is never well known, even by his parents; because he is never placed in those circumstances which alone are able effectually to rouse and interest his passions, and consequently to make his character appear. His parents, therefore, or tutors, never know his weak side, nor what particular advices or cautions he stands most in need of; whereas, if he had attended a public school, and mingled in the amusements and pursuits of his equals, his virtues and his vices would have been disclosing themselves every day; and his teachers would have known what particular precepts and examples it was most expedient to inculcate upon him. Compare those who have had a public education with those who have been educated at home; and it will not be found, in fact, that the latter are, either in virtue or in talents, superior to the former. Letter to Mrs. Inglis, Dec. 1770. BENEVOLENCE. Of the second class of social duties, which consist in the indulgence of those affections that incline us to do good to others, the first is to cherish benevolence, charity, or love, to all mankind without exception. We are all by nature brethren, placed in the same, or in similar circumstances, subject to the same wants and infirmities, endowed with the same faculties, and equally dependent on the great Author of our being: we cannot be happy but in the society of one another, and from one another we daily receive, or may receive, important services. These considerations recommend the great duty of universal benevolence, which is not more beneficial to others than to ourselves; for it makes us happy in our own minds, and amiable in the eyes of all who know us; it even promotes bodily health, and it prepares the soul for every virtuous impression while malevolent passions debase the understanding, harden the heart, and make a man disagreeable to others and a torment to himself. A second duty of this class is compassion, or that sympathy which prompts us to relieve the distresses of one another; and a third is gratitude, which makes us anxious to requite the favors we may have received. Good men are entitled to peculiar love and esteem. He who does good to one person, from a benevolent principle, lays an obligation on the whole species; for he shows that he has the interest of mankind at heart, and he sets a good example. Our love of good men, therefore, partakes of the nature of gratitude: to be destitute of it, is a proof of such depravity as even profligates would be ashamed of. Moral Science, part iii. OPENING STANZAS OF "THE MINSTREL." Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar! In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropp'd into the grave, unpitied and unknown! And yet the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all; Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame; Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. The rolls of fame I will not now explore; Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain THE POET'S CHILDHOOD. There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell, Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell, 1 The conception of the commencement of the Minstrel is fine, and highly poetical; and it is beautifully and vigorously executed; but he already falls off in the second canto, both in invention and expression." Read a very genial critique on Beattie's Poems, in Sir Egerton Brydges' "Imaginative Biography," i. 153-173. Lord Lyttelton (author of "Dialogues of the Dead," and of a "Dissertation on the Conversion and Apostleship of Paul") thus wrote to Mrs. Montagu, March, 1771:-"I read the 'Minstrel' with as much rapture as poetry, in her noblest, sweetest charms, ever raised in my soul. It seemed to me that my once most-beloved minstrel, Thomson, was come down from heaven, refined by the converse of purer spirits than those he lived with here, to let me hear him sing again the beauties of nature, and the finest feelings of virtue, not with human, but with angelic strains." But he, I ween, was of the north countrie!' The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent, Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went. No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast, To the fond husband and the faithful wife. Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, No prodigy appear'd in earth or air, Nor aught that might a strange event declare. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy: 1 There is hardly an ancient ballad or romance, wherein the minstrel or harper who appears is not declared, by way of eminence, to have been "of the north countrie." It is probable that under this appellation were formerly comprehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent. The neighbors stared, and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad: Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad. But why should I his childish feats display? Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, His heart, from cruel sport estrang'd, would bleed By trap or net, by arrow, or by sling; These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield; And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. Lo! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies? Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray, Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for awhile; And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, And villager abroad at early toil: But lo! the Sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, When all in mist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, And view th' enormous waste of vapor, toss'd In billows, length'ning to th' horizon round, Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd! The southern Sun diffused his dazzling sheen.' A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control. MORNING.2 But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild-brook babbling down the mountain side; The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark; THE HUMBLE WISH. The end and the reward of toil is rest. Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd, Who ever felt his weight of wo decrease? All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, Let vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And thither let the village swain repair; And light of heart, the village maiden gay, 1 Brightness, splendor. The word is used by some late writers, as well as by Milton. "Do you rise early? If not, let me conjure you to acquire the habit. This will very much contribute towards rendering your life long, useful, and happy."-LORD CHATHAM, Letters. |