were before so justly alarmed. Domestic life is then no longer, as in the gay world, a scene of languor and disgust, the field of battle to every base and brutal passion. the dwelling-place of envy, vexation, and ill-humour: Peace and happiness inhabit the bosoms of those who avoid the sources of impure delight, and shed their benign and exhilarating influence on all around. He who shuns the contaminated circle of vice, who flies from the insolent behaviour of proud stupidity, or prosperous villany, who has discovered the vanity of worldly pursuits, and the emptiness of mundane pleasures, retires into private life with permanent content and joyful satisfaction.

The pleasures of the world, when sacrificed in Solitude on the bright altar of untainted virtue, lose their seeming splendour, and their fancied charms.

"I would rather shed tears myself than to make others shed them," said a German lady to me one day, without appearing conscious that it was almost impossible to say or do any thing more generous. Virtue like this affords more real content to the heart than all the enjoyments of the world which are only sought to consume the tedious irksome hours, and to drown the anxious cares which molest the bosom of its votaries. Although Vice is continually casting her silken nets, and involving within her glittering lines such multitudes of every rank and station, there is not a villain in existence whose mind does not silently acknowledge that Virtue is the corner-stone of the Temple of Felicity, as well in the habitations of the world as in the bowers of Solitude; and that to watch over every seductive desire, whether present or approaching, and to conquer vice by the pursuit of useful pleasure, is a victory of the noblest kind, followed by virtue, and rewarded by happiness. Happy is the man who carries with him into Solitude the peace of mind which such a victory procures, for he will then be able to preserve it in its genuine purity. Of what service would it be to leave the world, and seek the tranquillity

of retirement, while misanthropy still lurks within the heart? It is the most important, and ought te be the first and last endeavour of our lives, to purify and tranquillize our bosoms; for when this task is once performed, the happiness of Solitude is then secured. But while any portion of the perturbed spirit of misanthropy sours our minds, and checks the benevolent effusions of our hearts, we cannot acquire, either on lofty mountains or in flowery plains, in dreary Solitude or in gay society, that divine content so essential to true felicity. Our retreat from the world must not be prompted by a hatred and malevolence against mankind: we must learn to shun the society of the wicked, without relinquishing our wishes for their felicity,

An essential part of the virtue we acquire in Solitude, arises from an ability to appreciate things according to their real value. without pay. ing any regard to the opinion of the multitude. When Rome, after the conquest of the Pirates, removed Lucullus from the head of the army, in order to give the command of it to Pompey, and resigned by this act the government of the empire to the discretion of a single man, that artful citizen beat his breast as a token of grief at being invested with the honour, and exclaimed, "Alas! am I continually to be involved in endless troubles? How much happier should I have been had my name been unknown, or my merits concealed! Must I be eternally in the field of battle? Must my limbs never be relieved from this weight of armour? Shall I never escape from the envy that pursues me. and be able to retire with content and tranquillity to the enjoyment of rural Solitude, with my wife and children?" He spoke truth in the language of dissimulation; for he had not yet learned really to esteem that which men possessed of ambition and the lust of power despise: nor did he yet contemn that which, at this period of the republic, every Roman who was eager to command, esteemed more than all other things. But Manlius Curius, the noblest Roman

of the age, really possessed the sentiments which Pompey expressed. Having vanquished several warlike nations, driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, and enjoyed three times the honour of a triumph, he retired to his cottage in the country, and there cultivated, with his own victorious hands, his little farm, where, when the ambassadors from the Samnites arrived to offer him a large present of gold, he was found, seated in his chimney-corner, dressing turnips. The noble recluse refused the present, and gave the ambassadors this answer: A man that can be satisfied with such a supper, has no need of gold: and I think more glorious to conquer the owners of it, than to possess it myself."

The perfect happiness which Curius enjoyed in dressing this humble meal, may be truly envied by the greatest monarchs, and most luxurious princes. It is a melancholy truth, but too well known to kings and princes, that under many cir cumstances they are deprived of real friends: and this is the reason why they ask the advice of many, and confide in none. Every man of candour, reflection, and good sense, pities the condition of virtuous sovereigns; for even the best of sovereigns are not totally exempt from fears and jealousies. Their felicity never equals that of a laborious and contented husbandman; their pleasures are neither so pure nor so permanent, nor can they even experience the same tranquillity and unalloyed content. The provisions, indeed, of a peasant are coarse, but to his appetite they are delicious: his bed is hard, but he goes to it fatigued by the honest labours of the day, and sleeps sounder on his mat of straw than monarchs on their beds of down.

CHAP. VI.

The Advantages of Solitude in exile.

THE advantages of Solitude are not confined to rank, to fortune, or to circumstances. Fragrant breezes, magnificent forests, richly tinted meadows, and that endless variety of beautiful objects which the birth of spring spreads over the face of nature, enchant not only philosophers, kings, and heroes, but ravish the mind of the meanest spectator with exquisite delight. An English author has very justly observed, that "It is not necessary that he who looks with pleasure on the colour of a flower, should study the principles of vegetation; or that the Ptolemaic and Copernican systems should be compared, before the light of the sun can gladden, or its warmth invigorate. Novelty in itself is a souree of gratification; and Milton justly observes, "that to him who has been long pent up in cities, no rural object can be presented which will not delight or refresh some of his

senses.

Exiles themselves frequently experience the advantages and enjoyments of Solitude. Instead of the world from which they are banished, they form, in the tranquillity of retirement, a new world for themselves; forget the false joys and fictitious pleasures which they followed in the zenith of greatness, habituate their minds to others of a nobler kind, more worthy the attention of rational beings; and to pass their days with tranquillity, invent a variety of innocent felicities, which are only thought of at a distance from society, far removed from all consolation, far from their country, their families, and their friends,

But exiles, if they wish to ensure happiness in retirement, must, like other men, fix their minds upon some one object, and adopt the pursuit of it in such a way as to revive their buried hopes, or to excite the prospect of approaching pleasure.

Maurice, Prince of Isenbourg, distinguished himself by his courage during a service of twenty

years under Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, and Marshal Broglio, and in the war between the Russians and the Turks.-Health and repose were sacrificed to the gratification of his ambition and love of glory. During his service in the Russian army, he fell under the displeasure of the Empress, and was sent into exile. The calamitous condition to which persons exiled by this government are reduced is well known; but this philosophic Prince contrived to render even a Russian banishment agreeable. While oppressed both in body and in mind, by the painful reflection which his situation at first created, and reduced by his anxieties to a mere skeleton, he accidentally met with the little Essay written by Lord Bolingbroke on the subject of Exile. He read it several times, and, "in proportion to the number of times I read," said the Prince, in the preface to the elegant and nervous translation he made of this work, "I felt all my sorrows and disquietudes vanish."

This Essay by Lord Bolingbroke upon Exile, is a masterpiece of stoic philosophy and fine writing. He there boldly examines all the adversities of life. Let us,' says he, "set all our past and present afflictions at once before our eyes: let us resolve to overcome them, instead of flying from them, or wearing out the sense of them with long and ignominious patience. Instead of palliating remedies, let us use the incision knife and the caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work an immediate and radioal cure."

Perpetual banishment, like uninterrupted Solitude, certainly strengthens the powers of the mind, and enables the sufferer to collect sufficient force to support his misfortunes. Solitude, indeed, becomes an easy situation to those exiles who are inclined to indulge the pleasing sympathies of the heart; for they then experience pleasures that were before unknown, and from that moment forget those they tasted in the more flourishing and prosperous conditions of life.

Brutus, when he visited the banished Marcel