by my own fault. I have lost that which can never be restored: I have seen the sun rise and set for twenty months, an idle gazer on the light of heaven: in this time, the birds have left the nest of their mother, and committed themselves to the woods and to the skies: the kid has forsaken the teat, and learned, by degrees, to climb the rocks, in quest of independent sustenance. I only have made no advances, but am still helpless and ignorant. The moon, by more than twenty changes, admonished me of the flux of life; the stream, that rolled before my feet, upbraided my inactivity. I sat feasting on intellectual luxury, regardless alike of the examples of the earth, and the instructions of the planets. Twenty months are passed; who shall restore them?"

These sorrowful meditations fastened upon his mind; he passed four months, in resolving to lose no more time in idle resolves, and was awakened to more vigorous exertion, by hearing a maid, who had broken a porcelain cup, remark, that what cannot be repaired is not to be regretted.

This was obvious; and Rasselas reproached himself, that he had not discovered it, having not known, or not considered, how many useful hints are obtained by chance, and how often the mind, hurried by her own ardour to distant views, neglects the truths that lie open before her. He, for a few hours, regretted his regret, and from that time bent his whole mind upon the means of escaping from the valley of happiness.



CHAP. V.

THE PRINCE MEDITATES HIS ESCAPE.

He now found, that it would be very difficult to effect that which it was very easy to suppose effected. When he looked round about him, he saw himself confined by the bars of nature, which had never yet been broken, and by the gate, through which none, that once had passed it, were ever able to return. He was now impatient as an eagle in a grate. He passed week after week in clambering the mountains, to see if there was any aperture which the bushes might conceal, but found all the summits inaccessible by their prominence. The iron gate he despaired to open; for it was not only secured with all the power of art, but was always watched by successive sentinels, and was, by its position, exposed to the perpetual observation of all the inhabitants.

He then examined the cavern through which the waters of the lake were discharged; and, looking down, at a time when the sun shone strongly upon its mouth, he discovered it to be full of broken rocks, which, though they permitted the stream to flow through many narrow passages, would stop any body of solid bulk. He returned discouraged and dejected; but, having now known the blessing of hope, resolved never to despair.

In these fruitless searches he spent ten months. The time, however, passed cheerfully away: in the morning he rose with new hope, in the evening applauded his own diligence, and in the night slept sound after his fatigue. He met a thousand amusements, which beguiled his labour, and diversified his thoughts. He discerned the various instincts of animals, and properties of plants, and found the place replete with wonders, of which he purposed to solace himself with the contemplation, if he should never be able to accomplish his flight; rejoicing that his endeavours, though yet unsuccessful, had supplied him with a source of inexhaustible inquiry.

But his original curiosity was not yet abated; he resolved to obtain some knowledge of the ways of men. His wish still continued, but his hope grew less. He ceased to survey any longer the walls of his prison, and spared to search, by new toils, for interstices which he knew could not be found; yet determined to keep his design always in view, and lay hold on any expedient that time should offer.



CHAP. VI.

A DISSERTATION ON THE ART OF FLYING.

Among the artists that had been allured into the happy valley, to labour for the accommodation and pleasure of its inhabitants, was a man eminent for his knowledge of the mechanick powers, who had contrived many engines, both of use and recreation. By a wheel, which the stream turned, he forced the water into a tower, whence it was distributed to all the apartments of the palace. He erected a pavilion in the garden, around which he kept the air always cool by artificial showers. One of the groves, appropriated to the ladies, was ventilated by fans, to which the rivulet, that ran through it, gave a constant motion; and instruments of soft musick were placed at proper distances, of which some played by the impulse of the wind, and some by the power of the stream.

This artist was, sometimes, visited by Rasselas, who was pleased with every kind of knowledge, imagining that the time would come, when all his acquisitions should be of use to him in the open world. He came one day to amuse himself in his usual manner, and found the master busy in building a sailing chariot: he saw that the design was practicable upon a level surface, and, with expressions of great esteem, solicited its completion. The workman was pleased to find himself so much regarded by the prince, and resolved to gain yet higher honours. "Sir," said he, "you have seen but a small part of what the mechanick sciences can perform. I have been long of opinion, that instead of the tardy conveyance of ships and chariots, man might use the swifter migration of wings; that the fields of air are open to knowledge, and that only ignorance and idleness need crawl upon the ground."

This hint rekindled the prince's desire of passing the mountains: having seen what the mechanist had already performed, he was willing to fancy that he could do more; yet resolved to inquire further, before he suffered hope to afflict him by disappointment. "I am afraid," said he to the artist, "that your imagination prevails over your skill, and that you now tell me rather what you wish, than what you know. Every animal has his element assigned him: the birds have the air, and man and beasts the earth."—"So," replied the mechanist, "fishes have the water, in which, yet, beasts can swim by nature, and men by art. He that can swim needs not despair to fly: to swim is to fly in a grosser fluid, and to fly is to swim in a subtler. We are only to proportion our power of resistance to the different density of matter through which we are to pass. You will be, necessarily, upborne by the air, if you can renew any impulse upon it, faster than the air can recede from the pressure."

"But the exercise of swimming," said the prince, "is very laborious; the strongest limbs are soon wearied; I am afraid, the act of flying will be yet more violent, and wings will be of no great use, unless we can fly further than we can swim."

"The labour of rising from the ground," said the artist, "will be great, as we see it in the heavier domestick fowls; but as we mount higher, the earth's attraction, and the body's gravity, will be gradually diminished, till we shall arrive at a region, where the man will float in the air without any tendency to fall; no care will then be necessary but to move forwards, which the gentlest impulse will effect. You, sir, whose curiosity is so extensive, will easily conceive with what pleasure a philosopher, furnished with wings, and hovering in the sky, would see the earth, and all its inhabitants, rolling beneath him, and presenting to him, successively, by its diurnal motion, all the countries within the same parallel. How must it amuse the pendent spectator to see the moving scene of land and ocean, cities and deserts! To survey, with equal security, the marts of trade, and the fields of battle; mountains infested by barbarians, and fruitful regions gladdened by plenty, and lulled by peace! How easily shall we then trace the Nile through all its passage; pass over to distant regions, and examine the face of nature, from one extremity of the earth to the other!"

"All this," said the prince, "is much to be desired; but I am afraid, that no man will be able to breathe in these regions of speculation and tranquillity. I have been told, that respiration is difficult upon lofty mountains, yet, from these precipices, though so high as to produce great tenuity of air, it is very easy to fall; therefore, I suspect, that from any height, where life can be supported, there may be danger of too quick descent."

"Nothing," replied the artist, "will ever be attempted, if all possible objections must be first overcome. If you will favour my project, I will try the first flight at my own hazard. I have considered the structure of all volant animals, and find the folding continuity of the bat's wings most easily accommodated to the human form. Upon this model, I shall begin my task tomorrow, and in a year, expect to tower into the air beyond the malice and pursuit of man. But I will work only on this condition, that the art shall not be divulged, and that you shall not require me to make wings for any but ourselves."

"Why," said Rasselas, "should you envy others so great an advantage? All skill ought to be exerted for universal good; every man has owed much to others, and ought to repay the kindness that he has received."

"If men were all virtuous," returned the artist, "I should, with great alacrity, teach them all to fly. But what would be the security of the good, if the bad could, at pleasure, invade them from the sky? Against an army sailing through the clouds, neither walls, nor mountains, nor seas, could afford any security. A flight of northern savages might hover in the wind, and light, at once, with irresistible violence, upon the capital of a fruitful region, that was rolling under them. Even this valley, the retreat of princes, the abode of happiness, might be violated by the sudden descent of some of the naked nations, that swarm on the coast of the southern sea."

The prince promised secrecy, and waited for the performance, not wholly hopeless of success. He visited the work, from time to time, observed its progress, and remarked many ingenious contrivances, to facilitate motion, and unite levity with strength. The artist was every day more certain, that he should leave vultures and eagles behind him, and the contagion of his confidence seized upon the prince.

In a year the wings were finished, and, on a morning appointed, the maker appeared, furnished for flight, on a little promontory: he waved his pinions awhile, to gather air, then leaped from his stand, and, in an instant, dropped into the lake. His wings, which were of no use in the air, sustained him in the water, and the prince drew him to land, half dead with terrour and vexation.[a]

[a] See Rambler, No. 199, and note.

CHAP. VII.

THE PRINCE FINDS A MAN OF LEARNING.

The prince was not much afflicted by this disaster, having suffered himself to hope for a happier event, only because he had no other means of escape in view. He still persisted in his design to leave the happy valley by the first opportunity.

His imagination was now at a stand; he had no prospect of entering into the world; and, notwithstanding all his endeavours to support himself, discontent, by degrees, preyed upon him, and he began again to lose his thoughts in sadness, when the rainy season, which, in these countries, is periodical, made it inconvenient to wander in the woods.

The rain continued longer, and with more violence, than had been ever known: the clouds broke on the surrounding mountains, and the torrents streamed into the plain on every side, till the cavern was too narrow to discharge the water. The lake overflowed its banks, and all the level of the valley was covered with the inundation. The eminence, on which the palace was built, and some other spots of rising ground, were all that the eye could now discover. The herds and flocks left the pastures, and both the wild beasts and the tame retreated to the mountains.

This inundation confined all the princes to domestick amusements, and the attention of Rasselas was particularly seized by a poem, which Imlac rehearsed, upon the various conditions of humanity. He commanded the poet to attend him in his apartment, and recite his verses a second time; then entering into familiar talk, he thought himself happy in having found a man who knew the world so well, and could so skilfully paint the scenes of life. He asked a thousand questions about things, to which, though common to all other mortals, his confinement, from childhood, had kept him a stranger. The poet pitied his ignorance, and loved his curiosity, and entertained him, from day to day, with novelty and instruction, so that the prince regretted the necessity of sleep, and longed till the morning should renew his pleasure.

As they were sitting together, the prince commanded Imlac to relate his history, and to tell by what accident he was forced, or by what motive induced, to close his life in the happy valley. As he was going to begin his narrative, Rasselas was called to a concert, and obliged to restrain his curiosity till the evening.

CHAP. VIII.

THE HISTORY OF IMLAC.

The close of the day is, in the regions of the torrid zone, the only season of diversion and entertainment, and it was, therefore, midnight before the musick ceased, and the princesses retired. Rasselas then called for his companion, and required him to begin the story of his life.

"Sir," said Imlac, "my history will not be long; the life, that is devoted to knowledge, passes silently away, and is very little diversified by events. To talk in publick, to think in solitude, to read and hear, to inquire, and answer inquiries, is the business of a scholar. He wanders about the world without pomp or terrour, and is neither known nor valued but by men like himself.

"I was born in the kingdom of Goiama, at no great distance from the fountain of the Nile. My father was a wealthy merchant, who traded between the inland countries of Africk and the ports of the Red sea. He was honest, frugal, and diligent, but of mean sentiments, and narrow comprehension; he desired only to be rich, and to conceal his riches, lest he should be spoiled by the governours of the province."

"Surely," said the prince, "my father must be negligent of his charge, if any man, in his dominions, dares take that which belongs to another. Does he not know, that kings are accountable for injustice permitted, as well as done? If I were emperour, not the meanest of my subjects should be oppressed with impunity. My blood boils, when I am told that a merchant durst not enjoy his honest gains, for fear of losing them by the rapacity of power. Name the governour, who robbed the people, that I may declare his crimes to the emperour."

"Sir," said Imlac, "your ardour is the natural effect of virtue animated by youth: the time will come, when you will acquit your father, and, perhaps, hear with less impatience of the governour. Oppression is, in the Abissinian dominions, neither frequent nor tolerated; but no form of government has been yet discovered, by which cruelty can be wholly prevented. Subordination supposes power on one part, and subjection on the other; and if power be in the hands of men, it will, sometimes, be abused. The vigilance of the supreme magistrate may do much, but much will still remain undone. He can never know all the crimes that are committed, and can seldom punish all that he knows."

"This," said the prince, "I do not understand, but I had rather hear thee than dispute. Continue thy narration."

"My father," proceeded Imlac, "originally intended that I should have no other education, than such as might qualify me for commerce; and, discovering in me great strength of memory, and quickness of apprehension, often declared his hope, that I should be, some time, the richest man in Abissinia."

"Why," said the prince, "did thy father desire the increase of his wealth, when it was already greater than he durst discover or enjoy? I am unwilling to doubt thy veracity, yet inconsistencies cannot both be true."

"Inconsistencies," answered Imlac, "cannot both be right, but, imputed to man, they may both be true. Yet diversity is not inconsistency. My father might expect a time of greater security. However, some desire is necessary to keep life in motion, and he, whose real wants are supplied, must admit those of fancy."

"This," said the prince, "I can, in some measure, conceive. I repent that I interrupted thee."

"With this hope," proceeded Imlac, "he sent me to school; but when I had once found the delight of knowledge, and felt the pleasure of intelligence and the pride of invention, I began, silently, to despise riches, and determined to disappoint the purpose of my father, whose grossness of conception raised my pity. I was twenty years old before his tenderness would expose me to the fatigue of travel, in which time I had been instructed, by successive masters, in all the literature of my native country. As every hour taught me something new, I lived in a continual course of gratifications; but, as I advanced towards manhood, I lost much of the reverence with which I had been used to look on my instructers; because, when the lesson was ended, I did not find them wiser or better than common men.

"At length my father resolved to initiate me in commerce, and, opening one of his subterranean treasuries, counted out ten thousand pieces of gold. This, young man, said he, is the stock with which you must negotiate. I began with less than the fifth part, and you see how diligence and parsimony have increased it. This is your own, to waste or to improve. If you squander it by negligence or caprice, you must wait for my death, before you will be rich: if, in four years, you double your stock, we will thenceforward let subordination cease, and live together as friends and partners; for he shall always be equal with me, who is equally skilled in the art of growing rich.

"We laid our money upon camels, concealed in bales of cheap goods, and travelled to the shore of the Red sea. When I cast my eye on the expanse of waters, my heart bounded like that of a prisoner escaped. I felt an unextinguishable curiosity kindle in my mind, and resolved to snatch this opportunity of seeing the manners of other nations, and of learning sciences unknown in Abissinia.

"I remembered that my father had obliged me to the improvement of my stock, not by a promise, which I ought not to violate, but by a penalty, which I was at liberty to incur; and, therefore, determined to gratify my predominant desire, and, by drinking at the fountains of knowledge, to quench the thirst of curiosity.

"As I was supposed to trade without connexion with my father, it was easy for me to become acquainted with the master of a ship, and procure a passage to some other country. I had no motives of choice to regulate my voyage; it was sufficient for me, that, wherever I wandered, I should see a country, which I had not seen before. I, therefore, entered a ship bound for Surat, having left a letter for my father, declaring my intention.

CHAP. IX.

THE HISTORY OF IMLAC CONTINUED.

"When I first entered upon the world of waters, and lost sight of land, I looked round about me with pleasing terrour, and, thinking my soul enlarged by the boundless prospect, imagined that I could gaze round for ever without satiety; but, in a short time, I grew weary of looking on barren uniformity, where I could only see again what I had already seen. I then descended into the ship, and doubted, for awhile, whether all my future pleasures would not end like this, in disgust and disappointment. Yet, surely, said I, the ocean and the land are very different; the only variety of water is rest and motion, but the earth has mountains and valleys, deserts and cities; it is inhabited by men of different customs and contrary opinions; and I may hope to find variety in life, though I should miss it in nature.

"With this thought I quieted my mind, and amused myself during the voyage, sometimes by learning from the sailors the art of navigation, which I have never practised, and sometimes by forming schemes for my conduct in different situations, in not one of which I have been ever placed.

"I was almost weary of my naval amusements, when we landed safely at Surat. I secured my money, and, purchasing some commodities for show, joined myself to a caravan that was passing into the inland country. My companions, for some reason or other, conjecturing that I was rich, and, by my inquiries and admiration, finding that I was ignorant, considered me as a novice, whom they had a right to cheat, and who was to learn, at the usual expense, the art of fraud. They exposed me to the theft of servants, and the exaction of officers, and saw me plundered, upon false pretences, without any advantage to themselves, but that of rejoicing in the superiority of their own knowledge."

"Stop a moment," said the prince. "Is there such depravity in man, as that he should injure another, without benefit to himself? I can easily conceive, that all are pleased with superiority: but your ignorance was merely accidental, which, being neither your crime nor your folly, could afford them no reason to applaud themselves; and the knowledge which they had, and which you wanted, they might as effectually have shown by warning, as betraying you."

"Pride," said Imlac, "is seldom delicate; it will please itself with very mean advantages; and envy feels not its own happiness, but when it may be compared with the misery of others. They were my enemies, because they grieved to think me rich; and my oppressors, because they delighted to find me weak."

"Proceed," said the prince: "I do not doubt of the facts which you relate, but imagine that you impute them to mistaken motives."

"In this company," said Imlac, "I arrived at Agra, the capital of Indostan, the city in which the great mogul commonly resides. I applied myself to the language of the country, and, in a few months, was able to converse with the learned men; some of whom I found morose and reserved, and others easy and communicative; some were unwilling to teach another what they had, with difficulty, learned themselves; and some showed, that the end of their studies was to gain the dignity of instructing.

"To the tutor of the young princes I recommended myself so much, that I was presented to the emperour as a man of uncommon knowledge. The emperour asked me many questions concerning my country and my travels; and though I cannot now recollect any thing that he uttered above the power of a common man, he dismissed me astonished at his wisdom, and enamoured of his goodness.

"My credit was now so high, that the merchants, with whom I had travelled, applied to me for recommendations to the ladies of the court. I was surprised at their confidence of solicitation, and gently reproached them with their practices on the road. They heard me with cold indifference, and showed no tokens of shame or sorrow.

"They then urged their request with the offer of a bribe; but what I would not do for kindness, I would not do for money; and refused them, not because they had injured me, but because I would not enable them to injure others; for I knew they would have made use of my credit to cheat those who should buy their wares.

"Having resided at Agra till there was no more to be learned, I travelled into Persia, where I saw many remains of ancient magnificence, and observed many new accommodations of life. The Persians are a nation eminently social, and their assemblies afforded me daily opportunities of remarking characters and manners, and of tracing human nature through all its variations.

"From Persia I passed into Arabia, where I saw a nation at once pastoral and warlike; who live without any settled habitation; whose only wealth is their flocks and herds; and who have yet carried on, through all ages, an hereditary war with all mankind, though they neither covet nor envy their possessions."

CHAP. X.

IMLAC'S HISTORY CONTINUED. A DISSERTATION UPON POETRY.

"Wherever I went, I found that poetry was considered as the highest learning, and regarded with a veneration, somewhat approaching to that which man would pay to the angelick nature. And yet it fills me with wonder, that, in almost all countries, the most ancient poets are considered as the best: whether it be that every other kind of knowledge is an acquisition gradually attained, and poetry is a gift conferred at once; or that the first poetry of every nation surprised them as a novelty, and retained the credit by consent, which it received by accident at first: or whether, as the province of poetry is to describe nature and passion, which are always the same, the first writers took possession of the most striking objects for description, and the most probable occurrences for fiction, and left nothing to those that followed them, but transcription of the same events, and new combinations of the same images. Whatever be the reason, it is commonly observed, that the early writers are in possession of nature, and their followers of art: that the first excel in strength and invention, and the latter in elegance and refinement.

"I was desirous to add my name to this illustrious fraternity. I read all the poets of Persia and Arabia, and was able to repeat, by memory, the volumes that are suspended in the mosque of Mecca. But I soon found, that no man was ever great by imitation. My desire of excellence impelled me to transfer my attention to nature and to life. Nature was to be my subject, and men to be my auditors: I could never describe what I had not seen; I could not hope to move those with delight or terrour, whose interest and opinions I did not understand.

"Being now resolved to be a poet, I saw every thing with a new purpose; my sphere of attention was suddenly magnified: no kind of knowledge was to be overlooked. I ranged mountains and deserts for images and resemblances, and pictured upon my mind every tree of the forest and flower of the valley. I observed, with equal care, the crags of the rock and the pinnacles of the palace. Sometimes I wandered along the mazes of the rivulet, and sometimes watched the changes of the summer clouds. To a poet, nothing can be useless. Whatever is beautiful, and whatever is dreadful, must be familiar to his imagination: he must be conversant with all that is awfully vast, or elegantly little. The plants of the garden, the animals of the wood, the minerals of the earth, and meteors of the sky, must all concur to store his mind with inexhaustible variety; for every idea is useful for the enforcement or decoration of moral or religious truth; and he, who knows most, will have most power of diversifying his scenes, and of gratifying his reader with remote allusions and unexpected instruction.

"All the appearances of nature I was, therefore, careful to study, and every country, which I have surveyed, has contributed something to my poetical powers."

"In so wide a survey," said the prince, "you must surely have left much unobserved. I have lived till now, within the circuit of these mountains, and yet cannot walk abroad without the sight of something, which I had never beheld before, or never heeded."

"The business of a poet," said Imlac, "is to examine, not the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip, or describe the different shades in the verdure of the forest. He is to exhibit, in his portraits of nature, such prominent and striking features, as recall the original to every mind; and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which one may have remarked, and another have neglected, for those characteristicks which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness.

"But the knowledge of nature is only half the task of a poet; he must be acquainted, likewise, with all the modes of life. His character requires, that he estimate the happiness and misery of every condition; observe the power of all the passions in all their combinations, and trace the changes of the human mind, as they are modified by various institutions, and accidental influences of climate or custom, from the sprightliness of infancy to the despondence of decrepitude. He must divest himself of the prejudices of his age or country; he must consider right and wrong in their abstracted and invariable state; he must disregard present laws and opinions, and rise to general and transcendental truths, which will always be the same; he must, therefore, content himself with the slow progress of his name; contemn the applause of his own time, and commit his claims to the justice of posterity. He must write, as the interpreter of nature, and the legislator of mankind, and consider himself, as presiding over the thoughts and manners of future generations; as a being superiour to time and place.

"His labour is not yet at an end: he must know many languages and many sciences; and, that his style may be worthy of his thoughts, must, by incessant practice, familiarize to himself every delicacy of speech and grace of harmony."

CHAP. XI.

IMLAC'S NARRATIVE CONTINUED. A HINT ON PILGRIMAGE.

Imlac now felt the enthusiastick fit, and was proceeding to aggrandize his own profession, when the prince cried out: "Enough! thou hast convinced me, that no human being can ever be a poet. Proceed with thy narration."

"To be a poet," said Imlac, "is, indeed, very difficult." "So difficult," returned the prince, "that I will, at present, hear no more of his labours. Tell me whither you went, when you had seen Persia."

"From Persia," said the poet, "I travelled through Syria, and for three years resided in Palestine, where I conversed with great numbers of the northern and western nations of Europe; the nations which are now in possession of all power and all knowledge; whose armies are irresistible, and whose fleets command the remotest parts of the globe. When I compared these men with the natives of our own kingdom, and those that surround us, they appeared almost another order of beings. In their countries it is difficult to wish for any thing that may not be obtained: a thousand arts, of which we never heard, are continually labouring for their convenience and pleasure; and whatever their own climate has denied them is supplied by their commerce."

"By what means," said the prince, "are the Europeans thus powerful, or why, since they can so easily visit Asia and Africa, for trade or conquest, cannot the Asiaticks and Africans invade their coasts, plant colonies in their ports, and give laws to their natural princes? The same wind that carries them back would bring us thither."

"They are more powerful, sir, than we," answered Imlac, "because they are wiser; knowledge will always predominate over ignorance, as man governs the other animals. But why their knowledge is more than ours, I know not what reason can be given, but the unsearchable will of the supreme being."

"When," said the prince, with a sigh, "shall I be able to visit Palestine, and mingle with this mighty confluence of nations? Till that happy moment shall arrive, let me fill up the time with such representations as thou canst give me. I am not ignorant of the motive that assembles such numbers in that place, and cannot but consider it as the centre of wisdom and piety, to which the best and wisest men of every land must be continually resorting."

"There are some nations," said Imlac, "that send few visitants to Palestine; for many numerous and learned sects in Europe concur to censure pilgrimage, as superstitious, or deride it as ridiculous."

"You know," said the prince, "how little my life has made me acquainted with diversity of opinions; it will be too long to hear the arguments on both sides; you, that have considered them, tell me the result."

"Pilgrimage," said Imlac, "like many other acts of piety, may be reasonable or superstitious, according to the principles upon which it is performed. Long journeys, in search of truth, are not commanded. Truth, such as is necessary to the regulation of life, is always found where it is honestly sought. Change of place is no natural cause of the increase of piety, for it inevitably produces dissipation of mind. Yet, since men go every day to view the fields where great actions have been performed, and return with stronger impressions of the event, curiosity of the same kind may naturally dispose us to view that country whence our religion had its beginning; and, I believe, no man surveys those awful scenes without some confirmation of holy resolutions. That the supreme being may be more easily propitiated in one place than in another, is the dream of idle superstition; but that some places may operate upon our own minds in an uncommon manner, is an opinion which hourly experience will justify[a]. He who supposes that his vices may be more successfully combated in Palestine, will, perhaps, find himself mistaken, yet he may go thither without folly; he who thinks they will be more freely pardoned, dishonours, at once, his reason and religion."

"These," said the prince, "are European distinctions. I will consider them another time. What have you found to be the effect of knowledge? Are those nations happier than we?"

"There is so much infelicity," said the poet, "in the world, that scarce any man has leisure, from his own distresses, to estimate the comparative happiness of others. Knowledge is certainly one of the means of pleasure, as is confessed by the natural desire which every mind feels of increasing its ideas. Ignorance is mere privation, by which nothing can be produced; it is a vacuity, in which the soul sits motionless and torpid, for want of attraction; and, without knowing why, we always rejoice when we learn, and grieve when we forget. I am, therefore, inclined to conclude, that, if nothing counteracts the natural consequence of learning, we grow more happy, as our minds take a wider range.

"In enumerating the particular comforts of life, we shall find many advantages on the side of the Europeans. They cure wounds and diseases, with which we languish and perish. We suffer inclemencies of weather, which they can obviate. They have engines for the despatch of many laborious works, which we must perform by manual industry. There is such communication between distant places, that one friend can hardly be said to be absent from another. Their policy removes all publick inconveniencies: they have roads cut through their mountains, and bridges laid upon their rivers. And, if we descend to the privacies of life, their habitations are more commodious, and their possessions are more secure."

"They are surely happy," said the prince, "who have all these conveniencies, of which I envy none so much as the facility with which separated friends interchange their thoughts."

"The Europeans," answered Imlac, "are less unhappy than we, but they are not happy. Human life is everywhere a state, in which much is to be endured, and little to be enjoyed."

[a] See Idler, No. 33, and note: and read, in Dr. Clarke's travels, the effect produced on his mind by the distant prospect of the Holy City, and by the habitual reverence of his guides. The passage exemplifies the sublime in narrative. See his Travels in Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land, part ii. sect. i. 8vo. ed. vol. iv. p. 288.—Ed.

CHAP. XII.

THE STORY OF IMLAC CONTINUED.

"I am not yet willing," said the prince, "to suppose, that happiness is so parsimoniously distributed to mortals; nor can believe but that, if I had the choice of life, I should be able to fill every day with pleasure. I would injure no man, and should provoke no resentment: I would relieve every distress, and should enjoy the benedictions of gratitude. I would choose my friends among the wise, and my wife among the virtuous; and, therefore, should be in no danger from treachery or unkindness. My children should, by my care, be learned and pious, and would repay to my age what their childhood had received. What would dare to molest him, who might call, on every side, to thousands enriched by his bounty, or assisted by his power? And why should not life glide quietly away in the soft reciprocation of protection and reverence? All this may be done without the help of European refinements, which appear, by their effects, to be rather specious than useful. Let us leave them, and pursue our journey."

"From Palestine," said Imlac, "I passed through many regions of Asia; in the more civilized kingdoms, as a trader, and among the barbarians of the mountains, as a pilgrim. At last, I began to long for my native country, that I might repose, after my travels and fatigues, in the places where I had spent my earliest years, and gladden my old companions, with the recital of my adventures. Often did I figure to myself those with whom I had sported away the gay hours of dawning life, sitting round me in its evening, wondering at my tales, and listening to my counsels.

"When this thought had taken possession of my mind, I considered every moment as wasted, which did not bring me nearer to Abissinia. I hastened into Egypt, and, notwithstanding my impatience, was detained ten months in the contemplation of its ancient magnificence, and in inquiries after the remains of its ancient learning. I found in Cairo a mixture of all nations; some brought thither by the love of knowledge, some by the hope of gain, and many by the desire of living, after their own manner, without observation, and of lying hid in the obscurity of multitudes: for in a city, populous as Cairo, it is possible to obtain, at the same time, the gratifications of society, and the secrecy of solitude.