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written in
ZIMMERMAN's SOLITUDE,
BY A YOUNG LADY.
| IAIL! melancholy ſage, whoſe thoughtful eye
Shrunk from the mere ſpectator's careleſs gaze,
And in retirement ſought the ſocial ſmile,
The heart-endearing aſpect, and the voice
Of ſoothing tenderneſs, which Friendſhip breathes,
And which ſounds far more grateful to the ear
Than the ſoft notes of diſtant flute, at eve,
Stealing acroſs the waters. Z1MM ERMAN
. Thou draw'ſt not Sotºrupe as others do,
with folded arms, with penſive, Nun-like air,
And tearful eye, averted from mankind.
No! warm, benign, and cheerful, ſhe appears
The Friend of Health, of Piety, of Peace!
The kind Samaritan that heals our woes |
The Nurſe of Science, and of future Fame
. The gentle harbinger: her meek abode
Is that dear home which ſtill the virtuous heart,
E’en in the 'witching maze of Pleaſure's dance,
in wild Ambition's dream, regard, with love;
And hopes, with fond Sincerity, to paſs
The evening of a long-protracted day.
Serenely joyful there !

CONTENTs.
. … § Page
LIFE of the Author . . . . . . . . . . . xi
CHAP. I. Introdućtion . . . . . . . . . . I
CHAP. II. Influence of Solitude on the Mind 11
CHAP. III. Influence of Solitude upon the
Heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ioo
CHAP. IV. The general Advantages of
Retirement . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
CHAP. V. The Queſtion, Whether it is
eaſier to live virtuouſly in Solitude
or in the World P conſidered . . . 264
CHAP. VI. The Advantages of Solitude in
Exile. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
CHAP. VII. The Advantages of Solitude in
Old Age; and on the Bed of Death 289
HEAD of the Author to front the Title
Inſtruction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IO
Obſerve the Shepherd . . . . . . . . . . 130
Rouſſeau contemplating the wild Beauties
of Switzerland . . . . . . . . . . 204
Curius refuſing the Samnites' Gold . . . . .276
The Death of Addiſon . . . . . . . . . . . 302
PAGE

t
R E FA C E.
WEAK and delicate minds may, per-
haps, be alarmed by the title of this
Work. The word “So LITUDE” may
poſſibly engender melancholy ideas.
But they have only to read a few pages
to be undeceived. The Author is not
one of thoſe extravagant miſanthropiſts
who expect that men, formed by nature
for the enjoyments of ſociety, and im-
pelled continually towards it by a mul-
titude of powerful and invincible pro-
penſities, ſhould ſeek refuge in foreſts,
and inhabit the dreary cave or lonely
cell: he is a friend to the ſpecies, a
rational philoſopher, and a virtuous ci-
tizen, who, encouraged by the eſteem
of his Sovereign, endeavours to enlight-
en the minds of his fellow-creatures up-
on a ſubject of infinite importance to
them, the attainment of true felicity.
No writer appears more completely
convinced than M. ZIMMERMAN that
man is born for ſociety, or feels its du-
ties with more refined ſenſibility. X:
a 3 IT



vi PREFACE.
It is the nature of human ſociety, and
its correſpondent duties, which he here
undertakes to examine. The impor-
tant characters of Father, Huſband,
Son, and Citizen, impoſe on Man a
variety of obligations, which are always
dear to virtuous minds, and eſtabliſh
between him, his country, his family,
and his friends, relations too neceſſary
and attractive to be diſregarded. & 3
“ What wonder, therefore, ſince th' endearing ties
“Of paſſion link the univerſal kind
“Of man ſo cloſe, what wonder if to ſearch
“This common nature through the various change
“ Of ſex, and age, and fortune, and the frame
“Of each peculiar, draw the buſy mind
“With unrefilled charms? The ſpacious Weſt,
“And all the teeming regions of the South,
“Hold not a quarry to the curious flight
“Of knowledge half ſo tempting or ſo fair
“ As Man to Man.” ~
But it is not amidſt tumultuous joys
and noiſy pleaſures, in the chimeras of
ambition, or the illuſions of ſelf-love,
in the indulgence of feeling, or the gra-
tification of deſire, that men muſt ex-
pećt to feel the charms of thoſe mutual
PREFACE, vii
ties which link them ſo firmly to ſo-
ciety. It is not in ſuch enjoyments that
men can feel the dignity of thoſe du-
ties, the performance of which Nature
has rendered productive of ſo many
pleaſures, or hope to taſte that true fe-
licity which reſults from an indepen-
dent mind and a contented heart: a
felicity ſeldom ſought after, only be-
cauſe it is ſo little known, but which
every individual may find within his
own boſom. Who, alas! does not
conſtantly experience the neceſſity of
entering into that ſacred aſylum to
ſearch for conſolation under the real or
imaginary misfortunes of life, or to al-
leviate indeed more frequently the fa-
tigue of its painful pleaſures P Yes, all
men, from the mercenary trader, who
ſinks under the anxiety of his daily
taſk, to the proud ſtateſman, intoxicat-
ed by the incenſe of popular applauſe,
experience the deſire of terminating
their arduous career. Every boſom feels
an anxiety for repoſe, and fondly wiſhes
to ſteal from the vortex of a buſy and
a 4 perturbed
viii PREF AcE.
perturbed life to enjoy the tranquillity
of Solitude. . . . . .
“"Hackney’d in buſineſs, wearied at that oar
“Which thouſands, once chain’d faſt to, quit no more,
“But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
“All wiſh, or ſeem to wiſh, they could forego.
“ The ſtateſman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
“ Pants for the refuge of a peaceful ſhade;
*
*
.
º
Where, all his long anxieties forgot
“Amidſt the charms of a ſequeſter'd ſpot,
“Or recolle&ted only to gild o'er, .
“And add a ſmile to, what was ſweet before,
“He may poſſeſs the joys he thinks he ſees,
“Lay his old age upon the lap of eaſe,
“Improve the remnant of his waſted ſpan,
“And, having liv'd a trifter, die A MAN.”
It is under the peaceful ſhades of
Solitude that the mind regenerates
and acquires freſh force; it is there
alone that the happy can enjoy the ful-
neſs of felicity, or the miſerable forget
their woe; it is there that the boſom
of ſenſibility experiences its moſt deli-
cious emotions; it is there that creative
genius frees itſelf from the thraldom
of ſociety, and ſurrenders itſelf to the
impetuous rays of an ardent imagina-
tion. To this deſired goal all our ideas

| PREF Ace. ix
and deſires perpetually tend. “There
“ is,” ſays Dr. Johnson, “ ſcarcely
“any writer who has not celebrated
“ the happineſs of rural privacy, and
“delighted himſelf and his readers
“ with the melody of birds, the whiſ.
“ per of groves, and the murmurs of
“ rivulets; nor any man eminent for
“extent of capacity, or greatneſs of
“exploits, that has not left behind him
“ ſome memorials of lonely wiſdom
“ and ſilent dignity.” § 3; &
THE original Work from which the
following pages are ſelected, conſiſts of
four large volumes, which have acquir-
ed the univerſal approbation of the
German Empire, and obtained the ſuf-
frages of an Empreſs celebrated for
the ſuperior brilliancy of her mind, and
who has ſignified her approbation in
the moſt flattering manner.
ON the 26th of January, 1785, a
courier, diſpatched by the Ruſſian En-
voy at Hamburgh, preſented M. ZIM-
MERMAN with a ſmall caſket, in the
name - of her Majeſty the Empreſs
of

x PREFACE.
f Ruſſia. The caſket contained a
ring ſet round with diamonds of an ex-
traordinary ſize and luſtre; and a gold
medal, bearing on one ſide the portrait
of the Empreſs, and on the other the
date of the happy reformation of the
Ruffian Empire. This preſent the
Empreſs accompanied with a letter,
written with her own hand, containing
theſe remarkable words:—“ To M.
“ZIMMERMAN, Counſellor of State
“ and Phyſician to his Britannic Ma-
“jeſty, to thank him for the excellent
“Precepts he has given to Mankind in
“ his Treatiſe upon SoLITUDE,”


THE LIFE
OF
ZIMMER MAN.
John GEORGEZIMMERMAN, the
Author of the following Treatiſe on So-
litude, which we now preſent to the pub-
lic in a more correct and ſplendid form,
was born, on the eighth day of Decem-
ber, 1728, at Brugg, a ſmall town ſitu-
ated on the borders of the river Aar,
near the caſtles of Windich and Altem-
berg, in the canton of Berne, aboutſeven- -
teen miles to the north-weſt of the city
of Zurich in Swiſſerland.
His father, John Zimmerman, whoſe
anceſtors had, for a ſeries of years, de-
ſervedly obtained the applauſe and admi-
ration of their fellow citizens, by their
for the intereſts of the Republic, was
eminently diſtinguiſhed as an able and


xii THE LIFE OF
eloquent member of the provincial coun-
cil. His mother, who was equally re-
ſpected and beloved for her good ſenſe,
eaſy manners, and modeſt virtues, was
the daughter of the celebrated Pache,
who reſided at a beautiful villa near Mor-
ges, in the ſame canton, and whoſe ex-
traordinary learning and great abilities
had contributed to advance him to a ſeat
in the parliament of Paris.
- The father of Zimmerman, anxious for
the future eminence of his ſon as a ſcho-
lar, undertook the arduous taſk of ſuper-
intending his education, and, by the aſ-
fiſtance of the ableſt preceptors that
could be procured, inſtructed him in the
rudiments of all the uſeful and orna-
mental ſciences until he had attained the
age of fourteen years, when he ſent him
to the Univerſity of Berne, where, un-
der Kirchberger, the hiſtorian and pro-
feſſor of rhetoric, and Altman, the cele-
brated Greek profeſſor, he ſtudied, for
three years, Philology and the Belles
Lettres, with unremitting aſſiduity and
attention. Scarcely, however, had he

ZIMMER.M.A.N. xiii
entered on his courſe of ſtudy, when his
induſtry was for a while interrupted by
the ſudden death of his affectionate fa-
ther; a misfortune which bereaved him
of his ableſt inſtructor, and tore his heart
with the ſevereſt affliction; but as time
ſoftened his filial ſorrows, he renewed hist
ſtudies with unceaſing diligence and ar-
dour. .
The various and frequently complicat-
ed ſyſtems of philoſophy which have been
from time to time introduced into the
world, excited his curioſity and ſtimulat-
ed his induſtry; and, to render himſelf
a perfect maſter of this extenſive branch
of learning, he placed himſelf under the
tuition of Brunner, one of the moſt zeal-
ous diſciples of the Baron de JWolf; but
the profeſſor, unfortunately, was only
ſkilled in the metaphyſical doctrines of
his great maſter; and, inſtead of lead-
ing the mind of his pupil into the broad
and flowery paths of real ethics, he be-
wildered him in the dark and thorny
mazes of vain and uſeleſs learning, until
M. Tribolet and J. Stapfer, two miniſters

xiv. THE LIFE OF
of the goſpel, equally renowned for ex-
alted piety, ardent genius, and extenſive
knowledge, happily extricated him from
this dangerous labyrinth, and taught
him, as he frequently afterwards acknow-
ledged with the warmeſt gratitude, the
ſound doćtrines of true philoſophy.
Having paſſed nearly five years at the
univerſity, he began to think of apply-
ing the ſtores of information he had ac-
quired to the purpoſes of ačtive life; and,
with a view of conſulting his mother re-
ſpecting the profeſſion he ſhould chooſe,
he viſited, towards the end of the year
1746, his maternal relations at Morges,
where ſhe then reſided. But, alas ! the
kind aſſiſtance which he fondly hoped to
derive upon this important ſubjećt from
her judgment and opinion, death had
rendered it impoſſible for him to obtain.
Diſtreſfing, however, as this unexpected
event was at ſuch a juncture, it afforded
him the advantage of following more
freely his own unbiaſſed inclination; a
circumſtance which is generally conceiv-
ed to contribute to ſucceſs; and, after





zimmer MAN. XV
mentioning the ſubject curſorily to a few
relations, he immediately reſolved to fol-
low the practice of phyſic. The extra-
ordinary fame of Haller, who had re-
cently been promoted by King George
the Second to a profeſſorſhip in the uni-
verſity of Gottingen, reſounded at this
time throughout Europe; and Zimmer-
man determined to proſecute his ſtudies
in phyſic under the auſpices of this great
and celebrated maſter. He was admitted
into the univerſity on the 12th of Sep-
tember, 1747, and obtained his dégree
on the 14th of Auguſt, 1751. The pro-
miſing genius of the young pupil induced
the profeſſor to receive him with every
token of eſteem. He ordered an apart-
ment to be provided for him under his
own roof; aſſiſted him by his advice;
ſuperintended his ſtudies; and behaved to
him throughout his future life as a parent,
a preceptor, a patron, and a friend. Zinn,
Caldani, and ſeveral other eminent men,
were at this time ſtudying under Haller.
The example of the teacher inſpired his
pupils with the ſpirit of induſtrious ex-
ertion; and, by their indefatigable in-

xvi. THE LIFE OF
induſtry, and mutual endeavours to pro-
ſecute and perfect his diſcoveries, they
not only forwarded the progreſs of medi-
cal ſcience, but placed the philoſophy of
the human body on a more ſure and an
almoſt entirely new baſis. The genius of
Zimmerman, however, was too powerful
and expanſive to be confined excluſively
to the ſtudy of medicine: the frame and
temper of the human mind, natural phi-
loſophy, and particularly mathematics,
engaged a conſiderable portion of his
attention, and, by the aſſiſtance of M.
Segner, rewarded his toils with a large
fund of valuable information. Politics,
alſo, both as they relate to the municipal
government of nations, and as they em-
brace that more important ſubject which
has of late years been ſo well known in
Europe under the denomination of ſta-
tiſtics, did not eſcape his inveſtigation.
To relax his mind from theſe ſeverer ſtu-
dies, he cultivated a complete knowledge
of the Engliſh language, and became ſo
great a proficient in the polite and ele-
gant literature of this country, that the

ZIMMERMAN. xvii
Britiſh Poets, particularly Shakeſpear,
Pope, and Thomſon, were as familiar to
him as his favourite authors Homer and
Wirgil. Every moment, in ſhort, of the
four years he paſſed at Gottingen, was
employed in the uſeful and ornamental
improvement of his capacious mind,
which appears to have been ſtimulated
by a ſecret preſage of his future great-
neſs: for, in a letter written during this
period, to his friend Dr. Tiſſot, of Berne,
he ſays, “I paſs every hour of my life
“here like a man who is determined
“not to be forgot by poſterity;” and
even ſo early as the year 1751, he pro-
duced a work in which he diſcovered the
dawnings of that extraordinary genius
which afterwards ſpread abroad with ſo
much effulgence.” But the ardour of
his mind impoſed upon his corporeal
frame a taſk too laborious to be continu-
ally ſuſtained; and at length his unceaſ.
ing aſſiduities, and cloſe application, af.

* Diſſertatio Phyſiologica de irritabilitate quam pub-
lice defendet. Joh. Georgius Zimmerman, Goet,
4to, 1741. 3. ... º.º.
xviii THE LIFE OF
fected his health, and produced-many
alarming ſymptoms of that grievous ma-
lady the hypochondria, -
“For knowledge is as food, and needs no leſs
“Her temperance over appetite to know, -
“In meaſure what the mind may well contain;
“ Oppreſſes elſe with ſurfeit, and ſoon turns
º “Wiſdom to folly, as nouriſhment to wind.”
To divert his mind, and diffipate the
baneful effects of this diſorder, he quitted
the univerſity, and travelled for a few
months through Holland, where he form-
ed an acquaintance with the celebrated
Gaubius; and afterwards viſited Paris,
where his great abilities, as a ſcholar and
a phyſician, ſoon rendered him a conſpicu-
ous character. The amuſements of Paris,
however, and perhaps the envy which his
º
- tº
ſuperior merits raiſed againſt him in the
minds of certain profeſſional competitors,
made his reſidence in this vitiated and
tumultuous metropolis irkſome and diſa-
greeable to him; and towards the year
1752 he returned to Berne, where he en-
joyed the double ſatisfaction of acquiring
a confiderable degree of practice, and
of being received by all his former friends



‘ms and unfeigned cordiality.
During the early part of his reſidence a
Berne, he publiſhed m T
ſays on various ſubjećts i º ºſº
Journal; particularly a work on the ta-
lents and erudition of Haller. This grate
juſt merits of his friend
writings, as a ſcholar, a philoſopher, a
phyſician, and a man. -It was publiſhed
in 1755, at Zurich, in one large volume
oétavo, and received, as in the opinion
of Tiſſot it highly deſerved, with uncom.
in teſtimonies of applauſe.
Ž
T th of Haller, which had ſuf
fered greatly by the ſeverity of ſtudy,
ſeemed to decline in proportion as hi
§
fion to leave Gottingen, he repaired to
Berne, to viſit his friends, and to try, by
the advice and aſſifiance of Zimmerman,
N. poſſible, his decayed conſtir
me were ſo great, that he deter-
linquiſh his profeſſorſhip, and
b 2



































XX THE LIFE OF
to paſs the remainder of his days amidſt
the careffes of his friends, and the com-
forts of his family, in this city. He ac-
cordingly requeſted Zimmerman to ſettle
his affairs at the univerſity, and to ac-
company Madame Haller and her houſe-
hold to the new abode which had been
previouſly provided at Berne for their
reception. This embaſſy he performed
with a pleaſure flowing not only from the
happineſs he anticipated from the com-
pany and converſation of this agreeable
and friendly family, but from a cauſe
which was perhaps ſtill more intereſting
to his heart. In the family of Haller
lived a young lady, nearly related to him,
whoſe maiden name was Meley, and
whoſe huſband, M. Stek, had been ſome
time dead. This lady, beſides a ſound
and highly cultivated underſtanding, a
refined taſte, a quick and lively fancy,
and a very brilliant imagination, poſſeſſ-
ed, what is perhaps ſuperior even to theſe
endowments, thoſe polite and elegant
manners, that amiable mildneſs and fe-
renity of temper, and that winning ſoft-

ZIMMERMAN. xxi.
neſs of voice, which render the ſex fo
irreſiſtibly charming, and inſure the hap-
pineſs of a huſband. Zimmerman, whoſe
devotion to ſtudy had not extinguiſhed
the tender ſenſibilities of his heart, be-
came deeply enamoured of her charms.
He offered her his hand in marriage;
and, after paſſing ſome time in the gen-
tle affiduities of love, they were united
at the altar in the bands of mutual af-
fe&tion. During the ſhort time Heaven
permitted her to bleſs his arms, he expe-
rienced in her fondneſs a ſoft refuge from
worldly cares, and a ſecure aſylum for
his afflićtions.
Soon after his union with this amiable
woman, the ſituation of Phyſician to the
town of Brugg became vacant, which he
was invited by the inhabitants to fill.
The regular ſalary annexed to this ap-
pointment was extremely ſmall, conſider-
ing the extent and population of the
town; but there is ſomething particular-
ly faſcinating to a ſentimental mind in
the place of early infancy; and when
Zimmerman confidered the number of
b 3 --

xxii #
THE LIFE OF
relations and friends by whom he would
be furrounded, he relinquiſhed all the
pleaſures and advantages he enjoyed at
Berne, and returned to the place of his
nativity, with a view to ſettle himſelf
there for life. The practice which he
immediately acquired throughout the
town and ſurrounding country was, like
that of his friend Dr. Hotze, of Richter-
fwyl, of whoſe amiable charaćter and de-
lightful ſituation he has drawn ſo pleaſ-
ing a pićture in the following Eſſay, mor
extenſive than profitable. His time,
however, was not ſo entirely engroſſed
by the duties of his profeſſion as to pre-
vent him from indulging his mind, al-
ways eager to acquire new information,
in the purſuits of literature; and he read
almoſt every work of reputed merit, whe-
ther of Phyſic, Morals, Philoſophy, Belles
Lettres, Hiſtory, Voyages, or even No-
.
els and romances of
in particular, afforded him

















ZIMMERMAN. xxiii
ons which occurred to him during this
courſe of reading, he frequently com-
mitted to writing in the form of eſſays,
and inſerted many of them in a periodi-
cal paper called The Monitor, which was
then publiſhed by the Philological So-
ciety at Zurich.
In the courſe of time Zimmerman add-
ed to the charaćter of huſband the pleaſ.
ing relation of father, and enjoyed, in
the birth of a ſon, and afterwards of a
daughter, all that could fill the boſom of
the fondeſt parent with joy; health,
competency, and domeſtic comfort. The
company of his wife's mother alſo, a
woman of extraordinary underſtanding
and ſingular endowments, and who form-
ed a part of his houſehold, contributed
not a little to increaſe his felicity.
But perfect felicity is not the lot of
man; and Zimmerman, though ſurround-
ed by every enjoyment which is uſually
conceived to beſtow happineſs, ſuffe ‘ed
a ſecret uneaſineſs to prey upon his mind.
were extremely confined; and he fre-












xxiv. THE LIFE OF
quently ſighed for the enjoyment of that
general ſociety in which he had found ſo
much ſatisfaction and delight at Berne,
at Gottingen, and at Paris. It is true
tha : he had many amiable friends at
Brugg, but they had all their own con-
cerns to attend to, and had little time
to devote to the company of any indivi-
dual. A man of letters requires a pub-
lic library and periodical publications to
reſort to, new acquaintances to converſe
with, profeſſional aſſociates to whom he
can communicate his various diſcoveries;
all of which Zimmerman was in a great
meaſure deprived of at Brugg; and the
want of theſe reſources made ſuch a deep
impreſſion on his mind, that he fell into
a ſtate of nervous languor, or rather in-
to a peeviſh dejection of ſpirits, and,
neglecting all public ſociety, devoted
lmoſt entirely to a retired and
tary life. His family was almoſt
the only con pany he converſed with ;
ſtudy and compoſition the ſole amuſe-
leiſure hours; and a corre-
fith a few diſtant friends,
sº










z IMMERMAN. XXV
particularly Dr. Tiſſot, Profeſſor Bonnett,
Dr. Macard, Dr. Lettſom, and the cele-
brated Mr. Deluc, her Majeſty's librarian
at Windſor, his only relief againſt the
melancholy and vexation that oppreſſed
his mind. There is an art in being
happy, which every man, who enjoys
health, leiſure, and competency, may
in all places attain, omne ſolum eſt patria
fortis; but every perſon is not poſſeſſed
of it; and there are, indeed, men of
very extraordinary talents, and great
abilities, who are ſometimes ſo weak, or
rather ſo fooliſh, as to deſpiſe it. It is
eaſy to image the happineſs of particular
conditions until we can be content with
no other; but there is no condition what-
ever under which a certain degree of
happineſs may not be attained by thoſe
who are inclined to be happy.
The great Haller conceived it to be
of as much importance to happineſs to
gain the eſteem as the admiration of man-
kind; and Zimmerman might upon this
ſubjećt have followed, with infinite ad-
vantage, the example of his illuſtrious
º
.** * . .
*



THE LIFE OF
poſ tion ſo
this means, while he promoted the hap-
pineſs of others, inſured his own. “But
§ r. Johnſon ob-
ſerves, “for the moſt part ſpends in the
“privacies of ſtudy that ſeaſon of life in
** whi
:h the manners are to be ſoftened
fe, and poliſhed into elegance;
“and when he has gained knowledge
“enough to be reſpected, has negle&ted
“the minuter acts by which he might
º
* 4. have pleaſed.” º */ 12772e. r"???/192. :----|-- ~ +
frequently blamed hir Aſelf
this ſaturnine diſpoſition, and was far
from conſidering retirement as a duty;
but he ſeldom had courage enough to
renounce the pleaſures it beſtowed on
him; and it was by reflecting deeply on
its effects, that he was enabled ſo juſtly
to appreciate its advantages.
The love of Solitude, which this diſ.
. ſtrongly engendered in his
, was not, however, ſuffered to in-
terrupt in any degree the regular diſ-





























ZIMMERMAN. xxvii
charge of his profeſſional duties; all ap-
pearance of depreſſion vaniſhed the mo-
ment he approached the bed of ſickneſs;
and he ſeldom viſited a patient whom
he did not afterwards find a friend. .
Under theſe circumſtances, this ex-
cellent and able man paſſed fourteen
years of an uneaſy life; but neither his
increaſing practice, the ſucceſs of his
literary purſuits,” the exhortations of his
friends, nor the endeavours of his fami-
ly, were able to remove the melancholy
and diſcontent that preyed continually
on his mind. The theatre on which he
aćted ſeemed too confined for the exer-
ciſe of his great and extraordinary ta-
lents; and his friends conceiving that
his mind might be reſtored to its former
tone, by changing the ſcene, and en-
larging his ſphere of action, endeavour-
ed to procure him promotion. After
* The following is a correct liſt of his writings in the
- order in which they appear to have been publiſhed.
1. Diſſertatio Inauguralis de Irritabilitate, 4to. Got-
tingen, 1751. § 3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3
2. The Life of Profeſſor Haller, 8vo, Zurich, 1755,


xxviii. THE LIFE of
fome fruitleſs efforts to pleaſe him, he
was, in the beginning of April, 1768,
appointed, by the intereſt of Dr. Tiſſot,
and Baron Hockſletten, to the poſt of
principal Phyſician to the King of Great
Britain, at Hanover; and he departed
from Brugg, to take poſſeſſion of his
new office, on the 4th of July, in the
ſame year. But the hopes with which
his friends had fondly flattered them-
ſelves upon this ſubject, were, alas! in a
3. Thoughts on the Earthquake which was felt on the
9th of December, 1755, in Swiſſerland, 4to. 1756.
4. The Subverſion of Liſbon, a Poem, 4to. 1756.
5. Meditations on Solitude, 8vo. 1756.
6. Eſſay on National Pride, 8vo, Zurich, 1 764.
7. Treatiſeon Experience in Phyſic, 8vo. Zurich, 1764
8. Treatiſe on the Dyſentery, 8vo. Zurich, 1767.
9. Eſſay on Solitude, 4to, 1773. ; : « & ::: #
10. Eſſay on Lavater's Phyſiognomy, Hanover, 1778.
11. Eſſays, conſiſting of agreeable and inſtrućtive Tales,
8vo. 1779.
12. Converſations with the King of Pruſſia.
13. Treatiſe on Frederick the Great, 1788.
14. Selea Views of the Life, Reign, and Charaćier of
Frederick the Great. .
15. A variety of Works publiſhed in the Helvetic
Journal, and in the Journals of the Phyſiolo-
gical Society at Zurich.
16. A Work on Zoology.


Z1MMERMAN. xxix
, ſhort time, ſorrowfully diſappointed. The
carriage in which he and his family were
conveyed to their new reſidence was
overturned juſt as it was entering the
gates of Hanover, and his wife's mother
received a compound fracture in her leg.
In three days after his arrival death de-
prived him of a valuable friend, one of
the Lords of the Regency, who had long
entertained for him a ſincere affection,
and moſt cordial eſteem. His colleague,
jealous of his ſuperior merit and increaſ-
ing fame, contrived to vex and thwart
him in the diſcharge of his official duties.
A local diſorder, under which he had la-
boured for many years, and which was
frequently attended with excruciating
pain, grew worſe; and, to add ſtill more
to his misfortunes, the health of Madame
Zimmerman, which always very confider-
ably influenced his own, viſibly declined.
Happily, amidſt this variety of vexations,
his extraordinary merit forced him into
very great and extenſive practice, which,
together with the company and corre-
ſpondence he regularly maintained with


XXX THE LIFE OF
his friends, engroſſed his time, and pre--
vented the recollection of his cares from
prey ing on his mind. Scarcel y, how-
ever, had he recovered his health and
ſpirits, when he was again plunged into
amiable wife, who, after many years of
lingering ſufferance, and pious reſigna-
tion, expired in his arms, on the 23d of
June, 1770; an event which he has de-
ſcribed in the following Work & with
elegant tenderneſs and ſenſibility. The
deep and poignant ſorrow he felt on this
a degree, that he was obliged, on the
Mick ::::: rgeon, for the
going an operation. It
S performed with great ſkill; and he
eceived ſuch perfeót relief, as to be able
to enjoy ſociety always with vivacity,
£-2. . ſe. This period,


























ZIMMERMAN. xxxi
tification of finding himſelf relieved
from a long and cruel complaint, of en-
joying the charms of a moſt agreeable
private ſociety, of being univerſally re-
ceived with the greateſt attention, and
of becoming acquainted with many lite-
rary characters in Germany. His recep-
tion on his return to Hanover was equally
pleaſing, and he flattered himſelf that he
ſhould at laſt enjoy a permanent ſtate of
health. But he ſeemed, alas! deſtined
to experience a conſtant viciſſitude of
pleaſure and of pain; for, in a ſhort
time after his return, he experienced
another ſource of inquietude in the death
of his wife's mother, who, except his ſon
and daughter, whoſe education ſhe had
undertaken to ſuperintend, was the only
companion of his domeſtic hours. His
had, from :------
ed ſvn, ptoms of conſumption, ſo ſt










xxxii THE LIFE OF
of medicine. During their refidence in
Swifferland, a young man, “as hand-
“ſome in his perſon as he was amiable
“in the qualities of his mind,” had,
after a long intimacy, conceived a vio-
lent attachment for her: he was “ the
“object of her firſt, of her only affec-
“tion;” and it was mutually agreed by
their parents to unite them, in proper
time, in the bands of matrimony; but,
ſoon after her removal to Hanover, it
ſeems that, for ſome cauſe, which does
not clearly appear, he put a period to
his exiſtence. This dreadful event gave
a violent ſhock to her feeble conſtitution,
and threw her into a languiſhing com-
plaint, which at length ended in a hat-
morrhage of the lungs, and in the ſum-
mer of 1781 deſtroyed her life. The
charaćter of this amiable girl, and the
feelings of her afflićted father on this
melancholy event, his own pen has very
affectingly deſcribed in the following
and condition of his ſon
fing to his feelings
º * Page 257.


ZIMMERMAN. xxxiii
than even the death of his beloved
daughter. This unhappy youth, who,
while he was at the univerſity, diſcover-
ed the fineſt fancy and the ſoundeſt un-
derſtanding, either from a malignant
and inveterate ſpecies of ſcrophula, with
which he had been periodically tortured
from his earlieſt infancy, or from too
cloſe an application to ſtudy, fell very
early in life into a ſtate of bodily infir-
mity and mental languor, which termi-
nated, in the month of December, 1777,
in a total derangement of his faculties;
and he has now continued, in ſpite of
every endeavour to reſtore him, a perfect
idiot for more than twenty years.
The domeſtic comforts of Zimmerman
were now almoſt entirely deſtroyed: he
had no one, except Madame de Dering,
the fifter of M. Strube, Secretary of
State, with whom he could “ hold com-
“munion ſweet and large;” and ſhe, to
complete his miſery, was obliged ſoon
afterwards to leave Hanover, and attend
her huſband to a diſtant part of Ger-
many, where he had lately been
. appoint-
ed to a new employment. Th e unhappy
C







xxxiv. THE LIFE OF
and comfortleſs ſituation of Zimmerman,
with whom ſhe had lived on terms of
the pureſt friendſhip during his reſidence
at Hanover, made a deep impreſſion on
her mind, and called forth all the ten-
dereſt feelings of her heart. Wiſely
conceiving that the only chance of pre-
venting him from falling a victim to his
affections, was by uniting him once
more in matrimony with ſome object
worthy of his choice, ſhe carefully ex-
amined the character and diſpoſition of
her female friends, and at length fixed
upon the daughter of M. Berger, the
King's Phyſician at Lunenbourg, and
miece to Baron de Berger, as a perſon
in every reſpect qualified to make him
happy. Madame de Dering managed
the introdućtion with great delicacy and
addreſs; and had the pleaſure to ob-
ferve, ſoon afterwards, that the ſentiments
of the parties correſponded perfectly
with her own. A friendſhip founded on
a reciprocity of taſte and diſpoſition,
ripened very quick ly into the tendereſt
affect ion ; a nd they were united to each
other in marriage about the beginning
§








ZIMMER MAN". XXXV
of Oétober, 1782, Zimmerman was hear-
ly thirty years older than his bride: but
genius and good ſenſe are always young;
and the ſimilarity of their charaćters ob-
literated all recollection of diſparity of
age. She was well acquainted with the
Engliſh language; ſpoke Italian with
great elegance and correctneſs; reviſed
his compoſitions with critical taſte and
found judgment; and continued to the
laſt moment of her life his tutelar deity,
a pleaſing companion of his proſperity,
and his ſupport and confolation in ad-
verſity. He went with her into com-
pany, had frequent parties at his own
houſe, and enjoyed an agreeable ſociety,
which reſtored him occaſionally to his
former gaiety and good humour. #.
It was at this period that he compo-
fed his great and favourite work on So-
litude, thirty years after the publication
of his firſt eſſay on the ſubjećt. It con- .
ſiſts of four volumes in quarto; the two
firſt of which were publiſhed in 1784;
and the remaining volumes in 1786.
“A work,” ſays Tiffot, “which will al-
“ ways be read with as much profit as
C 2



xxxvi THE LIFE OF
“pleaſure, as it contains the moſt ſu-
“blime conceptions, the greateſt ſaga-
“city of obſervation, an extreme pro-
“priety of application, much ability in
“ the choice of examples, and (what I
“cannot commend too highly, becauſe I
“can ſay nothing that does him ſo much
“honour, nor give him any praiſe that
“would be more gratifying to his own
“heart) a conſtant anxiety for the inte-
“reſts of religion, with the ſacred and
“ſolemn truths of which his mind was
“moſt devoutly impreſſed.”
During his reſidence at Berlin, in
1771, he had been invited to Potzdam by
the King of Pruſſia, and had frequent
conferences with his Majeſty reſpecting
the ſtate of his health. The particulars
of theſe conferences he communicated
by letter to a friend, who, anxious to
promulgate the honour Zimmerman had
received, ſhewed it very injudiciouſly to
ſeveral perſons, from whoſe communica-
tions it was, without the author's con-
ſent, at length publiſhed; but in ſo falſe
and mutilated a ſtate, that he was in-
duced to print a genuine copy of it

ZIMMER MAN." xxxvii
in his own name. The king, while he
was reviewing his troops in Sileſia in the
autumn of the year 1785, caught a ſe-
vere cold, which ſettled on his lungs,
and in the courſe of nine months brought
on ſymptoms of an approaching dropſy.
Zimmerman, by two very flattering let-
ters of the 6th and 16th of June, 1786,
was ſolicited by his Majeſty to attend
him, and he arrived at Potzdam on the
23d of the ſame month ; but he imme-
diately diſcovered that his royal patient
had little hopes of recovery; and, after
trying the effect of ſuch medicines as he
thought moſt likely to afford relief, he
returned to Hanover on the 11th of
July following,” where he publiſhed a
very particular and intereſting account
of his journey, and of the various con-
verſations he had had with the King.
He had, indeed, from his youth, at-
tended to the hiſtory of the King of
Pruſſia with that intereſt with which the
man of genius follows the career of a
great character, and entertained a high
* The King onl y º the departure of his Phy-
fician five weeks; he died on the 11th of Auguſt, 1786.
xxxviii THE LIFE OF
admiration of the talents, and a firm
attachment to the perſon, of this hero.
But it was not Frederick alone who diſ-
covered his abilities. When, in the year
1788, the melancholy ſtate of the King
of England's health alarmed the affec-
tion of his ſubjećts, and produced an
anxiety throughout Europe for his reco-
very, the government of Hanover diſ-
patched Zimmerman to Holland, that he
might be nearer London in caſe his pre-
fence there became neceſſary; and he
continued at the Hague until all danger
was over. The invitation of the diſcern-
ing Frederick, and the ſelection of the
Hanoverian Miniſter, who had for twen-
ty years witneſſed his abilities, gave new
and flattering teſtimonies of his medical
fkill, and afforded him that highly pleaſ.
ing gratification which accompanies a
conſciouſneſs of the public eſteem. Be-
loved by his particular friends, enjoying
the confidence of three moſt potent ſo-
vereigns, poſſeſſing the voluntary ap-
probation of the public, an ample for-
tune, and all the comforts of domeſtic
life, his ſituation ſeemed to afford him
zi MMERMAN. xxxix
.||
once more the proſpect of returning hap-
pineſs. But we muſt not eſtimate the
proſpects of felicity by the complexion
of exterior circumſtances. Diſeaſe fre-
quently racked his body with excruciat-
ing anguiſh ; and his mind, enervated,
perhaps, by the blandiſhments of proſ.
perity, occaſionally recoiled upon itſelf,
and plunged him into languor and de-
ſpondency. A new ſeries of vexations
alſo, proceeding from two different cauſes,
ſprung up at this period, and continued
to poiſon all the ſources of his happineſs
during the remainder of his life.
Zimmerman ſeems to have either for-
got or deſpiſed the danger which always
accompanies the taſk of writing the hiſ.
tory of monarchs during the lives of
their contemporaries; but he admired
the character of the King of Pruſſia
with enthuſiaſtic ardour; and even ſo far
from viewing it in the light in which it
was placed by a work written by Mira-
beau, and publiſhed in 1788, intitled,
“The Pruſſian Monarchy,” that he bold-
ly entered the liſts in favour of his royal
friend, and publiſhed firſt a pamphlet,
c 4

xl . THE LIFE of
intitled, “A Defence of Frederick the .
Great againſt the Count de Mirabeau :”
and afterwards, in the year 1790, a work
in three volumes octavo, intitled, “Se-
leč Views of the Life, Charaćter, and
Reign of Frederick the Great, King of
Pruſſia.” Theſe works, beſides many
ſtrong political obſervations and anec-
dotes of particular characters, contain-
ed many ſevere animadverſions on the
irreligion which prevailed at Berlin, and
drew down on the head of their author
all the rancour of private animoſity and
party ſpirit. Truth, however, was in
general on his ſide ; and he ought to
have treated the malevolent cenſures
and illiberal attacks of his opponents
with the cold and filent contempt they
deſerved; but men of irritable nerves
are apt to be deeply affected by trifles,
and the virulence with which he was
purſued on this occaſion gave him much
vexation. *
The ſecond cauſe of his chagrin, at
this period, aroſe from his ſtrong attach-
ment to the cauſe of religion, the inte-
reſts of human nature, and the danger
ZIMMERMAN. xli
to which he ſaw all ſocial order was im-
minently expoſed. It was the anxiety
and mortification he experienced upon
this occaſion that gave the fatal blow to
his declining health, and at length de-
prived him prematurely of his exiſtence;
for every thing that related to the hap-
pineſs not merely of individuals, but of
mankind in general, was extremely dear
to him; and he might well exclaim,
. Homo ſum, nihil humani à me alienum puto.
Morality and politics, or thoſe princi-
ples on which the happineſs of private
life and the ſecurity of public order ſo
eſſentially depend, had ever been ſub-
jects of his attention. The political pro-
ductions of Monteſquieu and Rouſſeau,
eſpecially thoſe two celebrated works,
The Spirit of Laws, and The Social Con-
trač, he had deeply ſtudied; and his
writings in general, but more particu-
larly his works on National Pride and
Solitude, demonſtrate his conſtant anxi-
ety for the public welfare. The celebrity
of Rouſſeau, and the prevailing propen-
fity to follow his political tenets, cauſed
him to regret the many erroneous poſi-
xlii THE LIFE OF
tions contained in The Social Contraß, .
and induced him to refute thoſe parts of
it in which the author endeavours to ſap
the foundation of all religious princi-
ples. In compoſing his Eſſay on Solitude,
he was led to inquire into the riſe, the
progreſs, and the principles, of differ-
ent religious ſects, and to eſtimate their
probable influence and effects upon go-
vernments; and he became firmly per-
ſuaded, to uſe the expreſſion of Tiſſot,
that they are “the cuckow’s eggs, which
“can never be permitted to be hatched
“ without endangering the public tran-
“quillity.” A new and extraordinary
ſociety had ſprung up under his own
obſervation, which engaged his whole
attention, and which well merited that
of the civilized world, fince it is now
clear that the great object of it was no
leſs than to aboliſh all religion, to ſub-
vert ſocial order, and to deſtroy thereby
the happineſs of mankind. This confe-
deracy, which was denominated “The
Secret Society of the Illuminated,” had
become extremely formidable in Ger-
many; and Zimmerman, well acquaint-




ZIMMERMAN. xliii
t
ed with the pennicious, tendency of its
principles, earneſtly endeavoured to op-
poſe them, by intereſtin g thoſe whom it
moſt concerned to prevent their effects.
The pretence of its members was the
happineſs of the people; and, ſuppoſing
this happineſs to be incompatible with
every ſpecies of religion and civil eſta-
bliſhment at preſent exiſting, they cried
with one voice, “Let us deſtroy them
all, and raze their very foundations.” It
included, in ſhort, among its dark de-
ſigns, the whole of the doctrine which
the Jacobins of Paris have ſince ſo fa-
tally put in practice; and it has been
proved, by the moſt irrefragable docu-
ments,” that they not only maintained
an intimate correſpondence together
long before the revolution, but that the
deſtruction of the Chriſtian religion, and
the ſubverſion of every throne, and of
all governments, was, ever ſince the
year 1776, the ſecret aim and ſole ob-
ject of theſe orders. They adopted, in
* See Memoirs for the Plenipotentiaries aſſembled at
Soiſſons, in which is demonſtrated how prejudicial the
ſociety of Jeſuits is to church and ſtate.
xliv THE LIFE • OF
ſhort, that execrable obſervation known .
and celebrated in France, and generally
attributed to Diderot : “ Mankind will
“ never be perfeółly happy and free, un-
“ til the laſt of kings ſhall be ſtrangled
“with the bowels of the laſt of prieſts.”
The ſociety of the Illuminated was com-
poſed of five diſtinct claſſes of mem-
bers, who were ſounded, prepared, and
raiſed ſtep by ſtep, as they diſcovered
themſelves worthy to be truſted with its
miſchievous myſteries. This mode of
introdućtion, ſo conſonant to the nature
of the aſſembly, was firſt ſuggeſted, in
the year 1782, by Baron de Knigge;
and, by the infinuating manners and
captivating language which the princi-
pal managers well knew how to uſe, the
number of affiliated members increaſed
from day to day. Many honeſt men
had grieved in ſilence, on perceiving
the evils which were likely to reſult from
the baleful doćtrines propagated, with
equal art and induſtry, by this danger-
ous combination: but Zimmerman was
the firſt who had the courage to unveil
the dangerous principles of theſe new

ZIMMERMAN." Xlv
philoſophers, and to exhibit to the eyes
of the German Princes the riſk they ran
in neglecting to oppoſe the progreſs of ſo
formidable a league. He convinced
many of them, and particularly the Em-
peror Leopold the Second, that the views
of theſe illuminated conſpirators were the
deſiruction of Chriſtianity, and the ſub-
verſion of all regular government; and
that many courtiers, miniſters, judges,
officers in the army, prelates of the Ro-
man church, an immenſe number of in-
ferior eccleſiaſtics, and even ſome of the
ſovereign princes of Germany, were not
only tainted by the new doctrines, but
aćtive members of the ſociety. Theſe
exertions, while they contributed to leſ-
ſen the danger which threatened his
adopted country, greatly impaired his
health. Deeply impreſſed, however,
with the importance of his cauſe, he
proſecuted his labours with unremitting
attention, and devoted the hours of re-
poſe, both early in the morning, and late
in the evening, to this arduous taſk. He
ſeems, indeed, to have been urged by
ſomething like perſonal conſideration;i
xlvi THE LIFE OF
for, in a letter which he wrote to his
friend Dr. Tiſſot, on the 4th of October,
1794, he ſays, “I may yet, before the
• ‘ year expires, become a poor diſtreſſed
“ emigrant, forced to leave his houſe
“with the dear partner of his cares,
“without knowing where to hide his
, or find a bed on which to die;”
and certainly the invaſion of the elec-
torate, the facking of Hanover, and the
neceſſity of abandoning it, were at that
time much to be feared; for negocia-
tion alone ſaved a country which its
arms were incapable of defending. Theſe
ſentiments announce the deep depreſſion
of his mind, and evince the loſs of that
firm tone and vigorous exertion which
was neceſſary to ſupport his laſt endea-
vours to repel the impending calamity.
His ſpirits, indeed, had received a ſhock
from which they were unable to reco-
ver, even when the danger was re-
moved. In the month of November,
. he was obliged to
opiates to procure even a
: decreaſed; his
º
ftrength failed him;




















: z IMMERMAN xlvii
*
weak and emaciated, that, in January,
1795, when he was induced to viſit a
few particular patients in his carriage,
it was painful to him to write a preſcrip-
tion, and he frequently fainted while
aſcending to the room. Theſe ſymp-
toms were followed by a dizzineſs in his
head, which obliged him to relinquiſh
all buſineſs. At length the axis of his
brain gave way, and reduced him to
ſuch a ſtate of mental imbecility, that
he was haunted continually by an idea
that the enemy was plundering his
houſe, and that he and his family were
reduced to a ſtate of miſery and want.
His medical friends, particularly Dr.
JPichman, by whom he was conſtantly
attended, contributed their advice and
aſſiſtance to reſtore him to health; a
conceiving that a journey, and
of air, were the beſt remedies that
be applied, they ſent him to Eutin
the Duchy of Holſtein, where he c
tinued three months, and, about
month of June, 1795, returned to Ha-
nover greatly recovered. But the fatal
dart had infixed itſelf too deeply to be















xlviii THE LIFE of z IMMERMAN.
entirely removed; he ſoon afterwards
relapſed into his former imbecility, and
barely exiſted in lingering ſufferance for
many months, refuſing to take any
medicines, and ſcarcely any food.
He frequently ſaid to his phyſicians,
“My death I perceive will be ſlow and
painful;” and, about fourteen hours be-
fore he died, he exclaimed, “ Leave
me to myſelf; I am dying.” At length
his emaciated body and exhauſted mind
ſunk beneath the burden of mortality,
and he expired, without a groan, on the
7th of Oétober, 1795. §

*
S O L IT UD E:
OR,
The Influence of occaſional Retirement
UPON THE -
Mind and the Heart.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
INTRODUCTION.
SOLITUDE is that intelledual ſtate in which
the mind voluntarily ſurrenders itſelf to its own
refle&tions. The philoſopher, therefore, who
withdraws his attention from every external ob-
jećt to the contemplation of his own ideas, is not
leſs ſolitary than he who abandons ſociety, and

reſigns himſelf entirely to the calm enjoyments
of lonely life.

The word “Solitude” does not neceſſarily im-
port a total retreat from the world and its con-
cerns: the dome of domeſtic ſociety, a rural vil-
lage, or the library of a learned friend, may re-
ſpectively become the ſeat of Solitude, as well as
2 INTRODUCTION.
the filent ſhade of ſome ſequeſtered ſpot far re-
moved from all connection with mankind.
A PERson may be frequently ſolitary without
being alone.* The haughty Baron, proud of his
illuſtrious deſcent,is ſolitary unleſs he is ſurrounded
by his equals; a profound reaſoner is ſolitary at the
tables of the witty and the gay. The mind may
be as abſtraćted amidſt a numerous aſſembly, as
much withdrawn from every ſurrounding obječt,
as retired and concentrated in itſelf, as ſolitary,
in ſhort, as a monk in his cloiſter, or a hermit in
his cave. Solitude, indeed, may exiſt amidſt the
tumultuous intercourſe of an agitated city, as
well as in the peaceful ſhades of rural retirement;
at London and at Paris, as well as on the plains
of Thebes and the deſerts of Nitria, +
. . . . ; : . . . THE
£3. 3 * And alſo, according to the well known line, “ Nunquam
“ minusplus quam ſolus,” never leſs alone than when alone.
* , + “ The solitude,” ſays Montaigne, “ which I am fond of
myſelf, and recommend to others, is that which enables me to
withdraw my affections and thoughts into myſelf ſo as to reſtrain
and check my deſires and cares without impeding my proceedings.
To ſay the truth, local so Li tu de rather expands and ſets
me at large: I the more willingly embark in the affairs of ſtate,
and in the buſineſs of the world, when I am alone. At the
Louvre, and in the crowd of the court, I keep within my own
phere; the throng makes meretire into myſelf; and I never en-
tertain myſelf ſo wantonly, ſo licentiouſly, and ſo fingularly, as
in places of reſpea and ceremonious prudence. I am conſtitu-
: tionally


INTRODUCTION. 3
THE mind, when withdrawn from external ob-
jećts, adopts, freely and extenſively, the dićtates
of its own ideas, and implicitly follows the taſte,
the temperament, the inclination, and the genius,
of its poſſeſſor. Sauntering through the cloiſters
of the Magdalen Convent at Hidelſheim, I could
not obſerve, without a ſmile, an aviary of Canary
birds, which had been bred in the cell of a female
devotee. A gentleman of Brabant lived five-and-
twenty years without ever going out of his houſe,
entertaining himſelf during that long period with
forming a magnificent cabinet of pićtures and
paintings. Even unfortunate captives, who are
doomed to perpetual impriſonment, may ſoften the
rigours of their fate, by reſigning themſelves, as
far as their ſituation will permit, to the ruling
paſſion of their ſouls. Michael Ducret, the Swiſs
philoſopher, while he was confined in the caſtle
of Aarburg, in the canton of Berne, in Swiſſer-
land, meaſured the height of the Alps: and
while the mind of Baron Trenck, during his
B 2 impriſonment
tionally no enemy to the buſtle of a court. I have ſpent part of
my life, and am capable of behaving cheerfully in great com-
panies, provided it be now and then, and at my own times: but
there is an effeminacy of manners, a puerility of judgment, pre-
vailing there that attaches me by force to Solit up *.”—Mont.
Eſſ. B. 3. Ch. 3. And in another Eſſay he obſerves, “ True
Solitude is ſuch as may be enjoyed even in populous cities, and
the courts of kings, though more commodiouſly apart.” B. 1.
Ch. 38. -

4. INTRoduction.
impriſonment at Magdebourg, was, with inceſ-
ſant anxiety, fabricating proječts to effect his eſ-
cape, General Walrave, the companion of his
| captivity, contentedly paſſed his time in feed-
ing chickens.” *:: ..
THE human mind, in proportion as it is de-
prived of external reſources, ſedulouſly labours
... to find itſelf the means of happineſs, learns to
rely with confidence on its own exertions, and
gains, with greater certainty, the power of be-
ing happy. - -
A work, therefore, on the ſubjećt of Soli-
Tupe, appeared to me likely to facilitate MAN
in his ſearch after true felicity.
UN worthy, however, as the diffipation and
pleaſures of the world appear to me to be of the
avidity with which they are purſued, I equally diſ-
approveofthe extravagant ſyſtem which inculcates
a total direlićtion of ſociety, which will be found,
when ſeriouſly examined, to be equally romantic
*...***
* * #3%
%iº and impracticable. To be able to live indepen-
dently of all aſſiſtance, except from our own
powers, is, I acknowledge, a noble effort of the
human mind; but it is equally great and dignified
- - to
• To t efe inſtances we may add that of the celebrated Pol.
taire, who, while confined in the Baſtille, without any hope of
emancipation, compoſed his poem of The HENRIA D. E.
*%
*A*,





INTRODUCTION. 5
to learn the art of enjoying the comforts of ſociety
with happineſs to ourſelves, and with utility to
others. .
WHILE, therefore, I exhort my readers to liſten
to the advantages of occaſional retirement, I warn
them againſt that dangerous exceſs into which ſome
of the diſciples of this philoſophy have fallen; an
exceſs equally repugnant to REAson and Reli-
Gron.* May I happily ſteer through all the
dangers with which my ſubječt is ſurrounded;
ſacrifice nothing to prejudice; offer no violation
to truth; and gain the approbation of the judicious
and reflecting! If afflićtion ſhall feel one ray of
comfort, or melancholy, releaſed from a portion of
its horrors, raiſe its downcaſt head; if I ſhall con-
vince the lover of rural life, that all the finer
ſprings of pleaſure dry up and decay in the intenſe
joys of crowded cities, and that the warmeſt emo-
tions of the heartbecome there cold and torpid; if I
ſhall evince the ſuperior pleaſures of the country;
how many reſources rural life affords againſt the
languors of indolence; what purity of ſentiment,
what peaceful repoſe, what exalted happineſs, is
B 3. inſpired


* “A total retreat from the world,” ſays a learned Divine,
“is ſo far from being, as the Roman Catholic church holds, the
perfection of k eligion, that, ſome particular caſes excepted,
it is no other than the abuſe of it,” Blair, Sermon IX.
6 INTRODUCTION.
inſpired by verdant meads, and the view of lively
flocks quitting their rich paſtures to ſeek, with the
declining ſun, their evening folds; how highly
the romantic ſcenery of a wild and ſtriking coun-
try, interſperſed with cottages, the habitations of
a happy, free, contented race of men, elevates
the ſoul; how far more intereſting to the heart
are the joyful occupations of rural induſtry, than
the dull and taſteleſs entertainments of a diffipated
city; how much more eaſily, in ſhort, the moſt
excruciating ſorrows are pleafingly ſubdued on the
fragrant border of a peaceful ſtream, than in the
midſt of thoſe treacherous delights which occupy
the courts of kings; all my wiſhes will be ac-
compliſhed, and my happineſs complete.
Ret IREMENT from the world may prove pecu-
liarly beneficial at two periods of life: In YouTH,
to acquire the rudiments of uſeful information, to
lay the foundation of the character intended to be
purſued, and to obtain that train of thought which
is to guideus through life: In AGE, to caſt a retro-
ſpective view on the courſe we have to run; to re-
fled on the events we have obſerved,the vicifitudes
we have experienced; to enjoy the flowers we have
gathered on the way, and to congratulate ourſelves
upon the tempeſts we have ſurvived. Lord Bo-
lingbroke, in his “ Idea of a Patriot King,”
ſays, there is not a more profound nor a finer ob-
ſervation


INTRODUCTION.
ſervation in all Lord Bacon’s works than the fol-
lowing: “We muſt chooſe betimes ſuch virtu-
“ous obječfs as are proportioned to the means we
“have of purſuing them, and belong particularly
“ to the ſtations we are in, and the duties of thoſe
‘ſtations. We muſt determine and fix our minds
“ in ſuch manner upon them, that the purſuit of
“ them may become the buſineſs, and the attain-
‘ment of them the end, of our whole lives. Thus
“we ſhall imitate the great operations of nature,
“ and not the feeble, ſlow, and imperfect opera-
“tions of art. We muſt not proceed in forming
“ the moral character as a ſtatuary proceeds in
“forming a ſtatue, who works ſometimes on the
“face, ſometimes on one part, and ſometimes on
“ another; but we muſt proceed, and it is in our
“ power to proceed, as nature does in forming a
“flower, or any other of her productions; rudi-
“ menta partium omnium ſimul parit et producit .
“ſhe throws out altogether and at once the
“whole ſyſtem of every being, and the rudi-
“ments of all the parts.” …
£
&
It is, therefore, more eſpecially to thoſe youth-
ful minds who ſtill remain ſuſceptible of vir-
tuous impreſſions, that I here pretend to point
out the path which leads to true felicity.
Dear and virtuous youths, into whoſe hands
this book may chance to fall, adopt with af.
B 4 fe&tionate


8 Introduction. *
feationate zeal the good it contains, and reject all
that does not touch and penetrate the heart: and
if you acknowledge that I have enlightened your
minds, correóted your manners, and tranquillized
your hearts, Iſhall congratulate myſelf on the ſuc-
ceſs of my deſign, and think my labours richly
rewarded.
BELIEve me, all yearmiable youths from whoſe
minds the artifices and gaieties of the world have
not yet obliterated the precepts of a virtuous edu-
cation; who are not yet infected with its inglo-
rious vanities; who, ſtill ignorant of the tricksand
blandiſhments of ſedućtion, have preſerved the de-
fire to perform ſome glorious action, and retained
the power to accompliſh it; who, in the midſt of
feaſting, dancing, and aſſemblies, feel an inclina-
tion to eſcape from their unſatisfactory delights 3.
Solitude will afford you a ſafe aſylum. Let the
voice of experience recommend you to cultivate a
fondneſs for domeſtic pleaſures, to incite and for-
tify your ſouls to noble deeds, to acquire that cool
judgment and intrepid ſpirit which enables you to
form correóteſtimates of the chara&ters of mankind
and of the pleaſures of ſociety. But to accom-
pliſh this high end, you muſt turn your eyes from
thoſe trifling and inſignificant examples which a
degenerated race of men affords, and ſtudy the
illuſtrious charaćters of the ancient Greeks, the
ºº:: * . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - * * Romans,

3. INTRoduction. 9.

Romans, and the modern Engliſh. In what
nation will you find more celebrated inſtances of
human greatneſs? What people poſſeſs more va-
lour, courage, firmneſs and knowledge Where
do the arts and ſciences ſhine with greater ſplen-
dor, or with more uſeful effect? But do not de-
ceive yourſelves by a belief that you will acquire
the charaćter of an Engliſhman by wearing a
cropped head of hair : No, you muſt pluck the
roots of vice from your minds, deſtroy the ſeeds of
weakneſs in your boſoms, and imitate the great
examples of heroic virtue which that nation ſo
frequently affords. It is an ardent love of liberty,
undaunted courage, deep penetration, elevated
ſentiment, and well cultivated underſtanding,
that conſtitute the Britiſh character; and not
their cropped heads, half boots, and round hats.
It is virtue alone, and not dreſs or titles, that can
ennoble or adorn the human chara&ter. Dreſs is
an obječttoo minute and trifling wholly to occupy
a rational mind; and an illuſtrious deſcent is only
advantageous as it renders the real merits of its
immediate poſſeſſor more conſpicuous. In tracing
your genealogies, rank, ye noble youths, thoſe only
among your anceſtors who have performed great
and gloriousačtions, whoſe fame ſhines in the pages
of their country’s hiſtory, and whoſe admired cha-
raēters foreign nations envy and applaud. Never,
however, loſe fight of this important truth, that
770
%,

; : ºft for a wife and active Solitude,
juſtify your averſion from worldly pleaſures, and
heighten your repugnance to employ vicious
MEANs in the attainment even of virtuous
Ends; for no worldly advantages purchaſed by
diſhonourable means can be either ſolid or laſting.
r1 Rºd, we tread a ſmooth and open way;
Thro' briars and brambles in the world we ſtray:
ff oppoſition, and perplex’d debate,
tthorny care, and rank and ſtinging hate,
up our paſſage, our career cont rul,
• round the fineſt feelings of the ſoul.
º acred So Lit UD El divine retreat!
e of the prudent ! envy of THE GREAT!
y pure ſtream, or in thy waving ſhade,
we cou Wisdom, that celeſtial maid.
The genuine offspring of her lov’d embrace,
Strangers on earth" are INNocence and Peace. ,
There from the ways of men laid ſafe aſhore,
We ſmile to hear the diſtant tempeſt roar :
There bleſt with HEALTH, with buſineſs unper
plex’d, w
"This life we, reliſh, and inſure the next;
There too the Muses ſport with myrtles crown'd,
While joys untainted beam on all around. z



















THE INFLUENCE of solitude, &c. 11
THE INFLUENce of solitude
. UPon THE MIND.
1 HEtrue value of liberty can only be conceived
by minds that are free: Slaves remain indolently
contented in captivity. Men who have been
long toſſed upon the troubled ocean of life, and
have learned by ſevere experience to entertain
juſt notions of the world and its concerns, to ex-
amine every obječt with unclouded and impartial
eyes, to walkered in the ſtrićt and thorny paths
of virtue, and to find their happineſs in the reflec-
tion of an honeſt mind, alone are—free.
The path of virtue, indeed, is devious, dark,
and dreary; but though it leads the traveller over
hills of difficulty, it at length brings him into the
delightful and extenſive plains of permanent hap-
pineſs and ſecure repoſe.
THE love of Solitude, when cultivated in the
morn of life, elevates the mind to a noble indepen-
dence: but, to acquire the advantages which Soli-'
tude is capable of affordin g, the mind muſt not
: be



12 - THE INFLUENCE OF sol ITUDE
beinpelled to it by melancholy and diſcontent, but .
by a real diſtaſte to the idle pleaſures of the world,
a rational contempt for the deceitful joys of life,
and juſt apprehenſions of being corrupted and ſe-
duced by its inſinuating and deſtructive gaieties.
MANY men have acquired and exerciſed in So-
litude that tranſcendent greatneſs of mind which
defies events; and, like the majeſtic cedar, which
braves the fury of the moſt violent tempeſt, have
reſiſted, with heroic courage, the ſevereſt ſtorms of
fate. Some few, indeed, have retained in retire-
ment the weakneſſes of human nature; but the
condućt of greater numbers has clearly evinced
that a man of good ſenſe cannot degenerate even
in the moſt dreary ſecluſion. >
Solitude, indeed, ſometimes renders themind
in a ſlight degree arrogant and conceited”; but
theſe effects are eaſily removed by a judicious in-
tercourſe with mankind. Miſanthropy, contempt
of folly, and pride of ſpirit, are, in noble minds,
changed by the maturity of age into dignity of cha-
raćter: and that fear of the opinion of the world
which awed the weakneſs and inexperience of
* . . . . . . youth,
• Plato, towards the concluſion of his fourth letter, warns
Dion to guard againſt that auſterity or haughtineſs which is the
companion of Solitude,” “... is a sassia tºua iweus" * *


Upon THE MIND. 13
youth, is ſucceeded by firmneſs, and a high diſ-
dain of thoſe falſe notions by which it was diſ-
mayed: the obſervations once ſo dreaded loſe all
their ſtings; the mind views objects not as they
are, but as they ought to be; and, feeling a con-
tempt for vice, riſes into a noble enthuſiaſm for
virtue, gaining from the conflićt arrational ex-
perience and a compaſſionate feeling which never
decay.
THE ſcience of the heart, indeed, with which
youth ſhould be familiarized as early as poſſible, is
too frequently neglected. It removes the aſperities
and poliſhes the rough ſurfaces of the mind. This
ſcience is founded on that noble philoſophy which
regulates the charaćters of men; and, operating
more by love than by rigid precept, corrects the
cold dićtates of reaſon by the warm feelings of
the heart; opens to view the dangers to which
they are expoſed; animates the dormant faculties
of the mind; and prompts them to the practice
of all the virtues.
Dion * was educated in all the turpitude and
ſervility of courts, accuſtomed to a life of ſoftneſs
: and
* Dion, the ſon of Hipparinus, was related to, and employed ,
in the ſervice of, Dionyſius the Elder, the tyrant of Syracuſe.
He perſuaded Dionyſius to invite Plato, the celebrated Gre-
cian philoſopher, to his court. Dion, liſtening to his divine
. . 3. precepts,
14 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
and effeminacy, and, what is ſtill worſe, tainted by
oſtentation, luxury, and every ſpecies of vicious
pleaſure; but no ſooner did he liſten to the di-
vine Plato, and acquired thereby a taſte for that
ſublime philoſophy which inculcates the pračtice
of v1RTUE, than his whole ſoul became deeply
enamoured of its charms. The ſame love of virtue
with which Plato inſpired the mind of Dion,
may be ſilently, and almoſt imperceptibly, infuſed
by every tender mother into the mind of her child.
Philoſophy, from the lips of a wiſe and ſenſible
woman, glides quietly, but with ſtrong effect, into
the mind through the feelings of the heart. Who
is not fond of walking even through the moſt
rough
precepts, became immediately inſpired with the love of virtue;
and, by his exemplary good conduct, rendered himſelf ſo ex-
tremely popular, that he became odious in the eyes of the tyrant,
who baniſhed him to Greece, where he colle&ted a numerous
force, and reſolved to releaſe his country from ſlavery. In this
enterprize he confirmed the obſervation of his philoſophic inſtruc-
tor, “ that power and fortune muſt concur with prudence and
“ juſtice to effect any thing great in a political capacity.” He
entered the port of Syracuſe only with two ſhips; and in three
days reduced under his power an empire which had ſubſiſted for
fifty years, and which was guarded by soo ſhips of war, and
above too, ooo troops. The tyrant (then Dionyſius the younger)
fled to Corinth ; and Dion kept the reins of government in his
own hands until he was betrayed and murdered by Callicrates,
one of his moſt intimate and familiar friends. “When I ex-
“ plained,” ſays Plato, in his ſeventh letter, “the principles
“ of philoſophy and humanity to Dion, I little thought I was
“ inſenſibly opening the way to the ſubverſion of tyranny, and
“ the liberties of mankind.”
%

Upon THE MIND. I5
rough and difficult paths, when condućted by the
hand of Love? What ſpecies of inſtrućtion can be
more ſucceſsful than ſoft leſſons from a female
tongue, dićtated by a mind profound in underſtand-
ing, and elevated in ſentiment, where the heart
feels all the affection that her precepts inſpire
Oh! may every mother, ſo endowed, be bleſſed
with a child who delights to liſten in private to her
edifying obſervations; who, with a book in his
hand, loves to ſeek among the rocks ſome ſequeſ-
tered ſpot favourable to ſtudy; who, when walk-
ing with his dogs and gun, frequently reclines
under the friendly ſhade of ſome majeſtic tree,
and contemplates the great and glorious chara&ters
which the pages of Plutarch preſent to his
view, inſtead of toiling through the thickets of
the ſurrounding woods to ſearch for game.
THE wiſhes of a mother are accompliſhed when
the ſilence and ſolitude of the foreſts ſeize and
animate the mind of her beloved child; * when
he begins to feel that he has ſeen ſufficiently the
pleaſures of the world; when he begins to per-
ceive that there are greater and more valued cha-
3. raēters
* “ Mirum ºff,” ſays the younger Pliny, “ut animus agi-
“tatione motuque corporis excitetur. jam undique ſilvae et ſolitudo
“ ipſorumque illud filentium, quod venationi datur, magna cogita-
“tionis incitamenta ſunt.”
16 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE
raēters than noblemen or ſquires, than miniſters or
kings; charaćters who enjoy a more elevated ſenſe
of pleaſure than gaming tables and aſſemblies are
capable of affording; who ſeek, at every interval
of leiſure, the ſhades of Solitude with rapturous de-
light, whoſe minds have been inſpired with a love
of literature and philoſophy from their earlieſt in-
fancy; whoſe boſoms have glowed with a love of
ſcience through every ſubſequent period of their
lives; and who, amidſt the greateſt calamities,
are capable of baniſhing, by a ſecret charm, the
deepeſt melancholy and moſt profound dejec-
tloil.
The advantages of Solitude to a mind that feels
a real diſguſt at the tireſome intercourſes of ſociety
are inconceivable. Freed from the world, the
veil which obſcured the intelle&t ſuddenly falls,
the clouds which dimmed the light of reaſon diſap-
pear, the painful burthen which oppreſſed the ſoul
is alleviated; we no longer wreſtle with ſurround-
ing perils; the apprehenſion of danger vaniſhes ;
the ſenſe of misfortune becomes ſoftened; the diſ-
penſations of Providence no longer excite the mur-
mur of diſcontent; and we enjoy the delightful
pleaſures of a calm, ſerene, and happy mind. Pa-
tience and reſignation follow and reſide with a
contented heart; every corroding care flies away
on the wings of gaiety; and on every ſide agree-
* ... ." §§::::::: * : * : *% --- . . . ." able


&
Upon THe MIND. 17
able and intereſting ſcenes preſent themſelves to
our view: the brilliant ſun ſinking behind the
lofty mountains, tinging their ſnow-crowned tur-
rets with golden rays; the feathered choir haſten-
ing to ſeek within their moſſy cells, aſoft, a ſilent,
and ſecure repoſe; the ſhrill crowing of the amo-
rous cock; the ſolemn and ſtately march of oxen
returning from their daily toil; and the graceful
paces of the generous ſteed. But, amidſt the vi-
cious pleaſures of a great METRoPolis, where
ſenſe and truth are conſtantly deſpiſed, and in-
tegrity and conſcience thrown aſide as incon-
venient and oppreſſive,” the faireſt forms of fancy
are obſcured, and the pureſt virtues of the heart
corrupted. . « g : * ~ *
c . But
* In ſpeaking thus of the dangers of a Metropolis, the Author
can only mean to point out the effects produced by the bad com-
pany that infeſt it; for in another part of his work he has given
an inſtance in which THE town is preferable to th E country.
“ The poet Martial,” ſays he, “on his return to Bibilis, the
village of his nativity, in Spain, after having lived thirty-four
years among the moſt learned and enlightened men of Rome,
found it a dreary deſert, a frightful ſolitude : Forced to aſſociate
with perſons who felt no pleaſure in the elegant occupations of
literature and the ſciences, a painful languor ſeized his mind, and
he fighed inceſſantly to reviſit the beloved Metropolis where
he had acquired ſuch univerſal fame; where his good ſenſe, his
penetration, his ſagacity, were duly applauded; and immortality
promiſed to his writings, by the encomiums they received from
the younger Pliny, as poſſeſſing equal acumen, wit, and eaſe :
but, on the contrary, in the ſtupid village of Bibilis, his fame
and learning only acquired him envy and contempt."

18 THE INFLUENCE of sol ITU De
But the firſt and moſt inconteſtible advantage .
of Solitude is, that it accuſtoms the mind to
think: the imagination becomes more vivid, and
the memory more faithful, while the ſenſes remain
undiſturbed, and no external objećt agitates the
ſoul. Removed far from the tireſome tumults of
public ſociety, where a multitude of heterogene-
ous objećts dance before our eyes, and fill the mind
with incoherent notions, we learn to fix our at-
tention to a ſingle ſubjećt, and to contemplate that
alone. An author,” whoſe works I could read
with pleaſure every hour of my life, ſays, “It is
“ the power of attention which in agreat meaſure
“diſtinguiſhes the wiſe and the great from the
“vulgar and trifling herd of men. The latter
“are accuſtomed to think, or rather to dream,
“without knowing the ſubject of their thoughts.
“In their unconnected rovings they purſue no
“end; they follow no track. Everything floats
“looſeand disjointed on the ſurfaceoftheir minds;
“like leaves ſcattered and blown about on the
“ face of the waters.”
The
* Dr. Blair, the author of the highly celebrated Sermons,
and of an excellent work, intitled, “Lectures on Rhetoric and
“Belles Lettres,” printed at London, for the firſt time, in the
year 1783, and indiſpenſably neceſſary to be ſtudied by every
perſon who wiſhes to ſpeak and write with elegance and pro-
priety. º :




UPON THE MIND. 19
The habit of thinking with ſteadineſs and at-
tention, can only be acquired by avoiding the diſ-
traction which a multiplicity of objećts always
create; by turning our obſervation from external
things; and ſeeking a ſituation in which our daily
occupations are not perpetually ſhifting their
courſe, and changing their direction.
IDLENEss and inattention ſoon deſtroy all
the advantages of retirement; for the moſt dan-
gerous paſſions, when the mind is not properly
employed, riſe into fermentation, and produce a
variety of eccentric ideas and irregular deſires.
It is neceſſary, alſo, to elevate our thoughts above
the mean conſideration of ſenſual obječts: the
unincumbered mind then recalls all that it has
read; all that has pleaſed the eye, or delighted
the ear; and refle&ting on every idea which
either obſervation, experience, or diſcourſe, has
produced, gains new information by every re-
fle&tion, and conveys the pureſt pleaſures to the
ſoul. The intelle&t contemplates all the former
ſcenes of life; views by anticipation thoſe that
are yet to come; and blends all ideas of paſt and
future in the actual enjoyment of the preſent
moment. To keep, however, the mental powers
in proper tone, it is neceſſary to direct our at-
tention invariably towards ſome noble and inte-
reſting ſtudy. - w
~ C 2 IT


zo the influence or solitude
It may, perhaps, excite a ſmile when I aſſert,
that Solitude is the only ſchool in which the cha-
raēters of men can be properly developed; but it
muſt be recollected, that, although the materials
of this ſtudy muſt be amaſſed in Society, it is in So-
litude alone that we can apply them to their proper
uſe. The world is the great ſcene of our obſerva-
tions; butto apply them with propriety to their re-
ſpective objećts is excluſively the work of Solitude.
It is admitted that a knowledge of the nature of
man is neceſſary to our happineſs; and therefore I
cannot conceive how it is poſſibletocall thoſe cha-
raćters malignant and miſanthropic, who, while
they continue in the world, endeavour to diſcover
even the faults, foibles, and imperfections of hu-
mankind. The purſuit of this ſpecies of know-
ledge, which can only begained by obſervation, is
ſurely laudable, and not deſerving the obloquy that
has been caſt on it. Do I, in my medical chara&ter,
feelany malignancy or hatred to the ſpecies, when
I ſtudy the nature and explore the ſecret cauſes
of thoſe weakneſſes and diſorders which are inci-
dental to the human frame when I examine the
ſubjećt with the cloſeſt inſpection, and point out
for the general benefit, I hope, of mankind, as well
as for my own ſatisfaction, all the frail and im-
perfect parts in the anatomy of the human body ?
But a difference is ſuppoſed to exiſt between .
the obſervations which we are permitted to make
upon
sº
UPON THE MIND. 2 I
upon the anatomy of the human body, and thoſe
which we aſſume reſpecting the philoſophy of the
mind. The phyſician, it is ſaid, ſtudies the ma-
ladies which are incidental to the human frame, to
apply ſuch remedies as the particular occaſion may
require: but it is contended, that the moraliſt has a
different end in view. This diſtinčtion, however,
is certainly without foundation. A ſenſible and
feeling philoſopher views both the moral and phy-
ſical defe&ts of his fellow-creatures with an equal
degree of regret. Why do moraliſts ſhun mankind,
by retiring into Solitude, if it be not to avoid the
contagion of thoſe vices which they perceive ſo
prevalent in the world, and which are not obſerved
by thoſe who are in the habit of ſeeing them daily
indulged without cenſure or reſtraint? The mind,
without doubt, feels a conſiderable degree of plea-
ſure in detecting the imperfections of human na-
ture; and where that dete&tion may prove bene-
ficial to mankind, without doing an injury to any
individual, to publiſh them to the world, tº point
out their qualities, to place them by a luminous
deſcription before the eyes of men, is, in my idea,
a pleaſure ſo far from being miſchievous, that I
rather think, and I truſt I ſhall continue to think
ſo even in the hour of death, it is the only real
mode of diſcovering the machinations of the
Devil, and deſtroying the effect of his works.
§ Solitude, therefore, as it tends to excite a diſpo-,
C 3 ſition

22 THE INFLUENCE OF sol ITUDE
ſition to think with effect, to direét the attention
to proper objects, to ſtrengthen obſervation, and
to increaſe the natural ſagacity of the mind, is the
ſchool in which a true knowledge of the human
character is moſt likely to be acquired.
Bonner, in an affecting paſſage of the preface
to his celebrated work on the Nature of the
Soul, relates the manner in which Solitude ren-
dered even his defect of fight advantageous to him.
“Solitude,” ſays he, “neceſſarily leads the mind
“ to meditation. The circumſtances in which
“I have hitherto lived, joined to the ſorrows
“which have attended me for many years, and
“from which I am not yet releaſed, induced
** me to ſeek in reflection thoſe comforts which
“my unhappy condition rendered neceſſary; and
“my mind is now become my conſtant retreat:
“from the enjoyment it affords I derive plea-
“ſures which, like potent charms, diſpel all my
* affliáions.” At this period the virtuous Bon-
net was almoſt blind. Another excellent cha-
raēter of a different kind, who devotes his time
to the education of youth, Pfeffel, at Colmar,
ſupports himſelf under the afflićtion of total
blindneſs in a manner equally noble and affecting,
by a life leſs ſolitary indeed, but by the opportu-
nities of frequent leiſure which he employs in
the ſtudy of philoſophy, the recreations of poetry,
. . §§ º . 2.nd


UPON THE MIND. 23
and the exerciſes of humanity. There was for-
merly in Japan a college of blind perſons; who,
in all probability, were endued with quicker diſ-
cernment than many members of more enlight-
ened colleges. Theſe fightleſs academicians de-
voted their time to the ſtudy of hiſtory, poetry,
and muſic. The moſt celebrated traits in the
annals of their country became the ſubječt of
their muſe; and the harmony of their verſes
could only be excelled by the melody of their
muſic. In refle&ting upon the idleneſs and diſſi-
pation in which a number of ſolitary perſons paſs
their time, we contemplate the condućt of theſe
blind Japaneſe with the higheſt pleaſure. The
mind’s eye opened and afforded them ample com-
penſation for the loſs of the corporeal organ.
Light, life, and joy, flowed into their minds
through ſurrounding darkneſs, and bleſſed them
with the high enjoyment of tranquil thought and
innocent occupation.* -
C 4 SoLITUDE
* It is impoſſible to read this obſervation without recolleaing
the following beautiful and affecting lines of our celebrated poet
Milton, in his addreſs to Light: …
“. . . . . . . . . . thee I reviſit ſafe,
“And feel thy ſovran vital lamp; but thou
“Reviſit'ſt not theſe eyes, that roll in vain
“To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn:
“So thick a drop ſerene hath quench'd their orbs,
“ or dim ſuffuſion veil’d. Yet not the more
3: ** Ceaſe

24 the INFLUENCE of solitude
#
- Solitude teaches us to think, and thought
becomes the principal ſpring of human actions;
for the aëions of men, it is truly ſaid, are nothing
more than their thoughts embodied, and brought
into ſubſtantial exiſtence. The mind, therefore,
has only to examine with candour and impartiality
the ideas which it feels the greateſt inclination to
purſue, in order to penetrate and expound the
myſtery of the human charaćter: and he who has
not been accuſtomed to ſelf-examination, will,
upon ſuch a ſcrutiny, frequently diſcover truths
of extreme importance to his happineſs, which
the miſts of worldly deluſion had concealed to-
tally from his view.
Liberty and Leisure are all that an active
mind requires in Solitude. The moment that a
charaćter finds itſelf alone, all the energies of his
ſoul put themſelves intomotion, and riſe to a height
incomparably greater than they could have reached
under the impulſe of a mind clogged and oppreſſed
“ ceaſe I to wander where the muſes haunt
“Clear ſpring, or ſhady grove, or ſunny hill,
“ Smit with the love of ſacred ſong . . . . .”
“ Invention,” ſays Dr. johnſºn, “ is almoſt the only lite-
“ rary labour which blindneſs cannot obſtruct, and therefore
“Milton naturally ſolaced his ſolitude by the indulgence of
“his fancy and the melody of his numbers.”

UPON THE MIND. 25
by the incumbrances of ſociety. Even plodding
authors, who only endeavour to improve the
thoughts of others, and aim not at originality, for
themſelves derive ſuch advantages from Solitude,
as to render them contented with their humble
labours: but to ſuperior minds, how exquiſite are
the pleaſures they feel when Solitude inſpires the
idea, and facilitates the execution, of works of
virtue and public benefit ! works which conſtant-
ly irritate the paſſions of the fooliſh, and con-
found the guilty conſciences of the wicked. The
exuberance of a fine and fertile imagination is
chaſtened by the ſurrounding tranquillity of So-
litude; all its diverging rays are concentrated to .
one certain point; and the mind exalted to ſuch
powerful energy, that, whenever it is inclined to
ſtrike, the blow becomes tremendous and irreſiſti-
ble. Conſcious of the extent and force of his
powers, a charaćter thus colle&ted cannot be diſ-
mayed by legions of adverſaries; and he waits,
with judicious circumſpection, to render, ſooner
or later, complete juſtice to the enemies of virtue.
The profligacy of the world, where vice uſurps
the ſeat of greatneſs, hypocriſy aſſumes the face
of candour, and prejudice overpowers the voice of
truth, muſt, indeed, ſting his boſom with the
keeneſt ſenſations of mortification and regret;
but caſting his philoſophic eye over the diſordered
ſcene, he will ſeparate what ought to be indulged
- from
26 THE INFLUENCE of solitu DE
from what ought not to be endured; and by a hap-
py, well-timed ſtroke of ſatire from his pen, will
deſtroy the bloom of vice, diſappoint the machi-
nations of hypocriſy, and expoſe the fallacies on
which prejudice is founded.
Truth unfolds her charms in Solitude with
ſuperior ſplendor. A great and good man, Dr.
Blair, of Edinburgh, ſays, “The great and the
“worthy, the pious and the virtuous, have ever
“been addićted to ſerious retirement. It is the
“charaćteriſtic of little and frivolous minds to
“be wholly occupied with the vulgar objects of
“life. Theſe fill up their deſires, and ſupply
“all the entertainment which their coarſe ap-
“ prehenſions can reliſh. But a more refined
‘ and enlarged mind leaves the world behind it,
“feels a call for higher pleaſures, and ſeeks
“ them in retreat. The man of public ſpirit
“has recourſe to it in order to form plans for
“general good; the man of genius in order to
“dwell on his favourite themes; the philoſopher
“to purſue his diſcoveries; and the ſaint to im-
“prove himſelf in grace.”
NuMA, the legiſlator of Rome, while he was
only a private individual, retired, on the death of
Tatia, his beloved wife, into the deep foreſts of
Aricia, and wandered in ſolitary muſings through
the







UPON THE MIND. 27
the thickeſt groves and moſt ſequeſtered ſhades.
Superſtition imputed his lonely propenſity, not to
diſappointment, diſcontent, or hatred of mankind,
but to a higher cauſe ; a wiſh ſilently to com-
municate with ſome protećting deity. A rumour
was circulated that the goddeſs Egeria, capti-
wated by his virtues, had united herſelf to him in
the ſacred bands of love, and, by enlightening his
mind, and ſtoring it with ſuperior wiſdom, had led
him to divine felicity.* The Druids alſo, who %
º dwelt
* Numa Pompilius, though deſcended from a noble Sabine
family, was ſtill more diſtinguiſhed for his piety than his birth;
and though he had married the daughter of Tatius, the regal
fortunes of his father-in-law had not allured him to deſert his
patrimonial farm. The diſpoſition of his conſort had proved fimilar
to his own; and after her deceaſe, at a diſtance from courts, he
conſoled himſelf in rural retirement by the mild precepts of phi-
loſophy : but his ſequeſtered virtues had not eluded the penetra-
tion of the Romans; and amidſt the privacy of his much-loved
groves, he was, in leſs than a year after the death of Romulus,
ſurprized by a deputation from the ſenate, who hailed him with
the unwelcome title of King. “His mind (ſays Plutarch)
“ was naturally diſpoſed to virtue; and he ſtill farther ſubdued
“ it by diſcipline, patience, and philoſophy; not only purging it
“ of the groſſer and more infamous paſſions, but even of that am-
“bition and rapaciouſneſs which was then reckoned honourable;
“ perſuaded that true fortitude conſiſts in the conqueſt of appetites
“ by reaſon; on this account he baniſhed all luxury and ſplen-
“dour from his houſe; and both the citizens and ſtrangers found
“ in him a faithful counſellor and an upright judge.” His in-
clination to Solitude, and his cuſtom of retiring into the ſecret
places of the foreſt of Aricia, gave riſetoſeveral popular opinions; --
º
º
&
andy


28. The INFLUENce of solitude
sº
dwelt among the rocks, in woods, and in the moſt
ſolitary places, are ſuppoſed to have inſtructed the
infant nobility of their reſpective nations in wiſ.
dom and in eloquence, in the phenomena of na-
ture, in aſtronomy, in the precepts of religion, and
the myſteries of eternity. The profound wiſdom
thus beſtowed on the chara&ters of the Druids,
although it was like the ſtory of Numa, the mere
effect of imagination, diſcovers with what enthu-
ſiaſm every age and country have revered thoſe
venerable chara&ters, who, in the ſilence of groves,
and in the tranquillity of Solitude, have devoted
their time and talents to the improvement of the
human mind, and the reformation of the ſpecies.
GENIUs frequently brings forth its fineſt fruits
in Solitude merely by the exertions of its own in-
trinſic powers, unaided by the patronage of the
great, the adulation of the multitude, or the hope
of mercenary reward. Flanders, amidſt all the
horrors of civil diſcord, produced painters as rich
in fame as they were poor in circumſtances. The
- -- celebrated
and, among others, was that above related, which he, in order
to procure a divine ſančtion to his laws, declared to be true. It

w is on this ſubjećt juſtly obſerved by an elegant hiſtorian, that
“ although the integrity of the ſage may be impeached in coun-
“ tenancing fićtion, yet the pious fraud of the monarch may be
“ palliated, if not vindicated; and policy will pardon that de-
“ ceit which is exerciſed to reform the manners, and to reſtrain
“ the paſſions, of a lawleſs and barbarous people.”
UPON THE MIND. . 29
celebrated Corregio had ſo ſeldom been reward-
ed during his life, that the paltry payment of ten
piſtoles of German coin, and which he was obliged
to travel as far as Parma to receive, created in his
mind a joy ſo exceſſive, that it cauſed his death. *
The ſelf-approbation of conſcious merit was the
only recompence theſe great artiſts received; they
painted with the hope of immortal fame; and
poſterity has done them juſtice.
PROFoun D meditation in Solitude and ſilence,
frequently exalts the mind above its natural tone,
fires the imagination, and produces the moſt refined
and ſublime conceptions. The ſoul then taſtes the
pureſt and moſt refined delight; and almoſt loſes
the idea of exiſtence in the intelle&tual pleaſure it
receives. The mind on every emotion darts
through ſpace into eternity; and raiſed, in this
free enjoyment of its powers, by its own enthu-
ſiaſm, ſtrengthens itſelf in the habitude of con-
templating the nobleſt ſubječts, and of adopting
. . . the
* The payment to him was made in quadrini, a ſpecies of copper
coin. The joy which the mind of Corregio felt in being the
bearer of ſo large a quantity of money to his wife, prevented him
from thinking either of the length of the journey, or of the ex-
ceſſive heat of the day. He walked twelve miles with ſo much
haſte and anxiety to reach home, that, immediately on his return,
he was ſeized with a violent pleuriſy, of which he died.
30 THE INFLUENce of solitude
the moſt heroic purſuits. It was in a ſolitary
retreat, amidſt the ſhades of a lofty mountain near
Pyrmont, that the foundation of one of the moſt
extraordinary achievements of the preſentage was
laid. The King of Pruſſia, while on a viſit
to the Spa, withdrew himſelf from the company,
and walked in ſilent ſolitude among the moſt ſe-
queſtered groves of this beautiful mountain, then
adorned in all the rude luxuriance of nature, and
to this day diſtinguiſhed by the appellation of
“ The Royal Mountain.”* On this uninhabited
ſpot, ſince become the ſeat of diffipation, theyouth-
ful monarch, it is ſaid, firſt formed the plan of
conquering Sileſia.
*
Solitude teaches with the happieſt effect
the important value of time, of which the indo-
lent, having no conception, can form no eſtimate.
A man who is ardently bent on employment,
who is anxious to live not entirely in vain, never
obſerves the rapid movement of a ſtop-watch, the
true image of tranſitory life, and moſt ſtriking
emblem of the flight of time, without alarm and
apprehenſion. Social intercourſe, when it tends
to keep the mind and the heart in a proper tone,
when it contributes to enlarge the ſphereof know-
ledge, or to baniſh corroding care, cannot, indeed,
• Kanigſberg.



Upon the MIND. 31
be conſidered a ſacrifice of time. But where ſo-
cial intercourſe, even when attended with theſe
happy effects, engages all our attention, turns the
calmneſs of friendſhip into the violence of love,
transforms hours into minutes, and drives away
all ideas except thoſe which the objećt of our affec-
tion inſpires, year after year will roll unimproved
away. Time properly employed never appears
tedious; on the contrary, to him who is engaged
in uſefully diſcharging the duties of his ſtation ac-
cording to the beſt of his ability, it is light, and
pleaſantly tranſitory. .
A cert Ain young Prince, by the affiſtance of
a number of domeſtics, ſeldom employs above five
or ſix minutes in dreſſing. Of his carriage it
would be incorre&t to ſay that he goes in it; for
it flies. His table is ſuperb and hoſpitable, but
the pleaſures of it are ſhort and frugal. Princes,
indeed, ſeem diſpoſed to do everything with rapi-
dity. This Royal Youth, who poſſeſſes extraor-
dinarytalents,and uncommon dignity ofcharaćter,
attends in his own perſon to every application; and
affords ſatisfaction and delight in every interview.
His domeſtic eſtabliſhment engages his moſt ſcru-
pulous attention; and he employs ſeven hoursevery
day without exception, throughout the year, in
reading the beſt Engliſh, Italian, French, and
German authors. It may therefore be truly ſaid
& . that
32 THE INFLUENce of solitude
that this Prince is well acquainted with the value
FHe hours which a man of the world throws
idly away, are in Solitude diſpoſed of with pro-
fitable pleaſure; and no pleaſure can be more pro-
fitable than that which reſults from the judicious .
uſe of time. Men have many duties to perform:
he, therefore, who wiſhes to diſcharge them ho-
nourably, will vigilantly ſeize the earlieſt oppor-
tunity, if he do not wiſh that any part of the paſ-
ſing moments ſhould be torn like a uſeleſs page
from the book of life. Uſeful employment ſtops
the career of time, and prolongs the duration of
our exiſtence. To think and to work, is to live.
Our ideas never flow with more rapidity and abun-
dance, or with greater gaiety, than in thoſe hours
which uſeful labour ſteals from idleneſs and diffi-
pation. To employ our time with economy, we
hould frequently reflect how many hours eſcape
from us againſt our inclination. A celebrated
Engliſh author ſays, “When we have dedućted
“all that is abſorbed in ſleep, all that is inevitably
“appropriated to the demands of nature, or irre-
“fiſtibly engroſſed by the tyranny of cuſtom; all
“that is paſſed in regulating the ſuperficial decora-
“tion of life, or is given up in the reciprocation
“ of civility to the diſpoſal of others; all that is
“torn fromus by the violence of diſeaſe, or ſtolen
“imperceptibly



Upon the MIND. 33
“imperceptibly away by laſtitude and languor;
“we ſhall find that part of our duration very ſmall
“ of which we can truly call ourſelves maſters, or
“which we can ſpend wholly at our own choice.
“Many of our hours are loſt in a rotation of petty
“cares, in a conſtant recurrence of the ſame em-
“ployments: many of our proviſions for eaſe or
“happineſs are always exhauſted by the preſent
“day, and a great part of our exiſtence ſerves no
“other purpoſe than that of enabling us to enjoy
“ the reſt.” . . . . . . .
TIME is never more miſpent than while we
declaim againſt the want of it; all our actions are
then tinétured with peeviſhneſs. The yoke of
life is certainly the leaſt oppreſſive when we carry
it with good-humour; and in the ſhades of rural
retirement, when we have once acquired a reſolu-
tion to paſs our hours with economy, ſorrowful
lamentions on the ſubjećt of time miſpent, and
buſineſs neglected, never torture the mind.
The ſpleen is ſeldom felt where Flora reigns:
The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
And ſullen ſadneſs, that o'erſhade, diſtort,
And mar the face of beauty, when no cauſe
For ſuch immeaſurable woe appears,
Theſe Flora baniſhes, and gives the fair
D. sweet

THE INFLUEN.ce of sol1t UDE
Sweet ſmiles and bloom leſs tranſient than her
It is the conſtant revolution, ſtale
And taſteleſs, of the ſame repeated joys,
That palls and ſatiates, and makes languid life
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Solitude, indeed, may prove more dangerous
than all the diffipation of the world, if the mind
be not properly employed. Every man, from the
monarch on the throne to the peaſant in the cot-
tage, ſhould have a daily taſk, which he ſhould
feel it his duty to perform without delay. “Carpe
“ diem,” ſays HoRAce ; and this recommenda-
tion will extend with equal propriety to every
hour of our lives.
“Seek not, Leuconoe, vainly to deſcry
“What term the gods to fleeting life have given;
“No impious ſpells, Chaldean magic try, :
“But wait the unalterable doom of heaven.
“Whate'er betide, let patience arm thy mind;
“Whether great Jove have co untleſs years in ſtore,
“Or this the laſt, whoſe bleak tempeſtuous wind
ild waves againſt the Tuſcan ſhore.
“Pour the rich wine, in gay enjoyment wife;
“Contract the hopes of life's contracted date.
. . s . 3. Ž. 4 : Ev *n
§
sº






upon THE MIND. 35
“Ev’n whilſt we ſpeak, the winged moment flies,
“Snatch preſent bliſs, and leave the reſt to fate.”
The voluptuous of every deſcription, the yo-
taries of Bacchus, and the ſons of Anacreon, exhort
us to drive away corroding care, to promote inceſ-
ſant gaiety, and to enjoy the fleeting hours as they
paſs; and theſe precepts, when rightly underſtood,
and properly applied, are founded in ſtrong ſenſe
and ſound reaſon; but they muſt not be underſtood
or applied in the way theſe ſenſualiſts adviſe; they
muſt not be conſumed in drinking and debauchery;
but employed in ſteadily advancing towards the
accompliſhment of the taſk which our reſpective
duties require us to perform. “If,” ſays Pe-
TRARch, “you feel any inclination to ſerve God,
“ in which conſiſts the higheſt felicities of ourna-
“ture; if you are diſpoſed to elevate the mind by
“ the ſtudy of letters, which, next to religion,
“ procures us the trueſt pleaſures; if, by your
“ ſentiments and writings,you areanxious to leave
“behind you ſomething that will memoriſe your
“name with poſterity; ſtop the rapid progreſs of
“ time, and prolong the courſe of this uncertain
“ life. Fly ! ah I fly, I beſeech you, from the en-
milliam Boſcawen, Eſq.



36 THE INFLUENCE or solitude
“joyments of the world, and paſs the few remain-
“ing days you have to live in—Sol ITUDE.”
Solitude refines the taſte, by affording the
- mind greater opportunities to cull and ſelect the
beauties ofthoſe objects whichengage its attention.
There it depends entirely on ourſelves to make
choice of thoſe employments which afford the
higheſt pleaſure; to read thoſe writings, and to en-
courage thoſe reflections, which tend moſt to purify
the mind, and ſtore it with the richeſt variety of
images. The falſe notions which we ſo eaſily
acquire in the world, by relying upon the ſen-
timents of others, inſtead of conſulting our own,
are in Solitude eaſily avoided. To be obliged
continually to ſay, “I dare not think otherwiſe,”
is inſupportable. Why, alas! will not men ſtrive
to form opinions of their own, rather than ſubmit
to be guided by the arbitrary dićtates of others?
If a work pleaſe me, of what importance is it to
me whether the beau monde approve of it or not
What information do I receive from you, ye cold
and miſerable critics? Does your approbation
make me feel whatever is truly noble, great, and
good, with higher reliſh or more refined delight?
I º it to the judgment of men who
, and generally determine






UPON THE MIND. 37
“Who ne'er advance a judgment of their own,
But catch the ſpreading notion of the town;
Who reaſon and conclude by precedent,
And own ſtale nonſenſe which they ne'er invent;
Who judge of authors’ names, not works, and then
Nor praiſe nor blame the writings, but the men.
Of all this ſervile herd, the worſt is he
That in proud dulneſs joins with quality;
A conſtant critic at the great man’s board,
To fetch and carry nonſenſe for my Lord.
What woeful ſtuff this madrigal would be,
In ſome ſtarv'd hackney ſonnetteer, or me !
But let a Lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens ! how the ſtyle refines 1
Before his ſacred name flies every fau’t,
And each exalted ſtanza teems with thought !”.

Men of enlightened minds, who are capable of
correctly diſtinguiſhing beauties from defects,
whoſe boſoms feel the higheſt pleaſure from the
works of Genius, and the ſevereſt pain from dul-
neſs and depravity, while they admire with enthu-
fiaſm, condemn with judgment and deliberation;
and, retiring from the vulgar herd, either alone, or
in the ſociety of ſelected friends, reſign themſelves
to the delights of a tranquil intercourſe with the
illuſtrious ſages of antiquity, and with thoſe wri-
ters who have diſtinguiſhed and adorned ſucceed-
ing times, .- ... . . sº


THE INFLUENce of solitude
“Oh! knew he but his happineſs, of men
“The happieſthet who, far retird from public
“rage,
“Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir’d,
“Drinks the pure pleaſures of the rural life.
“For here dwells ſimple truth; plain innocence;
“Unſullied beauty; ſound, unbroken youth,
“Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd ; ,
“Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
“Calm contemplation, and poetic eaſe.”
Solitude, by enlarging the ſphere of its in-
formation, by awakening a more lively curioſity,
by relieving fatigue, and by promoting application,
renders the mind more active, and multiplies the
number of its ideas. A man who was well ac-
quainted with all theſe advantages, has ſaid, that
cº
&c.
(C.
many obſtacles which render it difficult to pur-
ſue our path diſperſe x and retire, and w e return
to a buſy ſocial life with more cheerfulneſs and
content. The ſphere of our underſtanding be-
comes enlarged by refle&tion; we have learned
* “ to ſurvey more objećts, and to bind them intel-
juſter judgment, and firmer principles, with us
‘ into the world in which weare to live and act;
and are then more able, even in the midſt of all
tº its




Upon THE MIND. , 39
“ its diſtraćtions, to preſerve our attention, to
“think with accuracy, to determine with judg-
“ment, in a degree proportioned to the prepara-
“tions we have made in the hour of retirement.”
Alas! in the ordinary commerce of the world,
the curioſity of a rational mind ſoon decays,
whilſt in Solitude it hourly augments. The re-
ſearches of a finite being neceſſarily proceed by
ſlow degrees. The mind links one propoſition to
another, joins experience with obſervation, and
from the diſcovery of one truth proceeds in ſearch
of others. The aſtronomers who firſt obſerved
the courſe of the planets, little imagined how
important their diſcoveries would prove to the
future intereſts and happineſs of mankind. At-
tracted by the ſpangled ſplendour of the firmament,
and obſerving that the ſtars nightly changed their
courſe, curioſity induced them to explore the
cauſe of this phenomenon, and led them to pur-
ſue the road of ſcience. It is thus that the ſoul
by ſilent adivity augments its powers; and a
contemplative mind advances in knowledge in pro- .
portion as it inveſtigates the various cauſes, the . .
an eſtabliſhed truth. Reaſon, indeed, by impedin
the wings of the imagination, renders her flig
leſs rapid, but it makes the object of attainment
more ſure. Drawn aſide by the charms of fancy,
the mind may conſtruct new worlds; but they im-
D 4 mediately








40 the influence of solitude
mediately burſt, like airy bubbles formed of ſoap
and water; while reaſon examines the materials
of its proječted fabric, and uſes thoſe only which
are durable and good. -
| “The great art to learn much,” ſays Locke,
“is to undertake a little at a time.” Dr. john-
ſon, the celebrated Engliſh writer, has very for-
cibly obſerved, that “all the performances of
| “human art, at which we look with praiſe or
“wonder, are inſtances of the reſiſtleſs force of
“ perſeverance: it is by this that the quarry be-
“ comes a pyramid, and that diſtant countries are
“united by canals. If a man was to compare the
“effect of a ſingle ſtroke with the pickaxe, or of
“ one impreſſion of a ſpade, with the general de-
k “fign and laſt reſult, he would be overwhelmed
“with the ſenſe of their diſproportion; yet thoſe
“petty operations, inceſſantly continued, in time
“ſurmount the greateſt difficulties; and mountains
“are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the ſlender
“force of human beings. It is therefore of the
“utmoſt importance that thoſe who have any in-
.#
“tention of deviating from the beaten roadsoflife
acquiring a reputation ſuperior t
their ſpirit
es; acquire
not batter; and
“ the














UPON THE MIND. * } 4 I
“ the habit of vanquiſhing obſtinate reſiſtance by
“obſtinate attacks.” z
It is ačtivity of mind that gives life to the moſt
dreary deſert, converts the ſolitary cell into a ſocial
world, gives immortal fame to genius, and pro-
duces maſterpieces of ingenuity to the artiſt. The
mind feels a pleaſure in the exerciſe of its powers
proportioned to the difficulties it meets with, and
the obſtacles it has to ſurmount. When Apelles
was reproached for having painted ſo few pic-
tures, and for the inceſſant anxiety with which
he retouched his works, he contented himſelf
with this obſervation, “I paint for poſterity.”
THE ina&tivity of monaſtic ſolitude, the ſterile
tranquillity of the cloiſter, are ill ſuited to thoſe
who, after a ſerious preparation in retirement, and
an affiduous examination of their own powers, feel
a capacity and inclination to perform great and
good actions for the benefit of mankind. Princes
cannot live the lives of monks : ſtateſmen are no
longer ſought for in monaſteries and convents;
generals are no longer choſen from the members
of the church. Petrarch, therefore, very perti-
. nently

* Raphael alſo, in the ſame ſpirit, frequently declared that …
in none of his performances had he ever expreſſed his notion of
a perfect beauty.

42 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE
nently obſerves, that “Solitude muſt not be in- -
“ačtive, nor leiſure uſeleſsly employed. A cha-
“racter indolent, ſlothful, languid, and detached
“from the affairs of life, muſt infallibly become
“melancholy and miſerable. From ſuch a being
“no good can be expected; he cannot purſue
“any uſeful ſcience, or poſſeſs the faculties of a
“great man.”
The rich and luxurious may claim an exclu-
five right to thoſe pleaſures which are capable of
being purchaſed by pelf, in which the mind has
no enjoyment, and which only afford a tempo-
rary relief to languor by ſteeping the ſenſes in
forgetfulneſs; but in the precious pleaſures of in-
telle&t, ſo eaſily acceſſible by all mankind, the
great have no excluſive privilege; for ſuch en-
joyments are only to be procured by our own
induſtry, by ſerious refle&tion, profound thought,
and deep reſearch: exertions which open hidden
qualities to the mind, and lead it to the know-
ledge of truth, and to the contemplation of our
phyſical and moral nature. º: º
A Swiss Preacher has in a German pulpit ſaid,
“The ſtreams of mental pleaſures, of which all
“men may equally partake, flow from one to the
“ other; and that of which we have moſt fre-
“ quently




Upon the MIND. 43
“quently taſted, loſes neither its flavour nor its
“virtue, but frequently acquires new charms, and
“ conveys additional pleaſures, the oftener it is
“ taſted. The ſubječts of theſe pleaſures are as
“unbounded as the reign of truth, as extenſive
“as the world, as unlimited as the divine perfec-
“tions. Incorporeal pleaſures, therefore, are
“much more durablethan all others: they neither
“diſappear with the light of the day, change with
“the external form of things, nor deſcend with
“our bodies to the tomb; but continue with us
“ whilſt we exiſt; accompany us under all the
“viciſſitudes not only of our natural life, but of
“that which is to come; ſecure us in the dark-
“neſs of the night, and compenſate for all the
“miſeries we are doomed to ſuffer.”
GREAT and exalted minds, therefore, have al-
ways, even in the buſtle of gaiety, or amidſt the
more agitated career of high ambition, preſerved a
taſte for intellectual pleaſures. Engaged in affairs
of the moſt important conſequence, notwithſtand-
ing the variety of objećts by which their attention
was diſtraćted, they were ſtill faithful to the
Muſes, and fondly devoted their minds to works of
genius. They diſregarded the falſe notion, that
reading and knowledge are uſeleſs to great men ;
and frequently condeſcended, without a bluſh, to
become writers themſelves. .
PHILIP

44. THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITU DE

Philip of Macedon, having invited Diony- .
ſius the Younger to dine with him at Corinth,
attempted to deride the father of his royal gueſt
becauſe he had blended the characters of Prince
and Poet, and had employed his leiſure in writing
odes and tragedies. “How could the king find
“ leiſure,” ſaid Philip, “to write thoſe trifles?”
“In thoſe hours,” anſwered Dionyſius, “which
“you and I ſpend in drunkenneſs and debauche-
{{ ry.” .
Alex ANDER alſo was paſſionately fond of
reading; and whilſt the world reſounded with his
vićtories, whilſt blood and carnage marked his
progreſs, whilſt he dragged captive monarchs at
his chariot wheels, and marched with increaſing
ardour over ſmoaking towns and deſolated pro-
vinces, in ſearch of new obječts of vićtory, felt,
during certain intervals, the languors of unem-
ployed time; and lamenting that Aſia afforded no
books to amuſe his leiſure, he wrote to Har-
palus to ſend him the works of Philiſius, the
tragedies of Euripides, Sophocles, Eſchylus, and
the dithyrambics of Thaleſłes.




BRutus, the avenger of the violated liberties of
Rome, while ſerving in the army under Pompey,
employed among books all the moments he could
ſpare from the duties of his ſtation; and was even
U P ON THE MIND. 45
thus employed during the awful night which
preceded the celebrated battle of Pharſalia, by
which the fate of the empire was decided. Op-
preſſed by the exceſſive heat of the day, and by the
preparatory arrangement of the army, which was
encamped in the middle of ſummer on a marſhy
plain, he ſought relief from the bath, and retired
to his tent, where, whilſt others were locked in
the arms of ſleep, or contemplating the event of
the enſuing day, he employed himſelf until the
morning dawned, in drawing a plan from the
Hiſtory of Polybius.
CIceRo, who was more ſenſible of mental plea-
ſures than any other character, ſays, in his oration
for the poet Archias, “Why ſhould I be aſhamed
“to acknowledge pleaſures like theſe, ſince for ſo
“many years the enjoyment of them has never
“prevented me from relieving the wants of others,
“ or deprived me of the courage to attack vice and
“defend virtue? Who can juſtly blame, who can
“cenſure me, if, while others are purſuing the
“views of intereſt, gazing at feſtal ſhows and idle
“ceremonies, exploring new pleaſures, engaged in
“midnight revels, in the diſtraćtion of gaming,
“ the madneſs of intemperance, neither repoſing
“ the body, nor recreating the mind, I ſpend the
“recollective hours in a pleaſing review of my
“paſt life, in dedicating my time to learning and
“ the muſes ** * . . . . . . 3 3. tº


PLINY
46 THE INFLUENce of solitude
PLINY the Elder,” full of the ſame ſpirit, de-,
voted every moment of his life to learning. A
perſon read to him during his meals; and he
never travelled without a book and a portable
N writing-deſk by his ſide. He made extracts from
every work he read; and, ſcarcely conceiving
himſelf alive while his faculties were abſorbed in
ſleep, endeavoured, by his diligence, to double.
the duration of his exiſtence.
PLINY the 1%unger + read upon all occaſions,
whether riding, walking, or ſitting, whenever a
moment’s leiſure afforded him the opportunity; but
he made it an invariable rule to prefer the diſcharge
of the duties of his ſtation to thoſe occupations
which he followed only as amuſement. It was
this diſpoſition which ſo ſtrongly inclined him to
x} Solitude
* * Cecilius Plinius Secundus, one of the moſt learned men of
ancient Rome; he was deſcended from an illuſtrious family;
born at Verona; and employed in ſeveral important affairs by
the Emperors Peſpaſian and Titus. The eruption of Mount
Veſuvius, which happened in the year 79, proved fatal to
him. ... ". . . ;
itor, amiable and able man, was the
nephew of Pliny the Elder. He was born during the reign of
Nero ; had the famous Pirginius for his tutor and guardian ; fre-
quented the academy of Ruintilian; . and, after bearing ſeveral
offices in the ſtate both civil and military, died either a littlebe-
fore, or ſoon after, that excellent prince his admired Trajan,
about the year 116. N.
t This eloquent or


UPON THE MIND. 47
Solitude and retirement. “Shall I never,” ex-
claimed he in moments of vexation, “break the
“fetters by which I am reſtrained? Are they in-
“diſſoluble Alas! I have no hope of being
“gratified: every day brings new torments. No
“ſooner is one duty performed than another ſuc-
“ ceeds. The chains of buſineſs become every
“hour more weighty and extenſive.”
. The mind of Petrarch” was always gloomy
and dejećted, except when he was reading, writ-
ing, or reſigned to the agreeable illuſions of poetry,
upon the banks of ſome inſpiring ſtream, among
the romantic rocks and mountains, or the flower-
enamelled vallies of the Alps. To avoid the loſs
of time during his travels, he conſtantly wrote at
every inn where he ſtopped for refreſhment. One
of his friends, the Biſhop of Cavaillon, being
alarmed left the intenſe application with which he
ſtudied at Vaucluſe might totally ruin a conſti-
tution already much impaired, requeſted of him
one day the key of his library. Petrarch im-
mediately gave it to him, without aſking the reaſon
of his requeſt; when the good Biſhop inſtantly
locking up his books and writing-deſk, ſaid, “Pe-
- “ trarch,
* Francis Petrarch, a celebrated Italian poet, was born at
Arezzo in 1304, and was the ſon of Petrarco di Parenzo. See
an Account of his Life and writings, 12th vol. Gibbon's Rom.
Emp. 121 and 324. - -
48 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
“ trarch, I hereby interdićt you from the uſe
“ of pen, ink, and paper, for the ſpace often days.”
The ſentence was ſevere; but the offender ſub-
preſſed his feelings, and ſubmitted to his fate. The
firſt day of his exile from his favourite purſuits was
tedious, the ſecond accompanied with inceſſant
head-ach, and the third brought on ſymptoms of
an approaching fever. The Biſhop, obſerving his
indiſpoſition, kindly returned him the key, and
reſtored him to his health.* . . . .
. The late Earl of Chatham, on his entering
into the world, was a cornet in a troop of horſe
dragoons. The regiment was quartered in a ſmall
village in England. The duties of his ſtation
were the firſt objects of his attention; but the
moment theſe were diſcharged, he retired into So-
litude during the remainder of the day, and devoted
his mind to the ſtudy of Hiſtory. Subject from
his infancy to an hereditary gout, he endeavoured
to eradicateitby regularity and abſtinence; and per-
haps it was the feeble ſtate of his health which firſt
led him into retirement; but, however that may
be, it was certainly in retirement that he had laid
* cars, ſpeaking of the pleaſures of the mind, ſays, “ They
“ employ us in youth, and amuſe us in old age; in proſperity
“they grace and embelliſh; in adverſity they afford us ſhelter
“ and ſupport; delightful at
“ſoften ſlumber, ſhorten fatigue, and enliven retirement.”
home, and eaſy abroad, they






upon the Mind. 49
the foundation of that glory which he afterwards
acquired. .
CHARActers of this deſcription, it may be ſaid,
are no longer to be found; but in my opinion both
the idea and affertion would be erroneous. Was
the Earl of Chatham inferior in greatneſs to a
Roman And will his Son, who already, in the
earlieſt ſtage of manhood, thunders forth his elo-
quence in the Senate like Demoſhenes, and cap-
tivates like Pericles the hearts of all who hear
him, who is now, even in the five-and-twentieth
year of his age, dreaded abroad, and beloved at
home, as Prime Miniſter of the Britiſh Empire,
ever think or ačt under any circumſtances with
leſs greatneſs than his illuſtrious father What
men have been, man may always be. Europe now
produces characters as great as ever adorned a
throne or commanded a field. Wiſdom and vir-
tue may exiſt, by proper cultivation, as well in
public as in private life; and b ecome as perfect
š
in a crowded palace as in a ſolitary cottage.
Solitude will ultimately render the mind ſu-
perior to all the viciſſitudes and miſeries of life.
nor grandeur, can render happy, may, with a book,
in his hand, forget all his torments under the
friendly ſhade of every tree; and experience plea-




5o the INFLUENce of solitude
ſures as infinite as they are varied, as pure as they .
are laſting, as lively as they are unfading, and as
compatible with every public duty as they are con-
tributory to private happineſs. The higheſt public
duty, indeed, is that of employing our faculties for
the benefit of mankind, and can no where be ſo ad-
•vantageouſly diſcharged as in Solitude. To acquire
a true notion of men and things, and boldly to an-
nounce ouropinions to the world, is an indiſpenſa-
ble obligation on every individual. The preſs is
the channel through which writers diffuſe the light
of truth among the people, and diſplay its radi-
ance to the eyes of the great. Good writers in-
ſpire the mind with courage to think for itſelf;
and the free communication of ſentiments contri-
butes to the improvement and perfection of human
reaſon. It is this love of liberty that leads men
into Solitude, where they may throw off the chains
by which they are fettered in the world. It is
this diſpoſition to be free, that makes the man
who thinks in Solitude boldly ſpeak a language
which, in the corrupted intercourſe of ſociety, he
would not have dared openly to hazard. Courage
is the companion of Solitude. The man who
does not fear to ſeek his comforts in the peaceful
ſhades of retirement, looks with firmneſs on the
pride and inſolence of the great, and tears from
the face of deſpotiſm the maſk by which it is
concealed. His




UPON THE MIND, . 5 I
His mind, enriched by knowledge, may defy
the frowns of fortune, and ſee unmoved the vari-
ous viciſſitudes of life. When Demetrius had cap-
tured the city of Megara, and the property of the
inhabitants had been entirely pillaged by the ſol-
diers, he recolle&ted that Stilpo, a philoſopher of
great reputation, who ſought only the retirement
and tranquillity of a ſtudious life, was among the
number. Having ſent for him, Demetrius aſked
him if he had loſt any thing during the pillage.
“No,” replied the philoſopher: “my property
“ is ſafe, for it exiſts only in my mind.”*
Solitude encourages the diſcloſure of thoſe
ſentiments and feelings which the manners of the
world compel us to conceal. The mind there un-
burthens itſelf with eaſe and freedom. The pen, in-
deed, is not always taken up becauſe weare alone;
but if we are inclined to write, we ought to be
alone. To cultivate philoſophy, or court the muſe
with effect, the mind muſt be free from all em-
barraſſment. The inceſſant cries of children, or
the frequent intruſion of ſervants, with meſſages of
ceremony and cards of compliment, diſtraćt atten-
tion. An author, whether walking in the open air,
feated in his cloſet, reclined under the ſhade of
a ſpreading tree, or ſtretched upon a ſofa, muſt be
N. E 2. ... º.º. free
* This Anecdote is differently told by Plutarch.

52 the INFLUENce of solitude
free to follow all the impulſes of his mind, and
indulge every bent and turn of his genius. To
compoſe with ſucceſs, he muſt feel an irreſiſtible
inclination, and be able to indulge his ſentiments
and emotions without obſtacle or reſtraint. There
are, indeed, minds poſſeſſed of a divine inſpira-
tion, which is capable of ſubduing every diffi-
culty, and bearing down all oppoſition: and an
author ſhould ſuſpend his work until he feels this
ſecret call within his boſom, and watch for thoſe
propitious moments, when the mind pours forth
its ideas with energy, and the heart feels the ſub-
jećt with increaſing warmth; for
— Nature's kindling breath
Muſt fire the choſen genius; Nature’s hand
Muſt ſtring his nerves, and imp his eagle wings,
Impatient of the painful ſteep, to ſoar ..
High as the ſummit; there to breathe at large
Æthereal air, with bards and ſages old,
Immortal ſons of praiſe——”
Petr Arch felt this ſacred impulſe when he
tore himſelf from Avignon, the moſt vicious and
corrupted city of the age, to which the Pope had
recently transferred the papal chair; and, although
ſtill young, noble, ardent, honoured by his Holi-
neſs, reſ.pećted by Princes, and courted by Cardi-
nals, he voluntarily quitted the ſplendid tumults of

UPON THE MIND, 53
this brilliant court, and retired to the celebrated
Solitude of Vaucluſe, at the diſtance of ſix leagues
from Avignon, with only one ſervant to attend
him, and no other poſſeſſion than an humble cottage
and its ſurrounding garden. Charmed with the
natural beauties of this rural retreat, he adorned it
with an excellent library, and dwelt, for many
years, in wiſe tranquillity and rational repoſe ; *
employing his leiſure incompleting and poliſhing
his works ; and producing more original compo-
ſitions during this period than at any other of his
life. But, although he here devoted much time
and attention to his writings, it was long before he
could be perſuaded to make them public. Virgil
calls the leiſure he enjoyed at Naples, ignoble and
obſcure ; but it was during this leiſure that he
wrote the Georgics, the moſt perfect of all his
% : . works,

* The following lines are attributed to Petrarch, on his re-
tiring to this celebrated hermitage : :
“ Inveni requiem: SP es et For Tu NA valete
“ Nil mihi vobiſcum eſt; ludite nunc alios;”
and which Le Sage, with ſome variation, has made his hero Gil
Blas thus inſcribe, with very happy effect, over the door of his
delightful villa at Lirias, in letters of gold :
“ Inveni portum. Spes et Fortuna valete
“ Sat me lufiſtis, ludite nunc alios. .
The original is in Ovid, Fas. ii. 208.
54 THE INFLUENce of solitude
works, and which evince, in almoſt every line,
that he wrote for immortality.”
THE ſuffrage of poſterity, indeed, is a noble ex-
pećtation, which every excellent and great writer
cheriſhes with enthuſiaſm. An inferior mind con-
tents itſelf with a more humble recompenſe, and
ſometimes obtains its due reward. But writers, both
great and good, muſt withdraw from the interrup-
tions of ſociety, and, ſeeking the ſilence of the
groves, and the tranquillity ofthe ſhades, retire into
their own minds; for every thing they perform,
all that they produce, is the effect of Solitude. To
accompliſh
* “ Pirgil, in the thirty-fourth year of his age, retired to a
delightful privacy at Naples, where he laid the plan of his ini-
mitable Georgies, a work which he undertook at the earneſt in-
treaties of the wiſe and able miniſter Macenas, on a noble poli-
tical motive, and to promote the welfare of his country. Great
was the deſolation occaſioned by the continuance and cruelty of
the civil wars: Italy was almoſt depopulated; the lands were
uncultivated and unſtocked; a famine and inſurrečtion enſued;
Auguſtus himſelf hardly eſcaped being ſtoned by the enraged
populace, who attributed this calamity to his ambition. Mae-
cenas therefore reſolved, if poſſible, to revive the decayed ſpirit
of huſbandry; to introduce a taſte for cultivation; to make rural
. improvements a faſhionable amuſement to the Great. What me-
thod ſo likely to effect this, as to recommend agriculture with
all the infinuating charms of poetry? Pirgil fully anſwered
the expectation of his polite patron; for the Georgies contain all


thoſe maſterly beauties that might be expected from an exalted
genius, whoſe judgment and imagination were in full vigour
and maturity, and who had leiſure to give the laſt poliſh and
perfection to his incomparable workmanſhip—Warton's Life ºf
Upon THE MIND. 55
accompliſh a work capable of exiſting through fu-
ture ages, or deſerving the approbation of contem-
porary ſages, the love of Solitude muſt entirely oc-
cupy their ſouls; for there the mind reviews and
arranges, with the happieſt effect, all the ideas and
impreſſions it has gained in its obſervations in the
world: it is there alone that the dart of ſatire can
be truly ſharpened againſtinveterate prejudices and
infatuated opinions; it is there alone that the vices
and follies of mankind preſent themſelves accurate-
ly to the view of the moraliſt, and excite his ardent
endeavours to correół and reform them. The
hope of immortality is certainly the higheſt with
which a great writer can poſſibly flatter his mind;
but he muſt poſſeſs the comprehenſive genius of
a Bacon ; think with the acuteneſs of Woltaire;
compoſe with the eaſe and elegance of Rouſſeau;
and, like them, produce maſter-pieces worthy
of poſterity in order to obtain it.
The love of fame, as well in the cottage as on.
the throne, or in the camp, ſtimulates the mind to
the performance of thoſe ačtions which are moſt
likely to ſurvive mortality and live beyond the
grave, and which, when achieved, render the
evening of life as brilliant as its morning. “ The
praiſes,” ſays Plutarch, “beſtowed upon great
“ and exalted minds, only ſpur on and rouſe their
“emulation: like a rapid torrent, the glory which
E 4 “they
#

56 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
“they have already acquired, hurries them irre-
“ſiſtibly on to every thing that is great and
ble. They never conſider themſelves ſuffi-
“ciently rewarded. Their preſent actions are
“only pledges of what may be expected from
“them; and they would bluſh not to live faith-
“ful to their glory, and to render it ſtill more
“illuſtrious by the nobleſt actions.”
The ear which would be deaf to ſervile adula-
tion and inſipid compliment, will liſten with plea-
ſure to the enthuſiaſm with which Cicero ex-
claims, “ . Why ſhould we diſſemble what it is
“impoſſible for us to conceal? Why ſhould we
“ not be pro ud of confeſſing candidly that we all
“ aſpire to fame? The love of praiſe influences
“ all mankind, and the greateſt minds are the moſt
“ ſuſceptible of it. The philoſophers who moſt
“preach up a contempt for fame, prefix their
“names to their works; and the very perform-
“ancesin which they denyoſtentation,are evident
“proofs of their vanity and love of praiſe, Virtue
“requires no other rev ward for all the toils and
“dangers to which ſhe expoſes herſelf than that
“of fame and glory. Take away this flattering
“mind could not launch into the proſpect of fu-
ty, or the operations of the ſoul were to be
“limited
















UPON THE MIND. 57
“limited to the ſpace that bounds thoſe of the
“body, ſhe would not weaken herſelf by con-
“ſtant fatigues, nor weary herſelf with continual
“watchings and anxieties; ſhe would not think
“even life itſelf worthy of a ſtruggle: but there
“lives in the breaſt of every good man a principle
“which unceaſingly prompts and inſpirits him to
“ the purſuit of a fame beyond the preſent hour;
“a fame not commenſurate to our mortal ex-
“iſtence, but co-extenſive with the lateſt poſte-
“rity. Can we, who every day expoſe ourſelves
“to dangers for our country, and have never
“paſſed one moment of our lives without anxiety
“or trouble, meanly think that all conſciouſneſs
“ſhall be buried with us in the grave If the
“greateſtmen have been careful to preſerve their
“buſtoes and their ſtatues, thoſe images, not of
“ their minds, but of their bodies, ought we not
“rather to tranſmit to poſterity the reſemblance
“ofour wiſdom and virtue? For my part, at leaſt,
“I acknowledge, that in all my actions Iconceiv-
“ed that I was diffeminating and tranſmitting my
“fame to the remoteſt corners and the lateſt ages
“ of the world. Whether, therefore, my con-
“ſciouſneſs of this ſhall ceaſe in the grave, or, as
“ſome have thought, ſhall ſurvive as a property
“ of the ſoul, is of little importance. Of one thing
“I am certain, that at this inſtant I feel from the


58 THE INFLUENce of solitude
&
“reflection a flattering hope and a delightful ſen-
“ſation.” ...} : . .33
THIsis the trueenthuſiaſm with which precep-
tors ſhould inſpire the boſomsoftheir young pupils.
Whoever ſhall be happy enough to light up this
generous flame, and increaſe it by conſtant appli-
cation, will ſee the obječt of his care voluntarily
relinquiſh the pernicious pleaſures of youth, enter
with virtuous dignity on the ſtage of life, and add,
by the performance of the nobleſt actions, new
luſtre to ſcience, and brighter rays to glory. The
deſire of extending our fame by noble deeds, and of
increaſing the good opinion of mankind by a dig-
nified condućt and real greatneſs of ſoul, confers
advantages which neither illuſtrious birth,elevated
rank, nor great fortune, can beſtow; and which
even on the throne are only to be acquired by a
life of exemplary virtue, and an anxious attention
to the ſuffrage of poſterity. .
THERE is no character, indeed, more likely to
acquire future fame than the ſatiriſt, who dares to
point out and condemn the follies, the prejudices,
nervous language. Works of this deſcription,
however they may fail to reform the prevailing
manners of the times, will operate on ſucceeding
generations,





UPON THE MIND. 59
generations, and extend their influence and repu-
tation to the lateſt poſterity. True greatneſs
operates long after envy and malice have purſued
the modeſt merit which produced it to the grave.
O, Lavater / thoſe baſe corrupted ſouls who only
Thine a moment, and are for ever extinguiſhed,
will be forgotten, while the memory of thy name
is carefully cheriſhed, and thy virtues fondly be-
loved: thy foibles will be no longer remembered;
and the qualities which diſtinguiſhed and adorned
thy charaćter will alone be reviewed. The rich
variety of thy language, the judgment with which
thou haſt boldly invented and created new expreſ.
ſions, the nervous brevity of thy ſtile, and thy
ſtriking pićtures of human manners, will, as the
author of “The Characters of German Poets and
Proſe Writers” has predićted, extend the ſame of
thy “Fragments upon Phyſiognomy” to the remoteſt
poſterity. The accuſation that Lavater, who
was capable of developing ſuch ſublime truths, and
of creating almoſt a new language, gave credit
to the juggles of Geſſner, will then be forgot;
and he will enjoy the life after death, which
Cicero ſeemed to hope for with ſo much enthu-
ſiaſm. 3.
Solitude, indeed, affords a pleaſure to an au-
thor of which no one can deprive him, and which
far exceeds all the honours of the world. He not
. . only

60 THE INFLUENCE OF sol ITUDE.
*
only anticipates the effect his work will produce, .
but, while it advances towards completion, feels
the delicious enjoyment of thoſe hours of ſerenity
and compoſure which his labours procure. What
continued and tranquil delight flows from ſucceſ.
five compoſition Sorrows fly from this elegant
occupation. Oh I would notexchangeone ſingle
hour of ſuch private tranquillity and content,
for all thoſe flattering illuſions of public fame
with which the mind of Tully was ſo inceſſant-
ly intoxicated. A difficulty ſurmounted, a happy
moment ſeized, a propoſition elucidated, a ſen-
tence neatly and elegantly turned, or a thought
happily expreſſed, are ſalutary and healing balms,
counter-poiſons to melancholy, and belongexclu-
fively to a wiſe and well-formed Solitude.
To enjoy himſelf without being dependent on
the aid of others, to devote to employments, not
perhaps entirely uſeleſs, thoſe hours which ſorrow
and chagrin would otherwiſe ſteal from the ſum
of life, is the great advantage of an author; and
with this advantage alone I am perfectly con-
tented.
“ There is a pleaſure in an Author's pains N.
Which only Authors know. The ſhifts and turns,
Th’ expedients, and inventions multiform,
To which the mind reſorts in choice of terms,


UPON THE MIND. 61
#
Tho' apt, yet coy, and difficult to win–
Tº arreſt the fleeting images that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them faſt,
And force them ſit till he has pencil'd off
A faithful likeneſs of the form he views,
Then to diſpoſe his copies with ſuch art,
That each may find its moſt propitious light,
And ſhine by ſituation hardly leſs
Than by the labour and the ſkill it coſt,
Are occupations of the Author's mind
So pleaſing, and that ſteal away the thought
With ſuch addreſs from themes of ſad import,
That, loſt in its own muſings, happy man!
He feels the anxieties of life, denied
Their wonted entertainment, all retire.”
Sol ITUDE not only elevates the mind, but adds
new ſtrength to its powers. The man who has
not courage to conquer the prejudices and deſpiſe-
the manners of the world, whoſe greateſt dread is
the imputation of fingularity, who forms his opi-
nion and regulates his condućt upon the judgment
and actions of others, will certainly never poſſeſs
ſufficient ſtrength of mind to devote himſelf to
voluntary Solitude; which, it has been well ob-
ſerved, is as neceſſary to give a juſt, ſolid, firm,
and forcible tone to our thoughts, as an inter-
courſe with the world is to give them richneſs,
brilliancy, and juſt appropriation, &: ; ;


The
62 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE
the unfailing
The mind employed on noble and intereſting .
ſubjećts, diſdains the indolence that ſtains the va-
cant breaſt. Enjoying freedom and tranquillity,
the ſoul feels the extent of its energies with greater
ſenſibility, and diſplays powers which it was before
unconſcious of poſſeſſing; the faculties ſharpen;
the mind becomes more clear, luminous, and ex-
tenſive; the perception more diſtinét; the whole
intellectual ſyſtem, in ſhort, exacts more from it-
ſelf in the leiſure of Solitude than in the buſtle of
the world. But to produce theſe happy effects,
Solitude muſt not be reduced to a ſtate of tranquil
idleneſs and inactive eaſe, of mental numbneſs or
fenſual ſtupor; it is not ſufficient to be continually
gazing out of a window with a vacant mind, or
gravely walking up and down the ſtudyina ragged
robe de chambre and worn-out ſlippers; for the mere
exterior of tranquillity cannot elevate or increaſe
the activity of the ſoul, which muſt feel an eager
deſire to roam at large, before it can gain that de-
lightful liberty and leiſure, which at the ſame in-
ſtant improves the underſtanding and corrects the
imagination. The mind, indeed, is enabled, by
the ſtrength it acquires under the ſhades of retire-
ment, toattack prejudices, and combat errors, with
pion; for the more it examines into the nature of
things, the cloſer it brings them to its view, and
expoſes, with unerring clearneſs, all the latent
properties





UPON THE MIND. 63
properties they poſſeſs. An intrepid and reflect-
ing mind, when retired within itſelf, ſeizes with
rapture on truth the moment it is diſcovered;
looks round with a ſmile of pity and contempt on
thoſe who deſpiſe its charms; hears without diſ.
may the invečtives which envy and malice let
looſe againſt him; and nobly diſdains the hue and
cry which the ignorant multitude raiſe againſt him
the moment he elevates his hand to dart againſt
them one of the ſtrong and invincible truths he
has diſcovered in his retreat. &
Solitude diminiſhes the variety of thoſe trou-
bleſome paſſions which diſturb the tranquillity of
the human mind, by combining and forming a
number of them into one great deſire;” for al-
though it may certainly become dangerous to the
paſſions, it may alſo, thanks to the diſpenſations of
Providence! produce very ſalutary effects. If it
diſorder the mind, it is capable of effecting its cure.
It extracts the various propenſities of the human
heart, and unites them into one. By this proceſs
we feel and learn not only the nature, but the ex-
tent, of all the paſſions, which riſe up againſt us
. like


* “ The more defires I have, “ ſays Montaigne, “the leſs
“ ardent they are. The torrents that divide themſelves into
“ many branches are: leaſt dangerous. A ſtrong paſſion is a
“ ſolitary paſſion, that concentrates all our defires within one
º point.” s ºš
64 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
like the angry waves of a diſordered ocean, to .
overwhelm us in the abyſs: but philoſophy flies
to our aid, divides their force; and, if we do not
yield to them an eaſy vićtory, by neglecting all
oppoſition to their attacks, virtue and ſelf-denial
bring gigantic reinforcements to our aſſiſtance,
and enſure ſucceſs. Virtue and reſolution, in
ſhort, are equal to every conflićt, the inſtant we
learn that one paſſion is to be conquered by an-
other. 3.
THE mind, exalted by the high and dignified
ſentiments it acquires by lonely meditation, be-
comes proud of its ſuperiority, withdraws itſelf
from every baſe and ignoble objećt, and avoids,
with heroic virtue, the effect of dangerous ſociety.
A noblemind obſerves the ſons of worldly pleaſure
mingling in ſcenes of riot and debauchery without
being ſeduced; hears it in vain echoed from every
fide, that incontinence is among the firſt propen-
fities of the human heart; and that every young
hion and ſpirit muſt as neceſſarily in-
dulge his appetite for the fair ſex, as the calls of
hunger or ſleep. Such a mind perceives that
libertiniſm and diffipation notonly enervate youth,
and render the feelings callous to the charms of
. virtue and the principles of honeſt y, but that it
deſtroys every manly reſolution, renders the heart
warmth and fineenthuſiaſm of the ſoul, and, in the
º . ‘. . . . end,







UPON THE MIND. 65
end, totally annihilates all its powers. The
youth, therefore, who ſeriouſly wiſhes to ſuſtain
an honourable charaćter on the theatre of life,
muſt for ever renounce the habits of indolence and
luxury; and when he no longer impairs his in-
tellectual faculties by debauchery, or renders it
neceſſary to attempt the renovation of his languid
and debilitated conſtitution by exceſs of wine and
luxurious living, he will ſoon be relieved from
the neceſſity of conſuming whole mornings on
horſeback, in a vain ſearch of that health from
change of ſcene, which temperance and exerciſe
would immediately beſtow.

All men, without exception, have ſomething
to learn; whatever may be the diſtinguiſhed rank
which they hold in ſociety, they can never be truly
great but by their perſonal merit. The more the
faculties of the mind are exerciſed in the tranquil-
lity of retirement, the more conſpicuous they ap-
pear; and ſhould the pleaſures of debauchery be
the ruling paſſion, learn, O, young man that
nothing will ſo eaſily ſubdue it as an increaſing
emulation in great and virtuous ačtions, a hatred
of idleneſs and frivolity, the ſtudy of the ſciences,
a frequent communication with your own heart,
and that high and dignified ſpirit which views
with diſdain every thing that is vile and con-
temptible. This generousand high diſdain of vice,
this fond and ardent love of virtue, diſcloſes itſelf
& F : ...: 3 3: …..? N. in


66 THE INFLUENCE of Sol ITUDE
in retirement with dignity and greatneſs, where
the paſſion of high achievement operates with
greater force than in any other ſituation. The
ſame paſſion which carried Alexander into Aſia
confined Diogenes to his tub. Heraclius de-
ſcended from his throne to devote his mind to the
ſearch of truth.* He who wiſhes to render his
knowledge
* The Emperor Diocleſian alſo paſſed the nine laſt years of
his life in a private condition. “Reaſon,” ſays Mr. Gibbon,
“ had dićtated, and content ſeems to have accompanied, his re-
treat, in which he enjoyed for a long time the reſpect of thoſe
princes to whom he had reſigned the poſſeſſion of the world. It
is ſeldom that minds long exerciſed in bufineſs have formed any
habits of converfing with themſelves, and in the loſs of power
they principally regret the want of occupation. The amuſements
of letters and devotion, which afford ſo many reſources in Solt-
tube, were incapable of fixing the attention of Diocleſian ;
but he had preſerved, or at leaſt he ſoon recovered, a taſte for the
moſt innocent as well as natural pleaſures; and his leiſure hot
were ſufficiently employed in building, planting, and gardening.
His anſwer to Maximilian is deſervedly celebrated. He was
ſolicited by that reſtleſs old man to aſſume the reins of govern-
ment and the imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with
a ſmile of pity, calmly obſerving, that if he could ſhew Maxi-
milian the cabbages which he had planted with his own hands
at Salona, he ſhould no longer be urged to relinquiſh the enjoy-
ment of happineſs for the purſuit of power. “A juſt eſtimate
of greatneſs,” adds this elegant hiſtorian, “ and the aſſurance of
immortal fame,improve our reliſh for the pleaſures of retirement.”
Charles the Fifth alſo retired from the throne, and buried his
randeur and his ambition in ſolitude and filence, in a delight-
ful retreat near the monaſtery of St. juſtus, in the province
of Eſtramadura in Spain, where he enjoyed perhaps more com-
plete ſatisfaction than all his power had ever yielded him.





UPON THE MIND. 67
knowledge uſeful to mankind, muſt firſt ſtudy
the world; not too intenſely, or for any long du-
ration, or with any fondneſs for its follies; for
the follies of the world enervate and deſtroy the
vigour of the mind. Caſar tore himſelf from
the embraces of Cleopatra, and became the maſ-
ter of the world; while Antony took her as
a miſtreſs to his boſom, ſunk indolently into her
arms, and by his effeminacy loſt not only his life,
but the government of the Roman empire.
Sol ITUDE, indeed, inſpires the mind with no-
tions too refined and exalted for the level of com-
mon life. But a fondneſs for high conceptions,
and a lively, ardent diſpoſition, diſcovers to the
votaries of Solitude, the poſſibility of ſupporting
themſelves on heights which would derange the
intellects of ordinary men. Every objećt that
ſurrounds the ſolitary man enlarges the faculties
of his mind, improves the feelings of his heart,
elevates him above the condition of the ſpecies,
and inſpires his ſoul with views of immortality.
Every day in the life of a man of the world ſeems
as if he expected it would be the laſt of his exiſt-
ence.* Solitude amply compenſates for every
… F 2 privation,


* Plato, when he viſited Sicily, was ſo much ſtruck with the
luxury of Agrigentum, both in their houſes and their tables, that
he obſerved, “ The people here build as if they were never te
“ die, and eat as if they had not an hour to live. .
68 the influence of solitude
privation, while the devotee of worldly pleaſures
conceives himſelf loſt if he is deprived of viſiting
a faſhionable aſſembly, of attending a favourite
club, of ſeeing a new play, of patronizing a cele-
&
brated boxer, or of admiring ſome foreign no-
velty which the hand-bills of the day have an-
nounced.
I could never read without feeling the warm-
eſt emotions the following paſſage of Plutarch:
“I live,” ſaid he, “entirely upon Hiſtory; and
“while I contemplate the pićtures it preſents to
“my view, my mind enjoys a rich repaſt from the
“repreſentation of great and virtuous charaćters.
“If the actions of men produce ſome inſtances
“of vice, corruption, and diſhoneſty, I endea-
“vour, nevertheleſs, to remove the impreſſion,
“ or to defeat its effect. My mind withdraws
“itſelf from the ſcene, and, free from every ig-
“noble paſſion, I attach myſelf to thoſe high
“examples of virtue which are ſo agreeable and
“ſatisfactory, and which accord ſo completely
“with the genuine feelings of our nature.”
The ſoul, winged by theſe ſublime images, flies
from the earth, mounts as it proceeds, and caſts an
eye of diſdain on thoſe ſurrounding clouds which,
flight. At a certain height the faculties of the




. Upon THE MIND. 69
mind expand, and the fibres of the heart dilate. It
is, indeed, in the power of every man to perform
more than he undertakes; and therefore it is both
wiſe and praiſe-worthy to attempt everything that
is morally within our reach. How many dormant
ideas may be awakened by exertion and then,
what a variety of early impreſſions, which were
ſeemingly forgot, revive, and preſent themſelves
to our pens ! We may always accompliſh much
more than we conceive, provided paſſion fans the
flame which the imagination has lighted; for life
is inſupportable when unanimated by the ſoft af-
fečtions of the heart.*
Sol ITUDE leads the mind' to thoſe ſources
from whence the grandeſt conceptions are moſt
likely to flow. But, alas! it is not in the power
of every perſon to ſeize the advantages Solitude
beſtows. Were every noble mind ſenſible of the
extenſive information, of the lofty and ſublime
ideas, of the exquiſitely fine feelings which reſult
from occaſional retirement, they would frequent-
ly quit the world, even in the earlieſt periods
F 3 of
* “The force of the paſſions,” ſays a great Philoſopher, ** can
“ alone counterbalance in the human mind the effects of indo-
“ lence and ina&tivity, ſteal us from that repoſe and torpidity to-
“wards which we inceſſantly gravitate, and at length endue the
“mind with that continuity of attention to which ſuperiority of
“ talent is attached.”
º

7o the INFLUENCE of solitude
ſº
of youth, to taſte the ſweets of Solitude, and lay -
the foundation for a wiſe old age.
IN condućting the low and petty affairs of life,
common ſenſe is certainly a more uſeful quality than
even genius itſelf.” Genius, indeed, or that fine
enthuſiaſm which carries the mind into its higheſt
ſphere, is clogged and impeded in its aſcent by the
ordinary occupations of the world, and ſeldom re-

gains its natural liberty and priſtine vigour except
in Solitude. Minds anxious to reach the regions
of philoſophy and ſcience, have, indeed, no other
means of reſcuing themſelves from the burden and
thraldom of worldly affairs. Sickened and diſ-
ź guſted by the ridicule and obloquy they experience
from an ignorant and preſumptuous multitude,
their faculties become, as it were, extinét, and
mental exertion dies away; for the deſire of fame,
that great incentive to intelle&tual achievement,
cannot long exiſt where merit is no longer re-
warded by praiſe. But remove ſuch minds from
. . . . . . . .33. . . . . . . . . . . . ." § . . . * * , the

* “ A man of common ſenſe,” ſays Helvetius, “ is a man
“in whoſe character indolence predominates: he is not endowed
“with that activity of ſoul which, in high ſtations, leads great
“minds to diſcover new ſprings by which they may ſet the world
“in motion, or to ſow thoſe ſeeds, from the growth of which

“ they are enabled to produce future events.”
UPON THE MIND. 71
the oppreſſion of ignorance, of envy, of hatred,
or of malice; let them enjoy liberty and leiſure;
and, with the affiſtance of pen, ink, and paper,
they will ſoon take an ample revenge, and their
productions excite the admiration of the world.
How many excellent underſtandings remain in
obſcurity, merely on account of the poſſeſſor be-
ing condemned to follow worldly employments,
in which little or no uſe of the mind is required,
and which for that reaſon ought to be excluſively
beſtowed on the ignorant and illiterate vulgar !
But this circumſtance can ſeldom happen in Soli-
tude, where the mental faculties, enjoying their
natural freedom, and roaming unconfined through
all the parts and properties of nature, fix on thoſe
purſuits moſt congenial to their powers, and moſt
likely to carry them into their proper ſphere.
THE unwelcome reception which ſolitary men
frequently meet with in the world, becomes, when
properly conſidered, aſource ofenviable happineſs;
for to be univerſally beloved would prove a great
misfortune to him who is meditating in tranquil-
lity the performance of ſome great and important
work: every one would then be anxious to viſit
him, to ſolicit his viſits in return, and to preſs for
his attendance on all parties. But though philoſo-
phers are fortunately not in general the moſt fa-
voured gueſts in faſhionable ſocieties, they have
the ſatisfaction to recolle&t, that it is not ordinary
F 4 . a Or


'72 the Influence of solitude
or common charaćters againſt whom the public .
hatred and diſguſt are excited. There is always
ſomething great in that man againſt whom the
world exclaims, at whom every one throws a
ſtone, and on whoſe charaćter all attempt to fix
a thouſand crimes, without being able to prove
one. The fate of a man of genius, who lives re-
tired and unknown, is certainly more enviable;
for he will then enjoy the pleaſure of undiſturbed
retirement; and naturally imagining the multi-
tude to be ignorant of his chara&ter, will not be
ſurpriſed that they ſhould continually miſinterpret
and pervert both his words and actions; or that
the efforts of his friends to undeceive the public
with reſpect to his merit ſhould prove abortive.
Such was, in the miſtaken view of the world,
the fate of the celebrated Count Schaumbourg-
Lippe, better known by the appellation of the
Count de Buckebourg. No charaćter through-
out Germany was ever more traduced, or ſo little
underſtood; and yet he was worthy of being en-
rolled among the higheſt names his age or country
ever produced. When I firſt became acquainted
- with him, he lived in almoſt total privacy, quite
retired from the world, on a ſmall paternal farm, in
the managementof which conſiſted all hispleaſure
and employment. His exterior appearance was, I
confeſs, ratherforbidding,andprevented ſuperficial
obſervers from perceiving the extraordinary en-
. : N. dowments

UPON THE MIND. 73
dowments of his brilliant and capacious mind.
The Count de Lacy, formerly Ambaſſador from
the Court of Madrid to Peterſburgh, related
to me, during his reſidence at Hanover, that he
led the Spaniſh army againſt the Portugueſe at
the time they were commanded by the Count de
Buckebourg; and that when the officers diſ-
covered him, as they were reconnoitering the
enemy with their glaſſes, the ſingularity of his
appearance ſtruck them ſo forcibly, that they im-
mediately exclaimed, “Are the Portugueſe com-
“manded by Don Quixote * The Ambaſſador,
however, who poſſeſſed a liberal mind, did juſtice,
in the higheſt terms, to the merit and good con-
dućt of Buckebourg in Portugal; and praiſed,
with enthuſiaſtic admiration, the goodneſs of his
mind, and the greatneſs of his character. Viewed
at a diſtance, his appearance was certainly ro-
mantic; and his heroic countenance, his flowing
hair, his tall and meagre figure, and particularly
the extraordinary length of his viſage, might, in
truth, recall ſome idea of the celebrated Knight
of La Mancha ; but, on a cloſer view, both his
perſon and his manners diſpelled the idea; for his
features, full of fire and animation, announced the
elevation, ſagacity, penetration, kindneſs, virtue,
and ſerenity of his ſoul ; and the moſt ſublime and
heroic ſentiments were as familiar and natural to
his mind, as they were to the nobleſt chara&ters
of Greece and Rome. .
THE

74 THE INFLUENce of solitude
THE Count was born in London, and poſſeſſed.
a diſpoſition as whimſical as it was extraordinary.
The anecdotes concerning him, which I heard
from his relation, a German Prince, are perhaps
not generally known. Fond of contending with
the Engliſh in every thing, he laid a wager that
he would ride a horſe from London to Edinburgh
backwards, that is, with the horſe's head towards
Edinburgh, and the Count's face towards Lon-
don; and in this manner he actually rode through
ſeveral counties in England. He travelled
through the greater part of that kingdom on foot
in the diſguiſe of a common beggar. Being in-
formed that part of the current of the Danube,
above Regenſberg, was ſo ſtrong and rapid, that
no one had dared to ſwim acroſs it, he made the
attempt, and ventured ſo far that he nearly loſt his
life. A great ſtateſman and profound philoſopher
at Hanover related to me, that, during the war
in which the Count commanded the artillery in
the army of Prince Ferdinand of Brunſwick
againſt the French, he one day invited a number
of Hanoverianofficers to dine with him in his tent.
While the company were in the higheſt ſtate of
feſtive mirth and gaiety, a ſucceſſion of cannon
balls paſſed directy over the head of the tent.
“The French cannot be far off!” exclaimed the
officers. “ Oh! I aſſure you,” replied the
Count, “ they are not near us;” and he begged
- 2. the

UPON THE MIND. 75
the gentlemen would make themſelves perfeótly
eaſy, reſume their ſeats, and finiſh their dinners.
Soon afterwards a cannon ball carried away the
top of the tent, when the officers again roſe pre-
cipitately from their ſeats, exclaiming, “ The
“enemy are here!” “No, no,” replied the Count,
“ the enemy are not here; therefore I muſt re-
“ queſt, gentlemen, that you will place your-
“ſelves at the table, and ſit ſtill, for you may
“rely on my word.” The firing recommenced,
and balls flew about in the ſame direction: the
officers, however, remained fixed to their ſeats;
and while they eat and drank in ſeeming tran-
quillity, whiſpered to each other their ſurmiſes
and conjećtures on this ſingular entertainment.
At length the Count, riſing from his ſeat, ad-
dreſſed the company in theſe words: “Gentle-
“men, I was willing to convince you how well
“I can rely upon the officers of my artillery. I
“ordered them to fire, during the time we con-
“tinued at dinner, at the pinnacle of the tent;
“ and you have obſerved with what punétuality
“ they obeyed my orders.” .
CHARActeristic traits of a man anxious to
inure himſelf and thoſe about him to arduous and
difficult exploits, will not be uſeleſs or unenter-
taining to curious and ſpeculative minds. Being
w . O11C
%
76 THE INFLUENce of solitude
one day in company with the Count at Fort.
Wilhelmſtein, by the ſide of a magazine of
gunpowder, which he had placed in the room
immediately under that in which I ſlept, I ob-
ſerved to him, that I ſhould not be able to ſleep
very contentedly there during ſome of the hot
nights of ſummer. The Count, however, con-
vinced me, though I do not now recollect by
what means, that the greateſt danger and no danger
are one and the ſame thing. When I firſt ſaw this
extraordinary man, which was in the company of
two officers, the one Engliſh, the other Portu-
gueſe, he entertained me for two hours upon the
Phyſiology of Haller, whoſe works he knew
by heart. The enſuing morning he inſiſted on
my accompanying him in a little boat, which he
rowed himſelf, to Fort Wilhelmſtein, built under
his direétion in the middle of the water, from
plans, which he ſhewed me, of his own drawing.
On Sunday, on the great parade at Pyrmont,
ſurrounded by a vaſt concourſe of men and wo-
men, occupied in muſic, dancing, and gallantries,
he entertained me during the courſe of two hours
on the ſame ſpot, and with as much ſerenity as if
we had been alone, by detailing the various con-
troverfies reſpecting the exiſtence of God, point-
ing out their defe&tive parts, and convincing me
. that he ſurpaſſed every writer in his knowledge
of the ſubject. To prevent my eſcaping from this
. lečture,

UPON THE MIND. 77
lečture, he held me faſt the whole time by one of
the buttons of my coat. At his country ſeat at
Buckebourg he ſhewed me a large folio volume,
in his own hand-writing, upon “The Art of de-
“fending a ſmall Town againſ a great Force.”
The work was completely finiſhed, and intended
as a preſent to the King of Portugal. There
were many paſſages in it, which the Count did me
the favour to read, relating to Swiſſerland; a
country and people which he conſidered as invin-
cible ; pointing out to me not only all the im-
portant places they might occupy againſt an ene-
my, but diſcovering paſſes before unknown, and
through which even a cat would ſcarcely be able
to crawl. I do not believe that any thing was
ever written of higher importance to the intereſts
of my country than this work ; for it contains ſa-
tisfactory anſwers to every obječtion that ever has
or can be made. My friend M. Moyſe Mendel-
ſohm, to whom the Count read the preface to
this work while he reſided at Pyrmont, confi-
dered it as a maſter-piece of fine ſtyle and ſound
reaſoning; for the Count, when he pleaſed, wrote
the French language with nearly as much ele-
gance and purity as Voltaire ; while in the Ger.
man, he was laboured, perplexed, and diffuſe.
I muſt, however, add this in his praiſe, that, on
his return from Portugal, he ſtudied for many
years under two of the moſt acute maſters in Ger-
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ~~ many:
*


78 THE INFLUENce of solitude
many: firſt Abbt; and afterwards, Herder.
Many perſons, who, from a cloſer intimacy, and
deeperpenetration, have had greater opportunities
of obſerving the condućt and chara&ter of this
truly great and extraordinary man, relate of him
a variety of anecdotes equally inſtructive and en-
tertaining. I ſhall only add one obſervation more
reſpešting his charaćter, availing myſelf of the
words of Shakeſpeare : The Count Guillaume
de Schaumbourg Lippe : † : . . . * *
“. . . . . . . carries no dagger.
“He has a lean and hungry look;
“—but he's not dangerous:
—he reads much : ,
“He is a great obſerver; and he looks
“Quite thro’ the deeds of men. He loves no plays;
... “ — * ...: he hears no muſic:
“Seldom he ſmiles, and ſmiles in ſuch a ſort,
“As if he mock'd himſelf, and ſcorn’d his ſpirit,
“That could be mov’d to ſmile at anything.”
4.
| Such was the charaćter, always miſunderſtood,
of this ſolitary man; and ſuch a charaćter might
fairly indulge a contemptuous ſmile, on perceiv-
ing the miſtaken ſneers of an ignorant multitude.
B muſt be the ſhame and confuſion of theſe
partial judges of mankind, when they behold the
monument which the great Mendelſohm has
and the faithful hiſtory of
ich a young author is








UPON THE MIND. N. 79
about to publiſh at Hanover; the profound ſen-
timents, the elegant ſtile, the truth, and the fin-
cerity of which will be diſcovered and acknow-
ledged by impartial poſterity .
The men who, as I have frequently obſerved,
are diſpoſed to ridicule this illuſtrious charaćter on
account of his long viſage, his flowing hair, his
enormous hat, or his little ſword, might be par-
doned, if, like him, they were philoſophers or
heroes. The mind of the Count, however, was
too exalted to be moved by their inſulting taunts;
and he never ſmiled upon the world, or upon men,
either with ſpleen or with contempt. Feeling no
hatred, indulging no miſanthropy, his looks
beamed kindneſs on all around him; and he enjoy-
ed with dignified compoſure the tranquillity of his
rural retreat in the middle of a thick foreſt, either
alone, or in the company of a fond and virtuous
wife, whoſe death ſo ſenſibly afflićted even his firm
and conſtant mind, that it brought him almoſt to
an untimely grave. The people of Athens laugh-
ed at Themiſłocles, and openly reviled him
even in the ſtreets, becauſe he was ignorant of
the manners of the world, the ton of good com-
pany, and that accompliſhment which is called
good breeding. He retorted, however, upon theſe
ignorant railers with the keeneſt aſperity: “It is .
“true,” ſaid he, “I never play upon the lute;
“ but


8o THE INFLUENce of solitude
“but I know how to raiſe a ſmall and inconſider-
“able city to greatneſs and glory.”* -
Solitude and Philoſophy may inſpire ſenti-
ments which appear ludicrous to the eye of world-
ly folly; but they baniſh all light and inſignificant
ideas, and prepare the mind for the grandeſt and
moſt ſublime conceptions. Thoſe who are in the
habit of ſtudying great and exalted charaćters, of
cultivating refined and elevated ſentiments, un-
avoidably contraćt a fingularity of manners which
may furniſh ample materials for ridicule. Ro-
mantic chara&ers always view things differently
from what they really are or can be; and the habit
of invariably contemplating the ſublime and beau-
tiful, renders them, in the eyes of the weak and
wicked, inſipid and inſupportable. Men of this
diſpoſition always acquire a high and dignified de-
meanour, which ſhocks the feelings of the vulgar;
but it is not on that account the leſs meritorious.
Certain Indian Philoſophers annually quitted their
ſolitude to viſit the palace of their Sovereign,
where each of them, in his turn, delivered his ad-
vice upon the government of the ſtate, and upo
* when Antifthenes was told that ſnenias played excellently
upon the flute, he replied, properly enough, ſays the ſagacious
Plutarch, “ Then he is good for nothing elſe.” And when Philip,
at a certain entertainment, heard his ſon fing in a very agreea-
ble and ſkilful manner, “ Are you not,” ſaid he, “aſhamed to
“ſing ſº weir" -




upon the MIND. 81
the changes and limitations which might be made
in the laws ; but he who three ſucceſſive times
communicated falſe or unimportant obſervations,
loſt, for one year, the privilege of appearing in
the preſence-chamber. This practice is well cal-
culated to prevent the mind from growing roman-
tic; but there are many philoſophers of a different
deſcription, who, if they had the ſame opportunity,
would not meet with better ſucceſs.
Plot INUsº requeſted the Emperor Gallienus
to confer on him a ſmall city in Campania, and
the territory appendant to it, promiſing to re-
tire to it with his friends and followers, and to
realize in the government of it the Republic of
Plato. It happened then, however, as it fre-
quently happens now in many courts to philoſo-
phers much leſs chimerical than Plotinus; the
ſtateſman, laughed at the propoſal, and told the
E mperor that the philoſopher was a fool, in
whoſe mind even experience had produced no
º


:- . Th e hiſtory of the greatneſs and virtues of the
Ancients operate in Solitude with the happieſt
effect. Sparks of that bright flame which warmed
G the
* See that uſeful, entertaining, and authentic work, the
“ Nouveau Diäionnaire Hiſtorique,” for an account of the cha-
raēter of this very extraordinary philoſopher.
82 THE INFLUENCE of sol1t UDE .
the boſoms of the great and good, frequently kin.
dle unexpected fires. A lady in the country, whoſe
health was impaired by nervous affections, was
adviſed to read with attention the Hiſtory of the
Greek and Roman Empires. At the expiration
of three months ſhe wrote to me in the following
terms: “You have inſpired my mind with a ve-
“neration for the virtues of the Ancients. What
“are the buzzing race of the preſent day, when
“ compared with thoſe noble charaćters? Hiſtory
“heretofore was not my favourite ſtudy; but now
“I live only on its pages. While I read of the
“tranſactions of Greece and Rome, I wiſh to be.
“come an actor in the ſcenes. It has not only
“opened to me an inexhauſtible ſource of plea-
“ſure, but has reſtored me to health. I could
“not have believed that ſhy library contained ſo
“ineſtimable atreaſure: my books will now prove
“ more valuable e than all the fortune 1 poſ.
“feſs: in the courſe of ſix months you will no
“ longer be troubled with my complaints. Plu-
“tarch is more delightful to me than the charms
“of dreſs, the triumphs of coquetry, or the ſen-
“ timental effuſions which lovers addreſs to thoſe
“miſtreſſes who are inclined to be all heart, and
“with whom Satan plays tricks of love with the
“fame addreſs as a Dilletante plays tricks of muſic
“on the violin.” This lady, who is really learn-
no longer fil ls her letters with the tranſačtions
of



















Upon the MIND. 83
of her kitchen and poultry-yard: ſhe has recover-
ed her health; and will experience hereafter, I
conjećture, as much pleaſure among her hens and
chickens, as ſhe did before from the pages of
Plutarch. . . . . .
But although the immediate effects of ſuch
writings cannot be conſtantly perceived, except in
Solitude, or in the ſociety of ſelect friends, yet they
may remotely be produćtive of the happieſt con-
ſequences. The mind of a man of genius, during
his ſolitary walks, is crowded with a variety of
ideas, which, on being diſcloſed, would appear
ridiculous to the common herd of mankind: a
period, however, arrives, at which they lead men
to the performance of ačtions worthy of immorta-
lity. The national ſongs compoſed by that ardent
genius Lavater, appeared at a moment when
the Republic was in a declining ſtate, and the
temper of the times unfavourable to their recep-
tion. The Schintzuach Society, by whoſe perſua-
ſion they had been written, had given ſome offence
to the French Ambaſſador; and from that time all
the meaſures which the members adopted were
decried with the moſt factious virulence in every
quarter. Even the great Haller, who had been
refuſed admiſſion, conſidering them as diſciples of
Rouſſeau, whom he hated ; and as enemies to
orthodoxy, which he loved; pointed his epigrams
; : . . . . . º.º.º.º. G 2 againſt




84 the INFLUENce of solitude
againſt them in every letter I received from him;
and the Committee for the Reformation of Lite-
rature at Zurich expreſsly prohibited the publica-
tion of theſe excellent lyric compoſitions, on the
curious pretence, that it was dangerous and im-
proper to ſtir up a dunghill. No poet of Greece,
however, ever wrote with more fire and force in
favour of his country than Lavater did in fa-
vour of the liberties of Swiſſerland. I have heard
children chaunt theſe ſongs with patriotic enthu-
fiaſm; and ſeen the fineſt eyes filled with tears of
rapture while their ears liſtened to the fingers.
Joy glowed in the breaſts of the Swiſs peaſants to
whom they were ſung; their muſcles ſwelled, and
the blood inflamed their cheeks. Fathers have,
within my own knowledge, carried their infant
children to the chapel of the celebrated William
Tell, to join in full chorus the ſong which La-
water compoſed upon the merits of that great
man.* I have myſelf made the rocks re-echo to
* William Tell was one of the principal authors of the revo-
lution in Swiſſerland in the year 1307. Griſler, who governed
that country under the Emperor Albert, obliged him, on pain
of death, to ſhoot, from a confiderable diſtance, with an arrow
at an apple which was placed on the head of his infant ſon; and
it is ſaid, that he had the good fortune to carry away the apple
without doing the ſmalleſt injury to the child. The governor, on
perceived another arrow concealed under the garments of the ſuc-
. . . . . .” ceſsful

UPON THE MIND. 85
my voice, by ſinging theſe ſongs to the muſic
which the feelings of my heart compoſed for them
while I wandered over the fields, and climbed
among the famous mountains, where thoſe heroes,
the anceſtors of our race, ſignalized themſelves
by their immortal valour. I fancied that I ſaw
them ſtill armed with their knotted clubs, break-
ing to pieces the crowned helmets of Germany ;
and, although inferior in numbers, forcing the
proud nobility to ſeek their ſafety by a precipitate
and ignominious flight. Theſe, it may be ſaid,
are romantic notions, and can only pleaſe ſolitary
and recluſe men, who ſee things differently from
the reſt of the world. But great ideas ſometimes
make their way in ſpite of the moſt obſtinate op-
poſition, and operating, particularly in Republics,
by inſenſible degrees, ſow the ſeeds of thoſe firm
principles and true opinions, which, as they arrive
to maturity, prove ſo efficacious in times of poli-
tical conteſt and public commotion.
& G 3 SoLITUDE,
ceſsful archer, and on enquiring of him for what uſe he intended it;
“I brought it,” replied Tell, “ for the purpoſe of revenge:
“ its eager point ſhould have drank the blood of thy heart, in-
“ human tyrant, if I had had the misfortune to kill my ſon.”
The ſtory of the apple, however, which had before been told of
a Goth ſoldier, named Tocho, is juſtly ſuſpected by the latter hiſ .
torians. The Swiſs were willing to adorn the birth-day of their
liberty by the fable of ſome ſurpriſing event. But it is certain
that Tell, after having ſuffered a long and rigorous confinement,
killed the governor with an arrow, and gave by that means
a fignal to the conſpirators.
THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITU DE
Solitude, therefore, by inſtilling high ſenti-
ments of human nature, and heroic reſolutions in
defence of its juſt privileges, unites all the qualities
which are neceſſary to raiſe the ſoul and fortify the
charaćter, and forms an ample ſhield againſt the
ſhafts of envy, hatred, or malice. Reſolved to
think and to ačt, upon every occaſion, in oppoſi-
tion to the ſentiments of narrow minds, the ſoli-
• tary man attends to all the various opinions he
meets with, but is aſtoniſhed at none. Without
being ungrateful for the juſt and rational eſteem
his intimate friends beſtow upon him ; remem-
bering, too, that friends, always partial, and in-
clined to judge too favourably, frequently, like
enemies, ſuffer their feelings to carry them too
far; he boldly calls upon the public voice to an-
nounce his character to the world at large, diſ-
plays his juſt pretenſions before this impartial tri-
bunal, and demands that juſtice which is due.
BUT Solitude, although it exalts the ſentiments,
is generally conceived to render the mind unfit for
buſineſs: this, however, is, in myopinion, a great
miſtake. To avoid tottering through the walks of
public duty, it muſt be of great utility to have ac-
quired a firm ſtep, by exerciſing the mind in Soli-
tude on thoſe ſubjects which are likely to occur
in public life. The love of truth is beſt preſerved
by Solitude, and virtue there acquires greater
conſiſtency;


Upon THE MIND. 87
conſiſtency; but I confeſs truthis not always con-
venient in buſineſs, nor the rigid exerciſe of virtue
propitious to worldly ſucceſs. º:
THE great and the good, however, of every
clime, revere the ſimplicity of manners, and the
ſingleneſs of heart, which Solitude produces. It
was theſe ineſtimable qualities which, during the
higheſt fury of the war between England and
France, obtained the philoſophic jean Andre
de Luc the reception he met with at the court of
Verſailles; and inſpired the breaſt of the vir-
tuous, the immortal De /ergennes, with the
deſire to reclaim, by the mild precepts of a philo-
ſopher, the refractory Citizens of Geneva, which
all his remonſtrances, as Prime Miniſter of France,
had been unable to effect. De Luc, at the re-
queſt of Wergennes, made the attempt, but fail-
ed of ſucceſs; and France, as it is well known,
was obliged to ſend an army to ſubdue the Gene-
veſe. It was upon his favourite mountains that
this amiable philoſopher acquired that ſimplicity
of manners, which he ſtill preſerves amidſt all the
luxuries and ſeductions of London; where he en-
dures with firmneſs all the wants, refuſes all the
indulgencies, and ſubdues all the deſires of ſocial
life. While he reſided at Hanover, I only re-
marked one ſingle inſtance of luxury in which he
indulged himſelf: when anythin gvexed his mind,
G 4 - - - . he

88 the influence of solitude
he chewed a ſmall morſel of ſugar, of which he .
always carried a ſmall ſupply in his pocket.
SoLITUDE not only creates ſimplicity of man-
ners, but prepares and ſtrengthens the faculties for
the toils of buſy life. Foſtered in the boſom of
retirement, the mind becomes more ačtive in the
world and its concerns, and retires again into
tranquillity to repoſe itſelf, and prepare for new
conflićts. Pericles, Phocion, and Epaminondas,
laid the foundation of all their greatneſs in Soli-
tude, and acquired rudiments there which all
the language of the ſchools cannot teach—the
rudiments of their future lives and actions. Pe-
ricles, while preparing his mind for any impor-
tant objećt, never appeared in public, but imme-
diately refrained from feaſtings, aſſemblies, and
every ſpecies of entertainment; and during the
whole time that he adminiſtered the affairs of the
Republic, he only went once to ſup with a friend,
and left him at an early hour.” Phocion imme-

* “ Pericles,” ſays that great hiſtorian Plutarch, “ undoubt- .
“edly deſerves admiration; not only for the candour and mo-
“ deration which he ever retained amidſt the diſtractions of
“ buſineſs, and the rage of his enemies, but for that noble ſenti-
“ment which led him to think it his moſt excellent attainment,
“never to have given way to envy oranger, notwithſtanding the
“ greatneſs

Upon the MIND. 89
diately reſigned himſelf to the ſtudy of philoſophy;
not from the oſtentatious motive of being called a
wiſe man, but to enable himſelf to condućt the bu-
ſineſs of the State with greater reſolution and ef-
fe&t.* Epaminondas, who had paſſed his whole
life in the delights of literature, and in the im-
provement of his mind, aſtoniſhed the Thebans
by the military ſkill and dexterity which he all
at once diſplayed at the battles of Mantineia and
Leuétra, in the firſt of which he reſcued his friend
Pelopidas: but it was owing to the frugal uſe he
made of his time, to the attention with which he
devoted his mind to every purſuit he adopted, and
. to

gº greatneſs of his power, nor to have nouriſhed an implacable
“ hatred againſt his greateſt foe. In my opinion,” continues
Plutarch, “this one thing, I mean his mild and diſpaſſionate
“ behaviour, his unblemiſhed integrity, and irreproachable con-
“ dućt, during his whole adminiſtration, makes his appellation
“ of Olympius, which would otherwiſe be vain and abſurd, no
*
“ longer exceptionable, but proper.” He was a whole day loaded
with reproaches by a vile and abandoned fellow. Pericles bore
it with patience and filence, continued in public for the diſpatch
of ſome urgent affairs, and in the evening walked ſlowly home,
this impudent wretch following and inſulting him all the way
with the moſt ſcurrilous language until he came to his own door,
when, it being then dark, he calmly ordered one of his ſervants
to take a torch, and light the man home.
* Thus Tacitus ſpeaks of Helvidius Priſcus : “ Ingenium illuſ-
“ tre altioribus ſtudiis juvenis admodum dedit, non ut magnifico no-
“mine otium velaret, ſed quo firmior adverſus fortuita rempublicam
“ capeſtret.”
90 THE INFLUENCE of soi, ITUDE.
tothat Solitude which his relinquiſhment of every.
public employment afforded him. His country-
men, however, forced him to abandon his retreat,
gave him the abſolute command of the army; and,
by his military ſkill, he ſaved the Republic.
PETRARch alſo, a chara&ter I never contem-
plate but with increaſing ſenſibility, formed his
mind, and rendered it capable of tranſacting the
moſt complicated political affairs, by the habits he
acquired in Solitude. He was, indeed, what perſons
frequently become in Solitude, choleric, ſatirical,
and petulant; and has been ſeverely reproached
with having drawn the manners of his age with
too harſh and ſombrous a pencil, particularly the
ſcenes of infamy which were tranſačted at the court
of Avignon, under the pontificate of Clement
the Sixth ; but he was a perfect maſter of the
human heart, knew how to manage the paſſions
with uncommon dexterity, and to turn them di-
rečtly to his purpoſes. The Abbé de Sades,
the beſt hiſtorian of his life, ſays, “he is ſcarcely
“known, except as a tender and elegant poet,
“who loved with ardour, and ſung, in all the
{{ harmony of verſe, the charms of his miſtreſs.”
But was this in reality the whole of his charaćter?
Certainly not. Literature, long buried in the
ruins of barbarity, owes the higheſt obligations to
his pen: he reſcued ſome of the fineſt works of
. º antiquity



upon the MIND. 91
antiquity from duſt and rottenneſs; and many of
thoſe precious treaſures of learning, which have
ſince contributed to delight and inſtruct mankind,
were diſcovered by his induſtry, correóted by his
learning and ſagacity, and multiplied in accurate
copies at his expence. He was the great reſtorer
of elegant writing and true taſte; and by his own
compoſitions, equal to any that ancient Rome,
previous to its ſubjugation, produced, purified the
public mind, reformed the manners of the age,
and extirpated the prejudices of the times. Pur-
ſuing his ſtudies with unremitting firmneſs to the
hour of his death, his laſt work ſurpaſſed all that
had preceded it. But he was not only a tender
lover, an elegant poet, and a correót and claſſical
hiſtorian, but an able ſtateſman alſo, to whom the
moſt celebrated ſovereigns of his age confided every
difficult negociation, and conſulted in their moſt
important concerns. He poſſeſſed, in the Four-
teenth Century, a degree of fame, credit, and in-
fluence, which no man of the preſent day, how-
ever learned, has ever acquired. Three Popes, an
Emperor, a Sovereign of France, a King of Na-
ples, a crowd of Cardinals, the greateſt Princes,
and the moſt illuſtrious Nobility of Italy, cultivated
his friendſhip, and ſolicited his correſpondence. In
the ſeveral capacities of Stateſman, Miniſter, and
Ambaſſador, he was employed in tranſačting the
greateſt affairs, and by that means was enabled to
acquire
92 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
acquire and diſcloſe the moſt uſeful and important
truths. Theſe high advantages he owed entirely
to Solitude, with the nature of which as he was
better acquainted than any other perſon, ſo he
cheriſhed it with greater fondneſs, and reſounded
its praiſe with higher energy; and at length pre-
ferred his liberty and leiſure to all the enjoy-
ments of the world. Love, to which he had con-
ſecrated the prime of his life, appeared, indeed, for
a long time, to enervate his mind; but ſuddenly
abandoning the ſoft and effeminate ſtyle in which
he breathed his ſighs at Laura's feet, he addreſſed
Kings, Emperors, and Popes, with manly bold-
neſs, and with that confidence which ſplendid ta-
lents and a high reputation always inſpire. In an
elegant oration, worthy of Demo/thenes and
Cicero, he endeavoured to compoſe the jarring
intereſts of Italy; and exhorted the contending
Powers to deſtroy, with their confederated arms,
the Barbarians, thoſe common enemies of their
country, who were ravaging its very boſom, and
preying on its vitals. The enterprizes of Rien-
zi,” who ſeemed like an agent ſent from Heaven
to reſtore the decayed metropolis of the Roman

* For an elegant and highly intereſting account of this enter-
prize, and of the character, abilities, condua, and fate, of this
extraordinary man, ſee Mr. Gibbon's Hiſtory of the Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire, vol. xii. p. 331, 8vo. edition.
Upon THE MIND. 93
Empire to its former ſplendour, were ſuggeſted,
encouraged, directed and ſupported by his abili-
ties. A timid Emperor was rouſed by his eloquence
to invade Italy, and induced to ſeize upon thereins
of government as ſucceſſor to the Caſars. The
Pope, by his advice, removed the holy chair, which
had been tranſported to the borders of the Rhine,
and replaced it on the banks of the Tiber; and at
a moment even when he confeſſed, in one of his
letters, that his mind was diſtraćted with vexation,
his heart torn with love, and his whole ſoul diſ.
guſted with men and meaſures. Pope Clement
the Sixth confided to his negociation an affair
of great difficulty at the Court of Naples, in which
he ſucceeded to the higheſt ſatisfaction of his em.
ployer. His reſidence at courts, indeed, had ren-
dered him ambitious, buſy, and enterprizing ; and
he candidly acknowledged that he felt a pleaſure
on perceiving a hermit, accuſtomed to dwell only
in woods, and to ſaunter over plains, running
through the magnificent palaces of cardinals with
a crowd of courtiers in his ſuite. When john
Piſconti, Archbiſhop and Prince of Milan, and
Sovereign of Lombardy, who united the fineſt ta-
lents with an ambition ſo inſatiable that it threat-
ened to ſwallow up all Italy, had the happineſs
to fix Petrarch in his intereſts, by inducing
him to accept of a ſeat in his council, the friends
of the philoſopher whiſpered one among another,


2. . “ This
94 THE INFLUENCE of sol1t UDE
“This ſtern republican, who breathed no ſenti-
“ments but thoſe of liberty and independence;
“this untamed bull, who roared ſo loud at the
“flighteſt ſhadow of the yoke; who could endure
“no fetters but thoſe of love, and who even felt
“ theſe too heavy; who has refuſed the firſt offers
“ at the court of Rome, becauſe he diſdained to
“wear golden chains; has at length ſubmitted to
“beſhackled by the Tyrant of Italy; and this great
“apoſtate of Solitude, who could no longer live
“except in the tranquillity of the groves, now
“contentedly reſides amidſt the tumults of
“Milan.” “My friends,” rep lied Petrarch,
. # “ have
* The conduct of Petrarch might here have been finely Con-
traſted with the conduct of Horace on an occaſion in ſome degree
fimilar. Mecenas had beſtowed upon him a little eſtate near
Tibur, to which he retired, and wrote thoſe poems that have
ſince ſo much amuſed and inſtructed mankind. His fame ſoon
reached the ears of Auguſtus, who offered him the place of his
private ſecretary, which Horace declined, becauſe the duties of
it would have interfered with the pleaſures he enjoyed in retire-
ment. This fondneſs for a ſequeſtered life he has very happily
expreſſed in the fixth ode of the ſeventh book, addreſſed to Sºp-
timius, of which we inſert an elegant and highly poetical tranſ-
lation by William Bºſcawen, Eſq. x-
§
g 3. º
septimius, who would dare explore # 3 °.
with me the diſtant Gades ſhore,
* Prepard alike to brave ºn . . .
Realms


Upon THE MIND. L. 95
“ have reaſon to arraign my condućt. Man has
“not a greater enemy, than himſelf. I acted
“againſt my taſteand inclination. Alas! through
“ the whole courſe of our lives, we do thoſe things
“which we ought not to have done, and leave
. . ; : . : ::::: “ undone
Realms where the free Cantabrian roams,
Or on the barbarous Syrtes foams
The Mauritanian wave 1.
Let fruitful Tiber's genial land,
Firſt planted by an Argive hand,
Receive my peaceful age : , ,
There let me reſt in gentle eaſe,
Nor truſt again the ſtormy ſeas, * * * ,
* - Nor tempt the battle's rage. º
III.
Should envious fate deny theſe ſeats,
Next let me court the bleſt retreats tº
. Where, murmuring through the plain ºld."
For richeſt fleeces far renown'd, * : *
Galeſus laves the realms that own'd ºn tº
Phalantus' Spartan reign.
Iv.
That ſpot, of all the world, can pleaſe;
The honey of her fruitful bees :
Can match Hymettus' ſoil tº
The berries that her trees produce º
Vie, in the richneſs of their juice,
With fam'd Venuſian oil. .
3. V. There
96 the INFLUENCE of solitude
º
undone what moſt we wiſh to do.” But Pe-
“trarch might have told his friends, “I was
“willing to convince you how much a mind,
“long exerciſed in Solitude, can perform when
“engaged in the buſineſs of the world; how much
“a previous retirement enables a man to tranſačt
“ the affairs of public life with eaſe, firmneſs,
“ dignity, and effect.”
The courage which is neceſſary to combat the
prejudices of the multitude, is only to be acquired
by a contempt of the frivolous tranſactions of the
world, and of courſe is ſeldom poſſeſſed, except by
ſolitary men. Worldly purſuits, ſo far from add-
ing ſtrength to the mind, only weaken it; in like
manneras any particularenjoyment too frequently
- repeated,
V * . . . . .
- śº º 3.
prolongs Spring's blithſome ho
There mi igates ſtern winter's powers, tº
which tepid gales controul, lºº
The fertile Aulon ſpreads her vines, ".
Nor envies the Falernian wines tº
When Bacchus crowns the bowl.
urs;
2. 3… ... … VI.
Theſe bleſt abodes, theſe choſen bowers,
Shall gild with joy life's fleeting hours.
Here, when my days ſhall end,
Bathe my lov’d aſhes with a tear,
And cheriſh with regret fineere
Thy poet and thy friend.







upon the MIND.
repeated, dulls the edge of appetite for every
pleaſure. How often do the beſt contrived and
moſt excellent ſchemes fail, merely for want of
ſufficient courage to ſurmount the difficulties
which attend their execution How many happy
thoughts have been ſtifled in their birth, from an
apprehenſion that they were too bold to be in-
dulged ! # - -
An idea has prevailed, that truth can only be
freely and boldly ſpoken under a Republican form
of government, but this idea is certainly without
foundation. It is true, that in Ariſtocracies, as
well as under a more open form of government,
where a ſingle demagogue unfortunately poſſeſſes
the ſovereign power, common ſenſe is too frequent-
ly conſtrued into a public offence. Where this
abſurdity exiſts, the mind muſt be timid, and the
people, in conſequence, deprived of their liberty.
In a Monarchy every offence is puniſhed by the
ſword of juſtice; but in a Republic, puniſhments
are inflićted by prejudices, paſſions, and ſtate ne-
ceſſity. The firſt maxim, which, under a Repub-
lican form of government, parents endeavour to
inſtil into the minds of their children, is, not to
make enemies; and I remember, when I was very
* “Our fears,” ſays Shakeſpeare, “ are traitors, and make
“us loſe the thing we wiſh to gain by dread of the event.”
*


98 the influence of solitude
young, replying to this ſage counſel, “My dear
“mother, do you not know that he who has no ene-
“mies is a poor man *. In a Republic the citi-
tion of a multitude of ſovereigns; while in a
Monarchy the reig
& -- ". ...: the reigning prince is the only man
whom his ſubječts are bound to obey. The
idea of living under the controul of a number of
maſters intimidates the mind; whereas love and
confidence in one alone, raiſes the ſpirits, and ren-
ders the people happy. N.
; : But in all countries, and under every form of
government, the rational man, who renounces the
uſeleſs converſation of the world, who lives a re-
tired life, and who, independently of all that he
ſees, of all that he hears, forms his notions in
tranquillity by an intercourſe with the heroes of
Greece, of Rome, and of Great Britain, will ac-
3: ... -- - - - - --> i.e. rerº ...strº-- ~~~~ er, obtain a
“ — The fall of kings,
“The rage of nations, and the cruſh of ſtates,
“Move not the MAN who, from the world eſcap'd,
* “ In ſtill retreats and flowery ſolitudes
“ To Nature's voice attends —”
THESE












Upon THE MIND. 99
These are the obſervations I had to make
reſpecting the influence of occaſional Solitude upon
the Mind. They diſcloſe my real ſentiments on
this ſubjećt: many of them, perhaps, undigeſted,
and many more certainly not well expreſſed. But
I ſhall conſole myſelf for theſe defe&ts, if this
Chapter affords only a glimpſe of thoſe advantages
which I am perſuaded a rational Solitude is capa-
ble of affording to the minds and manners of men;
and if that which follows ſhall excite a lively
ſenſation of the true, noble, and elevated pleaſures
Retirement is capable of producing by a tranquil
and feeling contemplation of nature, and by an
exquiſite ſenſibility for every thing that is good
and fair.

1oo the Influence of solitude
chAPTER THE THIRD.
THE INFLUENCE OF Sol ITUDE
upon the Heart.
º
THE higheſt happineſs which is capable of
being enjoyed in this world conſiſts in peace of
mind. The wiſe mortal who renounces the tu-
mults of the world, reſtrains his deſires and in-
clinations, reſigns himſelf to the diſpenſation of
his Creator, and looks with an eye of pity on the
frailties of his fellow-creatures; whoſe greateſt
pleaſure is to liſten among the rocks to the ſoft
murmurs of a caſcade; to inhale, as he walks
along the plains, the refreſhin breezes of the ze-
phyrs; and to dwell in the ſurrounding woods,
on the melodious accents of the aerial choriſters ;
imple feelings of his heart, obtain
this invaluable bleſfing.
To taſte the charms of Retirement, it is not ne-
. ceſſary to diveſt the heart of its emotions. The
world may be renounced without renouncing the
enjoyment which the tear of ſenſibility is capable
of affording. But to render the heart ſuſceptible
º ... of





UPON THE HEART, IOI
of this felicity, the mind muſt be able to admire
with equal pleaſure Nature in her ſublimeſt beau-
ties, and in the modeſt flower that decks the val-
lies; to enjoy at the ſame time that harmonious
combination of parts which expands the ſoul, and
thoſe detached portions of the whole which pre-
ſent the ſofteſt and moſt agreeable images to the
mind. Nor are theſe enjoyments excluſively re-
ſerved for thoſe ſtrong and energeticboſoms whoſe
ſenſations are as lively as they are delicate, and
in which, for that reaſon, the good and the bad
make the ſame impreſſion; the pureſt happineſs,
the moſt enchanting tranquillity, are alſo granted
to men of colder feelings, and whoſe imaginations
are leſs bold and lively; but to ſuch chara&ters
the portraits muſt not be ſo highly coloured, nor
the tints ſo ſharp; for as the bad ſtrikes them
leſs, ſo alſo are they leſs ſuſceptible of livelier im-
preſſions.” . 2.
H 3 THE
* M. Antoninus, ſpeaking of the beauty of univerſal Nature,
obſerves, that there is a pleaſing and graceful aſpe? in every objeće
we perceive, when once we perceive its conneétion with the gene-
ral order of things. He inſtances manythings which at firſt fight
would be thought rather deformities, and then adds, “that a man
“who enjoys a ſenſibility of temper, with a juſt comprehenſion
“ of the univerſal order, will diſcern many amiable things not
“credible to every mind, but to thoſe alone who have entered
“into an honourable familiarity with Nature and her works.”

102 the influence of solitude
The high enjoyments which the heart feels in
Solitude are derived from the imagination.* The
touching aſpect of delightful nature, the variegated
verdure of the foreſts, the reſounding echoes of
an impetuous torrent, the ſoft agitation of the ſo-
liage, the melodious warblings of the tenants of
the groves, the beautiful ſcenery of a rich and ex-
tenſive country, and all thoſe objećts which com-
poſe an agreeable landſcape, take ſuch complete
poſſeſſion of the ſoul, and ſo entirely abſorb our
faculties, that the ſentiments of the mind are by
the charms of the imagination inſtantly converted
into ſenſations of the heart, and the ſofteſt emo-
tions give birth to the moſt virtuous and worthy
ſentiments. But, to enable the imagination thus
to render every objećt faſcinating and delightful,
it muſt ačt with freedom, and dwell amidſt fur-
rounding tranquillity. Oh! how eaſy it is to re-
nounce noiſy pleaſures and tumultuous aſſemblies,
for the enjoyment of that philoſophic melancholy
which Solitude inſpires!
“ He comes! he comes! in every breeze the power
“Of philoſophic Melancholy comes
• An account of the natural and moral advantages reſulting
from a ſenſible and well formed imagination, is finely given by
Dr. Arbuthnot, in the Third Book of “The Pleaſures of the
Imagination.” * - -






UPON THE HEART. 103
&
g
&
& 4
4.
º
&
&
t
t
*
g
&
t
º
“
“
&
4 &
4 tº
º
•
& 4
4.
t
t
t
g
#
& 4
g
t
*
º
º
t
*
&
•
4. -
His near approach the ſudden ſtarting tear,
The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air,

The ſoften’d feature, and the beating heart,
Pierc’d deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.
O'er all the ſoul his ſacred influence breathes; -
Inflames imagination; thro' the breaſt
Infuſes every tenderneſs; and far
Beyond dim earth exalts the ſwelling thought.
Ten thouſand thouſand fleet ideas, ſuch
As never mingled with the vulgar dream,
Croud faſt into the mind's creative eye;
As faſt the correſpondent paſſions riſe,
As varied and as high : Devotion rais'd
To rapture, and divine aſtoniſhment;
The love of Nature unconfin'd, and chief
Of human race; the large ambitious wiſh
To make them bleſt; the figh for ſuffering worth,
Loſt in obſcurity; the noble ſcorn
Of tyrant pride; the fearleſs great reſolve;
The wonder which the dying patriot draws,
Inſpiring glory thro' remoteſt time;
Th” awaken'd throb for virtue and for fame ;
The ſympathies of love, and friendſhip dear;
With all the ſocial offspring of the heart.”
Religious awe and rapturous delight are alter-

nately excited by the deep gloom of foreſts, by the
tremendous height of broken rocks, and by the
multiplicity of majeſtic and ſublime objećts which
are combined within the ſcite of a delightful and
extenſive proſpect. The moſt painful ſenſations
H 4 immediately

104. T HE INFLUENCE of solitude
life, my m
immediately yield to the ſerious, ſoft, and ſolitary.
reveries to which the ſurrounding tranquillity in-
vites the mind; while the vaſt and awful filence
of Nature exhibits the happy contraſt between
fimplicity and grandeur; and as our feelings be-
come more exquiſite, ſo our admiration becomes
more intenſe, and our pleaſures more complete.
been for many years familiar with all
that Nature is capable of producing in her ſu-
blimeſt works, when I firſt ſaw a garden in the
vicinity of Hanover, and another, upon a much
larger ſcale, at Marienwerder, about three miles
diſtant, cultivated in the Engliſh ſtyle of rural
ornament. I was not then apprized of the extent
of that art which ſports with the moſt ungrateful
ſoil, and, by a new ſpecies of creation, converts
barren mountains into fertile fields and ſmiling
landſcapes. This magic art makes an aſtoniſhing
impreſſion on the mind, and captivates every heart,
notinſenſible to the delightful charms ofcultivated
Nature. I cannot recollect, without ſhedding tears
of gratitude and joy, a fingle day of this early part
of my reſidence at Hanover, when, torn from the
boſom of m y country, from the embraces of my
family, and from every thing that I held dear in
w ind, on entering the little garden of
d friend M. de Hinuber, near Ha-
ately revived, and forgot for the
º : ; º; 3. In Oment






UPON THE HEART". 105
moment both my country and my grief. The
charm was new to me. I had no conception that
it was poſſible, upon ſo ſmall a plot of ground, to
introduce at once the enchanting variety and the
noble ſimplicity of Nature. But I was then con-
vinced that her aſpect alone is ſufficient, at firſt
view, to heal the wounded feelings of the heart,
to fill the boſom with the higheſt luxury, and to
create thoſe ſentiments in the mind which can, of
all others, render life deſirable.
This new re-union of Art and Nature, which
was not invented in China,” but in England, is
founded upon a rational and refined taſte for the
beauties of Nature, confirmed by experience, and
by the ſentiments which a chaſte fancy reflects
on a feeling heart.
Great Nature ſcorns controul; ſhe will not bear
One beauty foreign to the ſpot or ſoil.
She gives thee to adorn : 'Tis thine alone
To mend, not change, her features.
But in the gardens I have before mentioned,
every point of view raiſes the ſoul to heaven, and
affords the mind ſublime delight; every bank pre-
ſents
. • see Sir Willian chamber's celebrated Treatiſe on oriental
3. Gardening. :: . . . . . . . . . .

106 the INFLUENce of solitude
ſents a new and varied ſcene, which fills the heart .
with joy: nor, while I feel the ſenſation which
ſuch ſcenes inſpire, will I ſuffer my delight to be
diminiſhed, by diſcuſſing whether the arrangement
might have been made in a better way, or permit
the dull rules of cold and ſenſeleſs maſters todeſtroy
my pleaſure. Scenes of ſerenity, whether created
by taſteful Art, or by the cunning hand of Nature,
always beſtow, as a gift from the imagination,
tranquillity to the heart. While a ſoft ſilence
breathes around me, every objećt is pleaſant to my
view ; rural ſcenery fixes my attention, and diffi-
pates the grief that lies heavy at my heart; the
lovelineſs of Solitude enchants me, and, ſubduing
every vexation, inſpires my ſoul with benevolence,
gratitude, and content. I return thanks to my
Creator for endowing me with an imagination
which, though it has frequently cauſed the trou-
ble of my life, occaſionally leads me, in the hour
of my retirement, to ſome friendly rock, on which
I can climb and contemplate with greater com-
poſure the tempeſts I have eſcaped. ----.
#
THERE are, indeed, many Ang ºliciſed gardens
in Germany, laid out ſo whimſically abſurd, as to
excite no other emotions than thoſe of laughter
or diſguſt. How extremely ridiculous is it to
ſee a foreſt of popl ficient to ſupply
shamber ſtove with fuel for a week; mere mole-
hills




UPON THE HEART. 107
hills di gnified with the name of mountains; caves
and aviaries, in which tame and ſavage animals,
birds and amphibious creatures, are attempted to be
repreſented in their native grandeur; bridges of
various kinds thrown acroſs rivers which a cou-
ple of ducks would drink dry; and wooden fiſhes
ſwimming in canals which the pump every morn-
ing ſupplies with water! Theſe unnatural beau-
ties are incapable of affording any pleaſure to the
imagination.
A celebra TED Engliſh writer has ſaid, that
“Solitude, on the firſt view of it, inſpires the
“ mind with terror, becauſe every thing that
“brings with it the idea of privation is terrific,
‘ and therefore ſublime, like ſpace, darkneſs, and
“ ſilence.” º º gº tº .
º
THE ſpecies of greatneſs which reſults from the
idea of infinity, can only be rendered delightful by
being viewed at a proper diſtance. The Alps, in
Swiſſerland, and particularly near the Canton of
Berne, appear inconceivably majeſtic; but on a
near approach, they excite ideas certainly ſublime,
yet mingled with a degree of terror. The eye,
on beholding theſe immenſe and enormous maſſes
piled one upon the other, form ing one vaſt and
uninterrupted chain of mountains, and rearing
their lofty ſummits to the ſkies, conveys to the
. heart

IoS THE INFLUENCE of soli TUDE
heart the moſt rapturous delight! while the ſuc- .
ceſſion of ſoft and lively ſhades, which they throw
around the ſcene, tempers the impreſſion, and ren-
ders the view as agreeable as it is ſublime. On
the contrary, no feelingheart can, on a cloſeview,
behold this prodigious wall of rocks without ex-
periencing involuntary trembling. The mind
contemplates with affright their eternal ſnows,
their ſteep aſcents, their dark caverns, the tor-
rents which precipitate themſelves with deafen-
ing clamours from their ſummits, the black foreſts
of firs that overhang their fides, and the enormous
fragments of rocks which time and tempeſts have
torn away. How my heart thrilled when I firſt
climbed through a ſteep and narrow track upon
theſe ſublime deſerts, diſcovering every ſtep I
made new mountains riſing over my head, while
upon the leaſt ſtumble death menaced me in a
thouſand ſhapes below ! But the imagination
immediately kindles when you perceive yourſelf
alone in the midſt of this grand ſcene of Nature,
and reflect from theſe heights on the weakneſs of
human power, and the imbecility of the greateſt
The hiſtory of Swiſſerland evinces, that the
men, and that their ſentiments are as gene-
e warm. Bold and ſpirited
. by






UPON THE HEART, Io9
by nature, the liberty they enjoy gives wings to
their ſouls, and they trample tyrants and tyranny
under their feet. Some of the inhabitants of Swiſ-
ſerland, indeed, are not perfectly free; though they
all poſſeſs notions of liberty, love their country,
and return thanks to the Almighty for that happy
tranquillity which permits each individual to live
quietly under his vine, and enjoy the ſhade of his
fig-tree; but the moſt pure and genuine liberty
is always to be found among the inhabitants of
theſe ſtupendous mountains. . .
The Alps in Swiſſerland are inhabited by a
race of men ſometimes unſocial, but always good
and generous. The hardy and robuſt characters
given to them by the ſeverity of their climate, is
ſoftened by their paſtoral life. It is ſaid by an
Engliſh writer, that he who has never heard a
ſtorm in the Alps, can form no idea of the con-
tinuity of the lightning, the rolling and the burſt
of the thunder which roars round the horizon of
theſe immenſe mountains ; and the people, never
enjoying better habitations than their own cabins,
nor ſeeing any other country than their ownrocks,
believe the univerſe to be an unfiniſhed work, and
a ſcene of unceaſing tempeſts. But the ſkies do
not always lour; the thunder does not inceſſantly
roll, nor the lightnings continually flaſh; imme-
diately after the moſt dreadful tempeſts, the hemi- * . . .
ſphere


11o the INFLUENce of solitude.
ſphere clears itſelf by ſlow degrees, and becomes
ſerene. The diſpoſitions of the Swiſs follow the
nature of their climate; kindneſs ſucceeds to vio-
lence, and generoſity to the moſt brutal fury: this
may be eaſily proved, not only from the records
of hiſtory, but from recent facts.
GENERAL Redin, an inhabitant of the Alps,
and a native of the Canton of Schwitz, enliſted
very early in life into the Swiſs Guards, and at-
tained the rank of Lieutenant-General in that
corps. His long reſidence at Paris and Ver-
ſailles, however, had not been able to change
his charaćter; he ſtill continued a true Swiſs.
The new regulation made by the King of France,
in the year 1764, relating to this corps, gave great
diſcontent to the Canton of Schwitz. The citi-
zens, conſidering it as an innovation extremely
prejudicial to theirancient privileges, threw all the
m of the meaſure on the Lieutenant-General,
iſe wife, at this period, reſided on his eſtate
he Car where ſhe endeavoured to raiſe a
number of young recruits; but the ſound of the
French drum had become ſo diſguſting to the ears
of the citizens, that they beheld with indignation
ckade placed in the hats of the deluded
ſants. The Magiſtrate, apprehenſive that this
ment might ultimately cauſe an inſurrection
Madame






upon the Heart. III
Madame de Redin to continue her levies. The lady
requeſted he would certify his prohibition in
writing; but the Magiſtrate not being diſpoſed to
carry matters to this extremity againſt the Court
of France, ſhe continued to beat up for the re-
queſted number of recruits. The inhabitants of
the Canton, irritated by this bold defiance of the
prohibition, ſummoned a General Diet, and Ma-
dame de Redin appeared before the Aſſembly of
Four Thouſand. “The drum,” ſaid ſhe, “ſhall
“never ceaſe to ſound, until you give me ſuch a
“ certificate as may juſtify my huſband to the
“French Court for not completing the number
“ of his men.” The Aſſembly accordingly grant-
ed her the required certificate, and enjoining her
to procure the intereſt and interpoſition of her
huſband with the Court in favour of her injured
country, waited in anxious expectation that his
negociation would produce a favourable iſſue.
Unhappily, the Court of Verſailles rejećted all ſo-
licitation on the ſubječt, and by this means drove
the irritated and impatient inhabitants beyond the
bounds of reſtraint. The leading men of the
Canton pretended that the new regulation endan-
gered not only their civil liberties, but, what was
dearer to them, their religion. The general diſ.
content was at length fomented into popular fury.
A General Diet was again aſſembled, and it was
publicly reſolved not to furniſh the King of
France

112 the INFLUENce of solitude
France in future with any troops. The Treaty
of Alliance concluded in the year 1713 was torn
from the Public Regiſter, and General de Redin
ordered inſtantly to return from France with
the ſoldiers under his command, upon pain, if he
refuſed, of being irrevocably baniſhed from the
Republic. The obedient General obtained per-
miſſion from the King to depart with his regiment
from France, and entering Schwitz, the metropolis
of the Canton, at the head of his troops, with
drums beating and colours flying, marched imme-
diately to the church, where he depoſited his
ſtandards upon the great altar, and falling on his
knees, offered up his thanks to God. Riſing from
the ground, and turning to his affectionate ſoldiers,
who were diſſolved in tears, he diſcharged their
arrears of pay, gave them their uniforms and ac-
coutrements, and bid them forever farewell. The
fury of the populace, on perceiving within their
power the man whom the whole country conſi-
dered as the perfidious abettor, and traitorous ad-
viſer, of the new regulation, by which the Court
of Verſailles had given ſuch a mortal blow to the
liberties of the country, greatly increaſed; and he
was ordered to diſcloſe before the General Aſſem-
bly the origin of that meaſure, and the means by
which it had been carried on, in order that they
might learn their relative ſituation with France,
and aſcertain the degree of puniſhment that was









upon the Heart. 113
due to the offender. Redin, conſcious that, under
the exiſting circumſtances, eloquence would make
no impreſſion on minds ſo prejudiced againſt him,
contented himſelf with coolly declaring, in a few
words, that the cauſe of framing the new regu-
lation was publicly known, and that he was as in-
nocent upon the ſubječt as he was ignorant of the
cauſe of his diſmiſſion. “ The traitor then will
“ not conſeſ, ſº exclaimed one of the moſt furious
members: “ Hang him on the next tree / Cut him
“ to pieces !” Theſe menaces were inſtantly re-
peated throughout the Aſſembly; and while the
injured ſoldier continued perfectly tranquil and
undiſmayed, a party of the people, more daring
than the reſt, jumped upon the Tribune, where he
ſtood ſurrounded by the judges. A young man, his
godſon, was holding a parapluie over his head, to
ſhelter him from the rain, which at this moment
poured down in inceſſant torrents, when one of
the enraged multitude immediately broke the para-
pluie in pieces with his ſtick, exclaiming, “Let
“ the traitor be uncovered.” This exclamation con-
veyed a correſpondent indignation into the boſom
of the youth, who inſtantly replied, “My god-
“father a betrayer of his country / Oh! I was ig-
“norant, I aſſure you, of the crimie alledged againſt
“ him; but ſince it is ſo, let him periſh. Where is the
“ rope? I will be the firſt to put it round the traitor’s
“ neck.” The Magiſtrates inſtantly formed a cir-
; , ; cle


114 the INFLUENCE of solitude
cle round the General, and with uplifted hands
exhorted him to avert the impending danger, by
confeſſing that he had not oppoſed the meaſures
of France with ſufficient zeal, and to offer to the
offended people his whole fortune as an atonement
for his neglect; repreſenting to him, that theſe
were the only means of redeeming his liberty,
and perhaps his life. The undaunted ſoldier, with
perfeóttranquility and compoſure, walked through
the ſurrounding circle to the ſide of the Tribune,
and, while the whole Aſſembly anxiouſly expected
to hear an ample confeſſion of his guilt, made a
fign of filence with his hand: “Fellow Citizens,”
ſaid he, “you are not ignorant that I have been
“two-and-forty years on the French eſtabliſh-
“ment. You know, and many among you, who
“were with me in the ſervice, can teſtify its
“truth, how often I have faced the enemy, and
“ the manner in which I condućted myſelf in
“ battle. I confidered every engagement as the
“ laſt day of my life. But here I proteſt to you,
“ in the preſence of that Almighty Being who
“ knows all our hearts, who liſtens to all our
“words, and who will hereafter judge of all our
“ačtions, that I never appeared before an enemy
“ with a mind more pure, a conſcient e more tran-
st quil, a heart more innocent, than I at preſent
“ poſſeſs; and if it is your pleaſure to condemn
“ me becauſe I refuſe to confeſs a treachery of
: z. “ which


upon the HEARt. 115.
“ which I have not been guilty, I am now ready
“ to reſign my life into your hands.” The dig-
nified demeanour with which the General made
this declaration, and the air of truth which accom-
panied his words, calmed the fury of the Aſſembly,
and ſaved his life. Both he and his wife, however,
immediately quitted the Canton; ſhe entering into
a convent at Uri; and he retiring to a cavern
among the rocks, where he lived two years in
Solitude. Time, at length, ſubdued the anger
of the people, and ſoftened the General’s ſenſe of
their injuſtice. He returned to the boſom of his
country, rewarded its ingratitude by the moſt ſignal
ſervices, and made every individual recolle&t and
acknowledge the integrity of their magnanimous
countryman. To recompence him for the injuries
and injuſtice he had ſuffered, they elected him
Bailli, or chief officer, of the Canton; andafforded
him an almoſt ſingular inſtance of their conſtancy
and affection, by ſucceſſively conferring on him
three times this high and important dignity. This
is the characteriſtic diſpoſition of the Swiſs who
inhabit the Alps; alternately violent and mild ;
and experiencing, as the extremes of a delighted
or vexed imagination happen to prevail, the ſame
viciſſitudes as their climate. The rude ſcenes of
greatneſs which theſe ſtupendous mountains and
vaſt deſarts afford, render the Swiſs violent inſen-
timent, and rough in manners; while the tranquil-
I 2 lity

11.6 THE INFLUENCE of sol1'r Up E
lity of their fields, and the ſmiling beauties of
their vallies, ſoften their minds, and render their
hearts kind and benevolent.
ENGLISH artiſts confeſs that the aſpect of
Nature in Swiſſerland is too ſublime and majeſtic
for the pencil of Art faithfully to reach: but
how exquiſite muſt be the enjoyments they feel
upon thoſe romantic hills, in thoſe delightful val-
lies, upon the charming borders of thoſe ſtill and
tranſparent lakes,” where Nature unfolds her va-
rious charms, and appears in her higheſt pomp and
ſplendor; where the majeſtic oaks, the deep em-
boweringelms,and darkgreen firs, which cov
d,” written
:: *ś on Swi ºri º - &
by Profeſſor Meiners, with what exquiſite ſenſibility that Philo-
ſopher deſcribes his t oyme ts quietly reſigning himſelf to
the various emoti insofhis e rt in the borders of the Lake of Biel.
“When I am fatigued,” ſays he, to one of his friends at Got-
tingen, “ and inclined to contemplate the ſurrounding ob-
* It is pleaſant to obſerve in “Lett
£3. º • * zºº.º.º.º.º. º
.* jećts with ſtudious attention, I ſeat myſelf on ſome verdant
“bank, or vine-wall, near which people are continually paſſing;
“ and I never indulged this diſpoſition without experiencing an
“ inexpreſſible tranquillity. The laſt time I went there it was
nearly fix o'clock, and the ſunfinking behind the ridge of Jura.
The dark green firs with which the mountain, to a certain
*
•
s
s
*
*
.
*
height, is entirely covered; the oaks of a brighter verdure
which ſucceed them; the vines of ſtill livelier hues, in the
midſt of which I was feated; and a confiderable portion of the
Lake, were already in ſhade; while the oppoſite ſhores of Biel
~ and Nidaw, and the Glaciers, were ſtill illuminated by the
“laſt rays of the ſetting ſun,”
º
&
*
º
s
s
º
#










UPON THE HEART, 117
adorn theſe immenſe foreſts, are pleaſingly inter-
ſperſed with myrtles, almond-trees, jeſſamines,
pomegranates, and vines, which offer their hum-
bler beauties to the view, and variegate the ſcene!
Nature is in no country of the globe more rich
and various than in Swiſſerland. It was the ſce-
nery around Zurich, and the beauties of its ad-
joining lake, that firſt inſpired the Idylls of the
immortal Geffner.
These ſublime beauties, while they elevate
and inflame the heart, give greater action and life
to the imagination than ſofter ſcenes; in like
manner as a fine night affords a more auguſt and
ſolemn ſpectacle than the mildeſt day.
IN coming from Freſcati, by the borders of the
ſmall lake of Nemi, which lies in a deep valley,
ſo cloſely ſheltered by mountains and foreſts, that
the winds are ſcarcely permitted to diſturb its ſur-
face, it is impoſſible not to exclaim with the Eng-
liſh poet, that here— ... . ." ... -- .
“ Black Melancholy ſits, and round her throws
“A death-like ſilence, and a dread repoſe :
“Her gloomy preſence ſaddens all the ſcene,
“Shades every flower, and darkens every green;
* Deepens the murmurs of the falling floods,
‘And breathes a browner horror on the woods.”
Pope—Eloíſa to Abelard.

º
º
I 3 × Bur
118 THE INFLUENce of solitude
But how the ſoul expands, and every thought
becomes ſerene and free, when, from the garden
of the Capuchins, near Albano, the eye ſuddenly
diſcovers the little melancholy Lake, with Freſ-
cati and all its rural vallies on one ſide ; on the
other, the handſome city of Albano, the village
and caſtle of Riccia and Genſano, with their hills
beautifully adorned with cluſters of the richeſt
vines; below the extenſive plains of Campania,
in the middle of which Rome, formerly the miſ-
treſs of the world, raiſes its majeſtic head; and
laſtly, beyond all theſe objećts, the hills of Tivo-
li, the Appenines, and the Mediterranean Sea [*
How often, on the approach of ſpring, has the
magnificent valley, where the ruins of the reſi-
dence of Rodolpho de Hapſburg riſes upon the
ſide of a hill, crowned with woods of variegated
verdure, afforded me the pureſt and moſt ineffable
delight! There the rapid Aar deſcends in tor-
rents from the lofty mountains ; ſometimes form-
ing a vaſt baſin in the vale; at others, precipi-
tating through narrow paſſages acroſs the rocks,
winding
• A German Lady, poſſeſſed of a very lively imagination, tra-
velled into Italy for the re-eſtabliſhment of her health; and her
ſtrength increaſed day at r day; but when ſhe found herſelf on
the ſcite of Albano, ſuch was the effea of the ſcenery I have
mentioned, that, in attempting to expreſs to her attendants the
emotion it excited, her voice failed, and ſhe remained ſpeechleſs
for ſeveral days. * *


UPON THE HEART. 119
winding its courſe majeſtically through the middle
of the vaſt and fertile plains: on the other ſide
the Ruffs, and, lower down, the Limmat, bring
their tributary ſtreams, and peaceably unite them
with the waters of the Aar. In the middle of
this rich and verdant ſcene, I beheld the Royal
Solitude where the remains of the Emperor
ALBERT THE FIRST repoſe in ſilence, with thoſe
of many Princes of the Houſe of Auſtria, Counts,
Knights, and Gentlemen, killed in battle by the
gallant Swiſs. At a diſtance I diſcovered the
valley where lie the ruins of the celebrated city of
Vindoniſſa,” upon which I have frequently ſat,
and reflected upon the vanity of human greatneſs.
Beyond this magnificent country ancient caſtles
raiſe their lofty heads upon the hills; and the far
diſtant horizon is terminated by the ſublime ſum-
mits of the Alps. In the midſt of all this grand
ſcenery, my eyes were inſtinétively caſt down into
the deep valley immediately below me, and conti-
nued fixed upon the little village where I firſt drew
my breath. It is thus that the ſublime or beautiful
14 operates
* Windoniſa was a very large and well fortified Roman vil-
lage, which ſerved as a fortreſs to the Emperors againſt the in-
curfions of the Germans. In this place they kept a very nume-
rous garriſon, to overawe their dangerous neighbours, who fre-
uently eſtabliſhed themſelves on the borders of the Rhine, and
pillaged the plains of Aar.
+ The little village of Brugg, near the caſtles of Windich
and Altenberg.
*
I2O THE INFLUENCE OF Sol ITUDE
operates differently on the heart; the one exciting.
fear and terror, the other creating only ſoft and
agreeable ſenſations; but both tending to enlarge
the ſphere of the imagination, and enabling us
more completely to ſeek enjoyment within our-
ſelves. .
PLEASUREs of this deſcription may, indeed, be
enjoyed without viſiting the romantic ſolitudes of
either Swiſſerland or Italy. There is no perſon
who may not, while he is quietly traverfing the
hills and dales, learn to feel how much the aſpects
of Nature may, by the affiſtance of the imagina-
tion, affe&t the heart. A fine view, the freſhneſs
of the air, an unclouded ſky, and the joys of the
chaſe, give ſenſations of health, and make every
ſtep ſeem too ſhort. The privation of all ideas of
dependence, accompanied by domeſtic comfort,
uſeful employments, and innocent recreations,
produce a ſtrength of thought, and fertility of
imagination, which preſent to the mind the moſt
agreeable images, and touch the heart with the
moſt delightful ſenſations. It is certainly true,
that a perſon poſſeſſed of a fine imagination may
be much happier in priſon, than he could poſſibly
be without imagination amidſt the moſt magnifi-
cent ſcenery. But even to a mind deprived of
this happy faculty, the loweſt enjoyments of rural
life, even the common ſcenery of harveſt time, is
. . capable
UPON THE HEART. I2 I
capable of performing miracles on his heart. Alas!
who has not experienced, in the hours of languor
and diſguſt, the powerful effects which a contem-
plation of the pleaſures that ſurround the pooreſt
peaſant’s cot is capable of affording! How fondly
the heart participates in all his homely joys! With
what freedom, cordiality, and kindneſs, we take
him by the hand, and liſten to his innocent and
artleſs tales! How ſuddenly do we feel an intereſt
in all his little concerns! an intereſt which, while
it unveils, refines and ameliorates the latent incli-
nations of our hearts 1
THE country, indeed, furniſhes a variety of
pleaſures even to thoſe who, long buried in the
ſink of cities, ſcarcely know what real pleaſure is.
A French officer, on returning to his native
country after a long abſence, exclaimed, “It is
“ only in rural life that a man can enjoy the trea-
“ſures of the heart, himſelf, his wife, his chil-
“dren, and his friends. The country poſſeſſes in
{{ every reſpect ſuperior advantages to the town;
“pure air, ſmiling proſpects, pleaſant walks,
“ wholeſome food, ſimple manners, and virtuous
“injury: the boſom feels the freedom it enjoys,
“ and reſts on heaven alone: the miſer may be
“ ſated with the abundant pleaſures which the
“liberal hand of Nature is there inceſſantly
“pouring
122 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE
“pouring into his lap; the warrior may follow.
“ that image of war the chace ; the voluptuary
“may cultivate the richeſt fruits of the earth;
“ and the philoſopher may indulge his contempla-
“tion inſilence and in eaſe.”—Oh! how ſtrongly
this writer moves and intereſts my heart, when
he ſays in this affecting paſſage of his work,
“I prefer my native fields to every other place;
“not becauſe they are more beautiful, but be-
“cauſe I was there brought up. The ſpot on
“which we paſs our infant days poſſeſſes a ſecret
“charm, an inexpreſſible enchantment, ſuperior
“to every other enjoyment. No other ſpot on
“ the face of the earth can equal that in which
“ the gambols of our infant days were played;
“ thoſe happy days, which we paſſed without
“ inquietude or care, and in which the ſoul feels
“the higheſt joys and moſt ſatisfactory delights.
- *
“In the days of early youth, the trivial event
“ of even finding a bird’s neſt is capable of afford-
“ing unbounded pleaſure. Oh! what happineſs
“I have experienced from the careſſes of the little
“captive, in teaching it to peck its vićtuals from
“my mouth, while its wings fluttered with grati-
“tude, and its thankful heart throbbed through
“ its breaſt with joy againſt my hand! Happy,
“happy is the man who is enabled to retire to the
“ place of his earlieſt attachment; that place
. - “ where

Upon THE HEARt. 123
“where he fondly ſympathiſed with all around
“ him, and where every object pleaſed his eyes;
“ the meadows in which he ran and leaped, the
“ orchards that he uſed to pillage.”
These ſentiments evince that, at every period
of our exiſtence, ſequeſtered groves, and the free-
dom and tranquillity of rural life, raviſh the ſoul,
and induce us to exclaim, with the ſacred orator,
“Happy is the wiſe and virtuous man, who in
“ rural retirement knows how to enjoy his tran-
“ quillity with true dignity and perfeót eaſe, in-
“dependent of everything around him! How
“preferable is this happy calm to the deafening
“clamours, the falſe joys, the deceitful glare of
“faſhionable life! What refined, noble, generous
“ ſentiments riſe and unfold themſelves in retire-
“ment, which, during the din of buſineſs, and the
“diſſipation of pleaſure, lie dormant in the ſoul,
“fearful of the contemptuous ſneers of wicked
“and unthinking minds!” Oh! my beloved
Zollikofer,” I have experienced in the plea-
ſures of a retired domeſtic life, the truth of thoſe
doćtrines you promulgated at Leipſic; thoſe
uſeful doćtrines, which, diſregarding a cold and
ſterile theology, inculcate wiſe and virtuous pre-
cepts, that warm andameliorate the heart. I have,

- - - - - - - 111
* A celebrated German preacher.
124 the Influence of solitude
in the boſom of retirement, ſeen what you de-
ſcribed—the man of buſineſs forget his vexations,
pour his anxieties into the boſom of friendſhip,
ſurrender his feelings to the charms of conſolation,
until his heart dilated with new hopes, and his
inquietudes were even ſo far ſuſpended, as to en-
able him to ſupport their return with fortitude,
or to diſpel them with courage. I have ſeen the
ſtudious man, abandoning his recondite and la-
borious reſearches, eſcape from the labyrinth, and
find in the innocent and ſimple enjoyments of his
children, and thoſe about him, more happineſs,
tranquillity, cordial ſenſation, and intellectual de-
light, than even the arts and ſciences are capable
of affording. I have there ſeen each individual
obtain the approbation and praiſe he merited, and
obtain them too from perſons whoſe approbation
and praiſes it was his higheſt felicity to deſerve.
I have there ſeen the unfortunate relieved, the
wretched made happy, and the wanderer put into
the right way. I have there ſeen, in ſhort, men
of every caſt and character find, by degrees,
ſatisfaction and content.




The tranquillity of retired life, and the view
of rural ſcenes, frequently produce a quietude
of diſpoſition, which, while it renders the noiſy
pleaſures of the world inſipid, enables the heart
- to
Upon THE HEART. 125
to ſeek the charms of Solitude with increaſed de-
light. . . . .
THE happy indolence peculiar to Italians, who,
under the pleaſures of a clear unclouded ſky, are
always poor, but never miſerable, greatly aug-
ments the feelings of the heart: the mildneſs of
the climate, the fertility of their ſoil, their peace-
ful religion, and their contented nature, compen-
ſate for every thing. Dočtor Moore, an Engliſh
traveller, whoſe works afford me great delight,
ſays, that “the Italians are the greateſt loungers
“in the world; and while walking in the fields,
“ or ſtretched in the ſhade, ſeem to enjoy the fe-
“renity and genial warmth of their climate with
“a degree of luxurious indulgence peculiar to
“ themſelves. Without ever running into the
“daring exceſſes of the Engliſh, or diſplaying the
“friſky vivacity of the French, or the ſtubborn
“phlegm of the Germans, the Italian populace
“ diſcover a ſpecies of ſedate ſenſibility to every
“ſource of enjoyment, from which, perhaps,
“they derive a greater degree of happineſs than
“any of the other.”
RELIEVED from every aſflićting and torment-
ing objećt, it is, perhaps, impoſſible for the mind
not to reſign itſelf to agreeable chimeras and ro-
mantic ſentiments: but this ſituation, notwith-
tº . . . . . . . ſtanding
126 the INFLUENce of solitude
ſtanding theſe diſadvantages, has its fair ſide, Ro-
mantic ſpeculations may lead the mind into certain."
extravagancies and errors, from whence baſe and
contemptible paſſions may be engendered; may
habituate it to a light and frivolous ſtyle of think-
ing; and, by preventing it from directing its fa-
culties to rational ends, may obſcure the proſpect.
of true happineſs; for the ſoul cannot eaſily quit
the illuſion on which it dwells with ſuch fond de-
light: the ordinary duties of life, with its more
noble and ſubſtantial pleaſures, are perhaps there-
by obſtructed: but it is very certain that roman-
tic ſentiments do not always render the mind
that poſſeſſes them unhappy. Who, alas! is ſo
completely happy in reality as he frequently has
been in imagination /
Rousse AU, who, in the early part of his life,
was extremely fond of romances, feeling his mind.
hurried away by a love of thoſe imaginary obječfs
with which that ſpecies of compoſition abounds,
and perceiving the facility with which they may
be enjoyed, withdrew his attention from every
thing about him, and by this circumſtancelaid the
foundation of that taſte for Solitude which he pre-
ſerved to an advanced period of his life; * a taſte
. . . . . . . .8 N. - III
* Dr. Johnſon, when a boy, was immoderately fond of read-
ing romances of Chivalry, and retained his fondneſs for this ſpecies
. * . . of




UPON THE HEART, 127
in appearance dićtated by depreſſion and diſguſt,
and attributed by him to the irreſiſtible impulſe of
an affectionate, fond, and tender heart, which,
not being able to find in the regions of philoſophy
and truth ſentiments ſufficiently warm and ani-
mated, was conſtrained to ſeek its enjoyments in
the ſphere of fiétion.
But the imagination may, in retirement, in-
dulge its wanderings to a certain degree, without
the riſque of injuring either the ſentiments of the
mind or the ſenſations of the heart. Oh! if the
friends of my youth in Swiſſerland knew how
frequently, during the filence of the night, I paſs
with them thoſe hours which are allotted to ſleep;
if they were apprized that neither time nor abſence
can efface the remembrance of their former kind-
neſs from my mind, and that this pleaſing recol-
lećtion tends to diffipate my grief, and to caſt the
veil of oblivion over my woes; they would, per-
haps, alſo rejoice to find that I ſtill live among
: . them
of compoſition throughout his life. Spending part of a ſummer
at the parſonage houſe of Dr. Percy, the Biſhop of Dromore, he
choſe for his regular reading the old Spaniſh romance of Felix-
marte of Hircania, in folio, which he read quite through. But he
frequently attributed to thoſe extravagant fićtions that unſettled
turn of mind which prevented his ever fixing in any profeſſion.
Bºſwell's Life of johnſºn, vol. i. p. 26, 8vo, edition.


128 THE INFLUENCE of solitu DE
them in imagination, though I may be dead to
A solit ARY man whoſe heart is warmed with
refined and noble ſentiments cannot be unhappy.
While the ſtupid vulgar bewail his fate, and con-
ceive him to be the vićtim of corroding care and
loathed melancholy, he frequently taſtes the moſt
delightful pleaſure. The French entertained a
notion that Rouſſeau was a man of a gloomy and
dejećted diſpoſition; but he was certainly not ſo
wrote to M. de Maleſherbes, the Chancellor’s
ſon, in the following terms: “I cannot expreſs to
“you, Sir, how ſenſibly I am affected by perceiv-
“ing that you think me the moſt unhappy of
“ mankind; for as the Public will, no doubt, CIl-
“tertain the ſame ſentiment of me as you do, it is
“to me a ſource of real afflićtion | Oh! if my
** ſentiments were univerſally known, every in-
“ dividual would endeavour to follow my example.
* Peace would then reign throughout the world;
“men would no longer ſeek to deſtroy each other;
“ and wickedneſs, by removing the great incen-
“tives to it, no longer exiſt. But it maybe aſked,
“how I could find enjoyment in Solitude I an-
“ſwer, in my own mind; in the whole univerſe;
“in everything that does, in everything that can
“exiſt; in all that the eye finds beautiful in the
N. º º º “real,







UPON THE HEART. I29
“real, or the imagination in the intelle&tual
“world. I aſſembled about me every thing that
“is flattering to the heart, and regulated my
“pleaſures by the moderation of my deſires. No!
“The moſt voluptuous have never experienced
“ſuch refined delights; and I have always enjoy-
“ed my chimeras much more than if they had
“ been realized.” .
This is certainly the language of enthuſiaſm;
but, ye ſtupid vulgar ! who would not prefer the
warm fancy of this amiable philoſopher to your
cold and creeping underſtandings Who would
not willingly renounce your vague converſation,
your deceitful felicities, your boaſted urbanity,
your noiſy aſſemblies, puerile paſtimes, and inve-
terate prejudices, for a quiet and contented life in
the boſom of a happy family Who would not
rather ſeek in the filence of the woods, or upon the
daified borders of a peaceful lake, thoſe pure and
fimple pleaſures of Nature, ſo delicious in recol-
lećtion, and produćtive of joys ſo pure, ſo affect-
ing, ſo different from your own
EcLoGues, which are repreſentations of rural
happineſs in its higheſt perfection, are alſofictions;
but 'they are fićtions of the moſt pleaſing and
agreeable kind. True felicity muſt be ſought in
retirement, where the ſoul, diſengaged from the
. . . . . . . . K torments
130 THE INFLUENce of solitude
e world
, no longer feels thoſe arti-
little,
everyoner loſs. The regret, however,
is unjuſt; for thoſe enj yments were not peculiar
to that happy period; and each individual may,
whenever he pl aſes, form his own Arcadia. The
beautiesofachryſtalſpring,a filent grove, adaified
meadow, chaſten the feelings of the heart, and
afford at all times, to thoſe who have a taſte for
Nature, a permanent and pure delight.
%
“The origin of poetry,” ſays Pope, “is.
“aſcribed to that age which ſucceeded the
as the keeping of flocks
“ creation of the world
“ mankind,
.
“ celebrate
“Poem was invented, and afterwards improved to
“a perfect image of that happy time, which, by
“giving us an eſteem for the virtues of a for-
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upon the heart. 131
“mer age, might recommend them to the pre-
** ſent.” - - -
THESE agreeable though fićtitious deſcriptions
of the age of innocence and virtue, communicate
joy and gladneſs to our hearts; and we bleſs the
poet, who, in the ecſtaſy of his felicity, contributes
to render others as happy as himſelf. Sicily and
Zurich have produced two of theſe benefactors to
mankind. The aſpect of Nature never appears
more charming, the boſom never heaves with ſuch
ſweet delight, the heart never beats more pleaſant-
ly, the ſoul never feels more perfeót happineſs,
than is produced by reading the Idylls of Theo-
critus and Geſner.” # By
* Perhaps no writer throughout Europe has more judiciouſly
criticiſed the Idylls of Geffner than the incomparable Dr. Blair,
in his “Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres,” where he ſays,
“Of all the moderns, M. Geffner, a poet of Swiſſerland, has been
“ moſt ſucceſsful in his paſtoral compoſitions. He has introduced
“ into his Idylls (as he entitles them) many new ideas. His
“ rural ſcenery is often ſtriking, and his deſcriptions are lively. He
“preſents paſtoral life to us with all the embelliſhments of which
“it is ſuſceptible; but without any exceſs of refinement. What
“forms the chief merit of this poetis, that he writes to the heart,
“ and has enriched the ſubjea of his Idylls with incidents which
“give riſe to much tender ſentiment. Scenes of domeſtic felicity
“ are beautifully painted. The mutual affedion of huſbands and
“ wives, of parents and children, of brothers and fiſters, as well as
“oflovers, are diſplayed in a pleaſing and touching manner. From
“not underſtanding the language in which M. Geffner writes,
K 2. . : * I can


132 the INFLUENCE of solitude
By theſe eaſy ſimple modes the beauties of Na-
ture are made, by the aſſiſtance of the imagination,
to operate forcibly on the heart. The mind, in-
deed, drawn away by theſe agreeable images, often
reſigns itſelf too eaſily to the illuſions of romance ;
but the ideas they create generally amend the heart
without injuring the underſtanding, and ſpread
ſome of the ſweeteſt flowers along the moſt thorny
paths of human life.
LEIs URE, the higheſt happineſs upon earth, is
ſeldom enjoyed with perfeót ſatisfaction, except in
Solitude. Indolence and indifference do not al-
ways afford leiſure; for true leiſure is frequently
found in that interval of relaxation which divides
a painful duty from an agreeable recreation; atoil-
ſome buſineſs from the more agreeable occupations
of literature and philoſophy. P. Scipio was of
this opinion when he ſaid, that he was never leſs idle
than when he had moſt leiſure, and that he never was
leſs alone than when alone. Leiſure is not to be
conſidered a ſtate of intelle&tual torpidity, but a
new incentive to further activity; it is ſought by
ſtrong and energetic minds, not as an end, but as a
means of reſtoring loſt activity; for whoeverſeeks
. . happineſs
“I can be no judge of the ſtyle of his poetry; but in the ſub-
“ject and conduct of his paſtorals, he appears to me to have
“outdone all the Moderns.”

- Upon THE HEART. I33
happineſs in a ſituation merely quieſcent, ſeeks for
a phantom that will elude his graſp. Leiſure will
never be found in mere reſt, but will follow thoſe
who ſeize the firſt impulſe to activity: in which,
however, ſuch employments as beſt ſuit the ex-
tent and nature of different capacities, muſt be
preferred to thoſe which promiſe compenſation
without labour, and enjoyment without pain.
How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle, and who juſtly, in return,
Eſteems that buſy world an idler tool
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful induſtry I enjoy'd at home,
And Nature, in her cultivated trim,
Dreſs'd to his taſte, inviting him abroad;
Can he want occupation who has theſe ?
Will he be idle who has much tº enjoy
Me, therefore, ſtudious of laborious eaſe,
Not ſlothful; happy to deceive the time,
Not waſte it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with uſe,
When he ſhall call his debtors to account,
From whom are all our bleſſings, buſineſs find
E’en here: while ſedulous I ſeek tº improve,
At leaſt neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,
The mind he gave me; driving it, tho' ſlack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work,
By cauſes not to be divulg'd in vain,
To its juſt point, the Saviour of Mankind.
K 3 Thus
134 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
Thus rural retirement dries up thoſe ſtreams of
diſcontent which flow ſo plentifully through pub-
lic life; changes moſt frequently the bittereſt
feelings into the ſweeteſt pleaſures; and inſpires
an ecſtaſy and content unknown to the votaries
of the world. The tranquillity of Nature bu-
ries in oblivion the criminal inclinations of the
heart; renders it blithe, tender, open, and con-
fident; and, by wiſely managing the paſſions,
and preventing an overheated imagination from
fabricating fancied woes, ſtrengthens in it every
virtuous ſenſation.
In towns the Solitude which is neceſſary to
produce this advantage cannot be conveniently
practiſed. It ſeems, indeed, no very difficult taſk
for a man to retire into his chamber, and, by filent
contemplation, to raiſe his mind above the mean
confideration of ſenſual obječts; but few men have
ſufficient reſolution to perform it; for, within
doors, matters of buſineſs every moment occur,
and interrupt the chain of refle&tion; and with-
out, whether alone or in company, a variety of
accidents may occaſionally happen, which will
confound our vain wiſdom, aggravate the pain-
ful feelings of the heart, and weaken the finer
powers of the mind.
Rousse AU

| UPoN THE HEART. 135
· RoUssEAU was always miſerable duringhisre-
ſidence at Paris. This extraordinary genius, it is
, true, wrote his immortal works in that agitated
metropolis ; but the moment he quitted his ſtudy,
and wandered through the ſtreets, his mind was
bewildered by a variety of heterogeneous ſenti-
ments, his recollection vaniſhed ; and this brilliant
writer and profound philoſopher, who was ſo
intimately acquainted with the moſt intricate
labyrinths of the human heart, was reduced to
the condition of a child.* But in the country we
Boileau, in his Epiſtle to M. de Lamoignon, the Advocate
General of France, has ſo happily expreſſed theſe ſentiments
in poetry, that we think no apology neceffary for inſerting them.
* Qu' heureux eſt le mortel, qui du monde ignorè
Vit content de ſoi meme en un coin retirè ! #
| Que l'amour de ce rien, qu'on nomme, Renommèe,
N'a jamais enyvrè d'une vaine fumée,
| Qui de ſa libertè forme tout ſon plaiſir,
Et ne tend quà lui ſeul compte de ſon loiſir !
ll n'a point à ſouffrir d'affrontes ne d'injuſtices,
| Et du peuple inconſtant il brave les caprices.
Mais nous autres faiſeures de livres et d'ecrits,
Sur le bords du PERM EssE aux loüanges nourris,
| Nous ne ſçaurions briſer nos fers et nos entraves ;
Du Lecteur dédaigneux honorables eſclaves.
Du rang oû notre eſprit une fois s'eſt fait voir, .
Sans un facheux éclat nous ne ſçaurions déchoir.
Le Public enrichi du tribut de nos veilles,
Croit qu'on doit adjouter merveilles ſur merveilles.
K 4 Au

136 the Influence of solitude
iſſue from the houſe in perfeót ſafety, and feel in-.
creaſing cheerfulneſs and ſatisfaction. Tired with
meditation, the rural recluſe has only to open the
doors of his ſtudy, and enjoy his walk, while tran-
quillity attends his ſteps, and new pleaſures preſent
themſelves to his view on every turn. Beloved by
all around him, he extends his hand with cordial
affection to every man he meets, Nothing occurs
to vex and irritate his mind. He runs no riſk of
being tortured by the ſupercilious behaviour of
ſome haughty female, proud of her deſcent, or of
enduring the arrogant egotiſm of an upſtart peer;
is in no danger of being cruſhed beneath the roll-
ing carriages of Indian Nabobs; nordares frontleſs
vice, on the authority of mouldy parchments, at-
tack his property; or preſumptuous ignorance offer
the leaſt indignity to his modeſt virtue.
A MAN, indeed, by avoiding the tumultuous
intercourſe of ſociety, and deriving his comforts
from
Au comble parvenus il veut que nous croiſſons:
Il veut en vielliſant que nous rejeuniſons.
Capendant tout décroit, et moi meme a que l’age
Daucune ride encor n’a fiétre le viſage,
Deja moins plein de feu, pour animer ma voix,
J'ai beſoin de filence et de l'ombre des bois.
Ma Muſe qui ſe plait dans leur routes perdues, sº
Neſsauroit plus marcher ſur le pave des rues. .
Ce n'eſt que dans ces bois propres a m'exciter,
Qu'Apollon quelquefois daigne encor m'ecouter.
Boileau, Ep. VI.


º
UPON THE HEART, I37.
from his own breaſt, may, even in Paris, or any
other metropolis, avoid theſe unpleaſant apprehen-
fions, if his nerves be firm, and his conſtitution
ſtrong; for to a frame disjointed by nervous affec-
tions every objećt is irritating, and every paſſion
tremblingly alive. The paſſions are the gales by
which man muſt ſteer his courſe through the
troubled ocean of life; they fill the ſails which
give motion to the ſoul; and when they become
turbulent and impetuous, the veſſel is always in
danger, and generally runs a-ground. The petty
cares and trifling vexations of life, however, give
but ſhort-lived diſturbance to a heart free from
remorſe. Philoſophy teaches us to forget paſt un-
eaſineſs, to forbear idle ſpeculations of approach-
ing felicity, and to reſt contented with preſent
comforts, without refining away our exiſtinghap-
pineſs, by wiſhing that which is really good to be
ſtill better. Every thing is much better than we
imagine. A mind too anxious in the expectation
of happineſs is ſeldom ſatisfied, and generally
mixes with its higheſt fruition a certain portion
of diſcontent. The ſtream of content muſt flow
from a deliberate diſpoſition in our own minds to
learn what is good, and a determined reſolution
to ſeek for and enjoy it, however ſmall the por-
tion may be.
The content, however, which men in general
* . . . . . . . ~~ ſo
138 rhE INFLUENce of solitude
ſo confidently expect to find in rural retirement,
is not to be acquired by viewing obječts either
with indiſcriminate admiration or ſupine indiffer-
ence. He who without labour, and without a
ſyſtem of condućt previouſly digeſted and arranged,
hopes for happineſs in Solitude, will yawn with
equal fatigue at his cottage in the country, and his
manſion in town; while he who keeps himſelf
continually employed, may in the deepeſt Soli-
tude, by the mere dintof labour, attain true tran-
quillity and happineſs.”
- - Petr ARch,
• Charles the Fifth, during his celebrated Solitude in Eſtrama-
dura, ſometimes cultivated the plants in his garden with his
own hands; ſometimes he rode out to the neighbouring wood on
a little horſe, the only one that he kept, attended by a ſingle
ſervant on foot. When his infirmities confined him to his apart-
ment, which often happened, he either admitted a few gentle-
men who refided near the monaſtery to viſit him,0r employed him-
ſelf in ſtudying mechanical principles, and in forming curious
works of mechaniſm. He relieved his mind at intervals with
ſlighter and more fantaſtic works of mechaniſm; in faſhioning
puppets, which, by the ſtructure of internal ſprings, mimicked
the geſtures and actions of men, to the aſtoniſhment of the igno-
rant monks, who, beholding movements which they could not
comprehend, ſometimes diſtruſted their own ſenſes, and ſome-
times ſuſpected him of being in compačt with inviſible powers.
He was particularly curious with regard to the conſtruction of
clocks and watches; and having found, after repeated trials, that
he could not bring any two of them to go exactly alike, he re-
flected, it is ſaid, with a mixture of ſurpriſe as well as regret, on
his own folly, in having beſtowed ſo much time and labour on the


more vain attempt of bringing mankind to a preciſe uniformity
* of
UPON THE HEART. I39
PETRARCH, in his Solitude at Vaucluſe, would
have experienced this tranquillity, if his boſom had
not been diſturbed by love; for he perfeótly under-
ſtood the art of managing his time. “I riſe,”
ſaid he, “before the ſun, and on the approach of
“ day wander contemplatively along the fields, or
“retire to ſtudy. I read, I write, I think. I
“ vanquiſh indolence, baniſh ſleep, avoid luxury,
“ and forget ſenſuality. From morning till night
“I climb the barren mountains, traverſe the hu-
“mid vallies, ſeek the deepeſt caves, or walk,
“accompanied only by my thoughts, along the
“banks of my river. I have no ſociety to diſtraćt
“my mind; and men daily become leſs annoying
“to me; for I place them either far before or far
“behind me...I recolle&t what is paſſed, and con-
“template on what is to come. I have found an
“excellent expedient to detach my mind from
“the world. I cultivate a fondneſs for my place
“ of reſidence, and I am perſuaded that I could
“be happy any where except at Avignon. In
“my retreat at Vaucluſe, where I am at preſent,
“I occaſionally find Athens, Rome, or Flo-
sº º 'º “rence,
of ſentiment concerning the profound and myſterious doctrine of
religion. But in what manner ſoever Charles diſpoſed of the
reſt of his time, he conſtantly reſerved a confiderable portion of it
for religious exerciſes. He regularly attended divine ſervice in
the chapel of the monaſtery every morning and evening; he took
great pleaſure in reading books of devotion, and converſed much
on pious ſubječts.

140 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
“rence, as the one or the other of thoſe places
“happens to pleaſe the prevailing diſpoſition of
“my mind. Here I enjoy all my friends, as
“well thoſe with whom I have ačtually lived, as
“ thoſe who have long ſince entered the vale of
“death, and of whom I have no knowledge, bu
** what their works afford.” ºr
What charaćter, however luxurious, ever felt
the ſame content at any ſplendid entertainment as
Rouſſeau experienced in his humble meal! “I
“return home,” ſays he, “with tired feet, but
“ with a contented mind, and experience the calm-
“eſt repoſe in reſigning myſelf to the impreſſion
“ofobjećts, withoutexerciſing thought,indulging
“imagination, or doing anything to interrupt the
“peaceful felicity of my ſituation. The table is
“ready ſpread on my lawn, and furniſhed with
“refreſhments. Surrounded by my ſmall and
“happy family, I eat my ſupper with healthy ap-
“petite, and without any appearance of ſervitude
“ or dependence to annoy the love and kindneſs
“ by which we are united. My faithful dog is not
“a ſubſervientſlave, but a firm friend, from whom,
“ as we always feel the ſame inclination, I never
“exact obedience. The gaiety of my mind
“ throughout the evening teſtifies that I lived
«. alone throughout the day; for, being ſeldom
aſed with others, and never, when viſitors
“ have

UPON THE HEART. I41
“ have diſturbed me, with myſelf, I fit during the
“whole evening of the day, when company has
“interrupted me, either grumbling or in filence.
“So at leaſt my good houſekeeper has remarked;
“ and fince ſhe mentioned it, I have, from my
“own obſervation, found it univerſally true.
“Having thus made my humble and cheerful
“meal, I take a few turns round my little garden,
“ or play ſome favourite air upon my ſpinette,
“ and experience upon my pillow a ſoft content,
“more ſweet, if poſſible, than even undiſturbed
“repoſe.” 3. .
At the village of Richterſwyl, ſituated a few
leagues from Zurich, and ſurrounded by every
obječt the moſt ſmiling, beautiful, and romantic
that Swiſſerland preſents, dwells a celebrated
Phyſician. His ſoul, like the ſcenery of Nature
which ſurrounds him, is tranquil and ſublime.
His habitation is the temple of health, of friend-
ſhip, and of every peaceful virtue. The village
riſes on the borders of the lake, at a place where
two projećting points form a fine bay of nearly
half a league. On the oppoſite ſhores, the lake,
which is not quite a league in extent, is en-
cloſed from the north to the eaſt by pleaſant hills
covered with vineyards, intermixed with fertile
meadows, orchards, fields, groves, and thickets,
with little hamlets, churches, villas, and cottages,
ſcattered
142 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
ſcattered up and down the ſcene. A wide and
magnificent amphitheatre, which no artiſt has yet."
attempted to paint, except in detached ſcenes,
opens itſelf from the eaſt to the ſouth. The view
towards the higher part of the lake, which on this
ſide is four leagues long, preſents to the eye jut-
ting points of land, detached aytes, the little town
of Rapperſchwyl, built on the ſide of a hill, and a
bridge which reaches from one ſide of the lake to
the other. Beyond the town the inexhauſtible
valley extends itſelf in a half circle to the ſight;
and upon the fore-ground riſes a peak of land
which ſwells as it extends into beautiful hills.
Behind them, at the diſtance of about halfaleague,
is a range of mountains covered with trees and
verdure, and interſperſed with villages and de-
tached houſes; beyond which, at a ſtill greater
diſtance, are diſcovered the fertile and majeſtic
Alps twiſted one among the other, and exhibiting,
alternately, ſhades of the lighteſtanddarkeſtazure;
and in the back-ground high rocks, covered with
eternal ſnows, lift their towering heads, and touch
the ſkies. On the ſouth ſide of this rich, en-
chanting, and incomparable ſcene, the amphi-
theatre is extended by another range of mountains
reaching towards the weſt; and at the feet of
theſe mountains, on the borders of the lake, lies
the village of Richterſwyl, ſurrounded by rich fal-
lows and fertile paſtures, and overhung by foreſts
2. of



upon the Heart. I43.
of firs. The ſtreets of the village, which in itſelf
is extremely clean, are neatly paved; and the
houſes, which are moſtly built of ſtone, are painted
on the outſide. Pleaſant walks are formed along
the banks of the lake, and lead quite round the
town, through groves of fruit-trees, and ſhady
foreſts, up to the very ſummits of the hills. The
traveller, ſtruck with the ſublime and beautiful
ſcenery that every where ſurrounds him, ſtops to
contemplate with eager curioſity the increaſing
beauties which raviſh his fight; and while his
boſom ſwells with exceſs of pleaſure, his ſuſpend-
ed breath beſpeaks his fear of interrupting the ful-
neſs of his delight. Every acre of this charming
country is in the higheſt ſtate of cultivation and
improvement. Every hand is at work: and men,
women, and children, of every age, and of every
deſcription, are all uſefully employed.
The two houſes of the Phyſician are each ofthem
ſurrounded by a garden; and, although ſituated in
the center of the village, are as rurally ſequeſter-
ed as if they had been built in the boſom of the
country. Through the gardens, and cloſe beneath
the chamber of my valued friend, runs a pure and
limpid ſtream, on the oppoſite ſide of which, at an
agreeable diſtance, is the high road; where, almoſt
daily, numbers of pilgrims ſucceſſively paſsin their
144 the INFLUENce of solitude
way to the Hermitage. From the windows of
theſe houſes, and from every part of the gardens,
you behold, towards the ſouth, at the diſtance of
about a league, the majeſtic Ezelberg rear its
lofty head, which is concealed in foreſts of deep
green firs; whileon its declivity hangsa neat little
village, with a handſome church, upon the ſteeple
of which the ſun ſuſpends his departing rays, and
ſhews its career is nearly finiſhed. In the front is
the lake of Zurich, whoſe peaceful water is ſe-
cured from the violence of tempeſts, and whoſe
tranſparent ſurface reflects the beauties of its de-
lightful banks. * , ; ;
DURING the filence of night, if you repair to
the chamber windows of this enchanting manſion,
or walk through its gardens, to taſte the exhaling
fragrance of the ſhrubs and flowers, while the
moon, riſing in unclouded majeſty over the ſum-
mits oft he mountains, reflect on the ſmooth ſur-
face of the water a broad beam of light, you hear,
during this awful ſleep of nature, the ſound of the
village clocks echoing from the oppoſite ſhores;
and, on the Richterſwyl fide, the ſhrill procla-
mation of the watchmen, blended occaſionally
with the barkings of the faithful houſe-dog. At
a diſtance you hear the little boats gently gliding
along the ſtream, dividing the water with their


Upon THE HEART. 145
the mountains of Swiſſerland, a
oars, and perceive them, as they croſs the moon's
tranſlucent beam, playing among the ſparkling
# * * - gº
. . . .
Riches and luxury are no where to be ſeen
in the happy habitation of this wife philanthropiſt.
His chairs are madeofſtraw; his tables are worked
from the wood of the country; and the plates and
diſhes on which he entertains his friends are all of
earthen-ware. Neatneſs and convenience reign
throughout. Drawings, paintings,anden gravings,
of which he has a large well-choſen collection, are
his ſole expence. The earlieſt beams of Aurora
light the humble apartment where this philoſophic
ſage ſleeps inundiſturbed repoſe, and awāke him to
new enjoyments every day. As he riſes from his
bed, the cooing of the turtle doves, and the morn-
rious kinds of birds, who make their
ing ſongs of var
nightly neſts in an adjoining aviary, ſalute his ear,
and welcome his approach. The firſt hour of the
morning, and the laſt at night,are ſacred to himſelf;
but he devotes all his intermediate hours of every
day to a fick and afflićted multitude, who dailyat-
tend him for advice and affiſtance. The bene
almoſt every moment qf his life, but it conſtitutes
his higheſt happineſs and joy. The inhabitants of
the Alps, flock to his houſe, and endeavour in vain
of the vallies of -





146 the INFLUENCE of solitude
to find language capable of expreſſing to him the
grateful feelings of their hearts for the favours.
they receive from him. Convinced of his affec-
tion, ſatisfied of his medical ſkill, and believing
that the good Dočfor is equally well acquainted
with every ſubjećt, they liſten with the deepeſt.
attention to his words, anſwer all his inquiries,
without the leaſt heſitation or reſerve, treaſure up
his advice and counſel with more ſolicitude than
if they were grains of gold; and depart from his
preſence with more regret, comfort, hope, re-
ſignation, and virtuous feeling, than if they had,
quitted their Confeſſor at the Hermitage. It
may perhaps be conceived that, after a day ſpent
in this manner, the happineſs which this friend,
to mankind muſt feel cannot in any degree be
increaſed. But, when a ſimple, innocent, and
ingenuous country girl, whoſe mind has been
almoſt diſtraćted by the fear of loſing her beloved
huſband, enters his ſtudy, and ſeizing him with
tranſport by the hand, joyfully exclaims, “Oh!
“Sir, my dear huſband, ill as he was only two
“ days ſince, is now qui . …
“dear Sir, how, ho
this philanthropic, chara&ter feels that tranſ-
cending felicity which ought to fill the boſom.
of a Monarch in rendering happineſs to his I
ple.












Upon the HEART.
Of this deſcription is the country of Swiffer:
land, where Doctor Hotze, the ableſt phyſician
of the preſent age, reſides; a phyſician and phi-
loſopher, whoſe variety of knowledge, profound'
judgment, and great experience, have rai ſed him.
to an equal eminence with Tiſſot and Hirtzel,
the deareſt friends of my heart. It is in this man-
ner that he paſſes the hours of his life, with uni-
förmity and happineſs. Surrounded, except during
the two hours I have already mentioned, by a
crowd of unfortunate fellow-creatures, who look
up to him for relief, his mind, active and full of
vigour, never knows repoſe; but his labours are
richly rewarded by the high and refined felicity'
which fills his heart. Palaces, alas! ſeldom con-
tain ſuch characters. Individuals, however, of
every deſcription may cultivate and enjoy an equal
degree of felicity, although they do not reſide"
among ſcenes ſo delightful asthoſe which ſurround'
my beloved Hotze at Richterſwyl, as thoſe of
the convent of Capuchins near Albano, or as thoſe
which ſurround the rural retreat of my Sovereign
George the Third at Windſor.
CoNTENT can only be found in the tranquil- -
lity of the heart; and in Solitude the bo om glad-
ly opens to receive this wiſhed-for inmate, and
to welcome its attendant virtues. While Nature
ſmiles around us, decorated in all its beauties, the
w L 2 heart"
*



148 THE INFLUENCE of sol1t Ude
heart expands to the cheering ſcene; every objećt
appears in the moſt favourable and pleaſing point
of view; our ſouls overflow with kind affections;
the antipathies created by the ingratitude of the
world inſtantly vaniſh; we even forget the vain,
the wicked, the profligate charaćters with whom
we were mixed; and being perfectly at peace with
ourſelves, we feel ourſelves at peace with all man-
kind. But in ſociety the rancorous contentions
which jarring intereſts daily create, the heavy
yoke which ſubordinationis continually impoſing,
“ the oppreſſor's wrong, the proud man's con-
“tumely,” and the ſhocks which reaſon and good
ſenſe hourly receive from fools in power, and in-
ſolent ſuperiors,” ſpread torrents of miſery over
human life, embitter the happineſs of their more
worthy though inferior fellow-creatures, poiſon
all pleaſure, break through ſocial order, ſpread
thorns in the paths of virtue, and render the world
a vale of tears. - - -
- Blockheads
* “An acute Frenchman has remarked, that the modeſt de-
* portment of really wiſe men, when contraſted with the aſ-
‘ſuming air of the young and ignorant, may be compared to
“ the different appearance of wheat, which while its ear is
‘ empty holds up its head proudly; but as ſoon as it is filled
‘ with grain, bends modeſtly down, and withdraws from obſer-
“vation. He might, however, have added, that when the
“ears are filled with conceit inſtead of wiſdom, which too often
‘happens, the head is ſtill borne up with all the pride of emp-
“ tineſs.” Andrews's Anecdotes.
•
{
{
*
4.

Upon the HEARt. 149
BlockHEADs in power are, of all other cha-
raēters, the moſt baneful and injurious; they con-
found all juſt diſtinétions; miſtake one quality for
another; degrade every perſon and thing to their
own level; and, in ſhort, change white into black,
and black into white. To eſcape from the per-
ſecution of ſuch charaćters, men even of fine ta-
lents and ingenuous diſpoſitions muſt ačt like the
fox of Saadi, the Perſian poet.* A perſon one
L 3 day
* SAA D1, the Perſian poet and philoſopher, was born at Schi-
raz, the capital of Perſia Proper, about the beginning of the
twelfth century. Being driven from his country by the ravages
of the Turks, he wandered through various ſcenes during a period
of forty years, and was at length taken priſoner by the Franks
in the Holy Land, and condemned to work on the fortifications
of Tripoli. A merchant of Aleppo redeemed him from ſlavery,
and gave him, with a hundred ſequins, his daughter's hand in
marriage. Her petulance and ill humour rendered him more
miſerable than he had ever been during his long and painful
captivity. One day ſhe aſked him whether he was not the ſlave
her father had redeemed for ten ſequins. “Yes,” replied Saadi,
“ but he ſold me again for one hundred.” This ingenious phi-
loſopher had a friend, who, being ſuddenly elevated to an im-
portant poſt, was reſorted to and complimented by all the citizens
except Saadi. “ Theſe people,” ſaid he, “crowd around him
merely on account of his dignity; but I ſhall go when his office
has expired, and then I am ſure I ſhall go alone.” A man who
had quitted the ſociety of the Derviſes for that of the Philoſºphers,
aſked Saadi what difference he thought there was between their
charaćters. “ Both of them,” replied he, “ ſwim acroſs a
turbulent ſtream with their reſpective brethren. The Derwiſe 3.
ſeparates himſelf from the reſt to ſwim with greater ſafety, and
arrives in ſolitude on ſhore; but the true Philoſopher continues in
ſociety, ready to lendan helping hand to his brethren in diſtreſs.”


§§
150 the Influence of solitude
day obſerving a fox running with uncommon
ſpeed to earth, called out to him, “Reynard,"
“where are you running in ſo great a hurry?
“Have you been doing any miſchief, for which
“you are apprehenſive of puniſhment?”—“No,
“Sir,” replied the fox; “my conſcience is per-
“fectly clear, and does not reproach me with
“any thing; but I have juſt overheard the hun-
{{ ters wiſh that they had a Camel to hunt this
“morning.”—“ Well, but how does that con-
“cern you? You are not a Camel.”—“Oh, my
“good Sir,” replied the fox, “are you not aware
“that ſagacious heads have always enemies at
“their heels? and if any one ſhould point me out
&c. to theſe ſportſmen, and cry, There runs a Camel,
&C. they would immediately ſeize me, without exa-
“mining whether I was really the kind of animal
“ the informer had deſcribed me to be.” Reynard
was certainly right in his concluſion ; for men
are in general wicked in proportion as they are
ignorant or envious, and the only means of
eluding their miſchievous intentions is to keep
out of their way. ~~ -
The ſimplicity, regularity, and ſerenity which
accompany retirement, moderate the warmeſttem-
pers, guard the heart againſt the intruſion of inor-
. . dinate deſires, and at length render it invulnerable
to the ſhafts of malice and detraction; while the




Upon THE HEART. 151
ſelf-examination it neceſſarily impoſes, teaches us,
by exhibiting to our view our own defects, to do
juſtice to the ſuperior merit of others. The de-
lightful ſolitudes of Lauſanne exhibit every where
captivating examples of domeſtic felicity. Thein-
duſtrious citizen, after having faithfully performed
his daily taſk, is ſure of experiencing, on his return
at evening to his wife and children, real comfort
and unalloyed content. The voice of ſlander, the
neglect of ingratitude, the contempt of ſuperiors,
and all the mortifications attendant upon worldly
intercourſe, are forgot the moment he beholds his
happy family ready with open arms to receive him,
and to beſtow upon their friend and benefactor the
fond careſſes he ſo juſtly merits. With what ex-
quiſite delight his beating boſom feels their rap-
turous affection If his mind has been vexed by
the croſſes of life, the oſtentation of courts, the .
inſolence of riches, the arrogance of power, or his
temper irritated and ſoured by the baſe practices of
fraud, falſehood, or hypocriſy, he no ſooner mixes
with thoſe whom he cheriſhes and ſupports, than
agenial warmth re-animates his dejected heart, the
tendereſt ſentiments inſpire his ſoul; and the truth,
the freedom, the probity, and the innocence by
which he isſurrounded, tranquillize his mind, and
reconcile him to his humble lot, Oh! obſerve
him, all ye who are placed in more elevated ſta-
tions, whether ye enjoy the confidence of ſtateſ.
. . . L 4 - . men,

152 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
men, are the beloved companions of the great,
the admired favourites of the fair, the envied
leaders of the public taſte, of high birth, or of
ample fortunes; for if your rich and ſplendid
homes be the ſeats of jealouſy and diſcord, and the
boſoms of your families ſtrangers to that content
which the wiſe and virtuous feel within walls of
clay, and under roofs of humble thatch, you are,
in compariſon, poor indeed.
O, friendly to the beſt purſuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domeſtic life in rural pleaſure paſs'd
Few know thy value, and few taſte thy ſweets,
Though many boaſt thy favours, and affect
To underſtand and chooſe thee for thy own.


CHARAct ERs enervated by proſperity feel the
ſmalleſt inconvenience as a ſerious calamity, and,
unable to bear the touch of rude and violent hands,
require to be treated, like young and tender flowers,
with delicacy and attention; while thoſe who have
been educated in the rough ſchool of adverſity,
walk over the thorns of life with a firm and intre-
pid ſtep, and kick them from the path with indif.
ference and contempt. Superior to the falſe opini-
ons and prejudices of the world, they bear with
patient fortitude the blow of misfortune, diſregard
all trifling injuries, and look down with proud
contempt on the malice of their enemies, and the
infidelity of their friends.
X. : THE
UPON THE HEART. 153
The ſoft zephyr, the tranſparent ſpring, the
well-ſtored river, the umbrageous foreſt, the cool-
ing grotto, and the daified field, however, are not
always neceſſary to enable us to deſpiſe or forget
the conſequence of adverſity. The man who
firmly keeps his courſe, and has courage to live
according to his owntaſte and inclinations, cannot
be affected by the little croſſes of life, or by the
obloquy or injuſtice of mankind.” What we do
voluntarily, always affords us more pleaſure than
that which we do by compulſion. The reſtraints
of the world, and the obligations of ſociety, diſ-
guſt liberal minds, and deprive them, even in the
midſt of all their ſplendour and fortune, of that
content they ſeek ſo anxiouſly to obtain,
SoLITUDE, indeed, not only tranquillizes the
heart, renders it kind and virtuous, and raiſes it
above the malevolence of envy, wickedneſs, and
conceited ignorance, but affords advantages ſtill
more valuable. Liberty, true liberty, flies from
the tumultuous crowd, and the forced conneétions
of the world. It has been truly obſerved, that in
Solitude man recovers from the diſtraćtion which
had torn him from himſelf; feels a clear concep-
tion
* The learned reader will moſt likely call to mind, on read-
ing this obſervation, the opening of the Third Ode of the Third
Book of Horace. * , º:
*
154 THE INFLUENce of solitude
tion of what he once was, and may yet become;
explores the nature, and diſcovers the extent, of
his free-born charader; rejects every thing arti-
ficial; is guided by his own ſentiments; no lon-
ger dreads a ſevere maſter or imperious tyrant;
and neither ſuffers the conſtraints of buſineſs, or
the blandiſhments of pleaſure, to diſturb his re-
poſe; but, breaking boldly through the ſhackles
of ſervile habit and arbitrary cuſtom, thinks for
himſelf with confidence and courage, and im-
proves the ſenſibility of his heart by the ſenti-
ments of his mind. .
MADAME DE STAAL conſidered it a great
error to imagine that freedom and liberty could be
indulged at court, where the mind, even on the
moſt trifling occaſions, is obliged to obſerve a
multitude of ceremonies, where it is impoſſible to
ſpeak one’s thoughts, where our ſentiments muſt
be adapted to thoſe around us, where every per-
ſon aſſumes a controul over us, and where we
never have the ſmalleſt enjoyment of ourſelves.
“To enjoy ourſelves,” ſays ſhe, “we muſt ſeek
“Solitude. It was in the Baſtile that I firſt be-
“ came acquainted with myſelf.”
A court IeR, fearful of every perſon around
him, is continually upon the watch, and torment-





UPON THE HEART. 155
ed inceſſantly by ſuſpicion: but while his heart is
thus a prey to corroding anxiety, he is obliged to
appear contented and ſerene, and, like the old
lady, is always lighting one taper to Michael the
Archangel and another to the Devil, becauſe he
does not know for which of them he may have
moſt occaſion. A man of a liberal, enlightened
mind is as little calculated to perform the office
of maſter of the ceremonies, or to conduct the eti-
quette of a court, as a woman is to be a religeuſe.
LIBERTY and leiſure render a rational and
aćtive mind indifferent to every other kind of
happineſs. It was the love of liberty and ſolitude
which rendered the riches and honours of the
world ſo odious to Petrarch. Solicited at an
advanced period of his life, to act as Secretary to
ſeveral Popes, under the tempting offer of great
emolument, he replied, “Riches, when acquired
“ at the expence of liberty, become the ſource of
“real miſery. A yoke formed of gold and ſilver
“ is not leſs galling and reſtrićtive than one made
“ of woodor iron.” Andhe frankly told his friends
and patrons, that to him there was no quantity
of wealth equal in value to his eaſe and liberty;
that, as he had deſpiſed riches at a time when he
was moſt in need of them, it would be ſhameful
in him to ſeek them now, when he could more.
} conveniently
156 the INFLUENce of solitude
conveniently live without them:* thatevery man
ought to apportion the proviſion for his journey
according to the diſtance he had to travel; and,
having almoſt reached the end of his courſe, he
ought to think more of his reception at the inn
than of his expences on the road. -
Pet R ARch, diſguſted by the vicious manners
which

*.
* A fimilar ſtyle of ſentiment is very elegantly expreſſed in one
of thoſe Letters with which the Public have been favoured under
the name of Sir Thomas Fitzoſborne. “I write this,” ſays he to
Palemon, “while Cleora is angling by my fide under the ſhade of
“a ſpreading elm that hangs over the banks of our river. A night-
“ ingale, more harmonious even than Strada's, is ſerenading us
“from a hawthorn buſh, which ſmiles with all the gaiety of
{ { youth and beauty; while -
“. . . . . . . . • gentle gales
“Fanning their odorifºrous wings, diſpenſe
“Native perfumes, and whiſper whence they ſtole
“Thoſe balmy ſpoils.” -
“While I am thus enjoying the innocent luxury of this vernal
“delight, I look back upon thoſe ſcenes of turbulence wherein
“I was once engaged with more than ordinary diſtaſte; and deſ-
4 & pife myſelf for ever having entertained ſo mean a thought as to
“ be rich and great. One of our Monarchs uſed to ſay, “that he
“looked upon thoſe to be the happieſt men in the nation whoſe
“ fortune had placed them in the country above a high conſtable,
“ and below a juſtice of the peace.” It is in mediocrity of this
“happy kind that I here paſs my life; with a fortune far above
“ the neceſſity of engaging in the drudgery of buſineſs, and with
“ deſires much too humble to have any reliſh for the ſplendid
“ baits of ambition.” * &

UPON THE HEART, 157
which ſurrounded the Papal Chair, retired into So-
litude when he was only three-and-twenty years
of age, and in poſſeſſion of that exterior, both with
reſpect to perſon and dreſs, which forms ſo eſſential
a part in the character of an accompliſhed courtier.
Nature had decorated him with every pleaſing at-
tribute. His fine form ſtruck obſervers ſo forcibly,
that they ſtopped as he paſſed along to admire and
point out its ſymmetry. His eyes were bright and
full of fire; his lively countenance proclaimed the
vivacity of his mind; the freſheſt colour glowed
upon his cheeks; his features were uncommonly
expreſſive; and his whole appearance was manly,
elegant, and noble. The natural diſpoſition of his
heart, increaſed by the warm climate of Italy, the
fire of youth, the ſedućtive charms of the various
beauties who reſorted to the Papal Court from
every nation of Europe, and eſpecially the prevail-
ing diffipation of the age, attached him, very early
in life, to the ſociety of women. The decorations
of dreſs deeply engaged his attention; and the leaſt
ſpot or improper fold on his garments, which were
always of the lighteſt colour, ſeemed to give him
real uneaſineſs. Every form which appeared in-
elegant was carefully avoided even in the faſhion
of his ſhoes; which were ſo extremely tight, and
cramped him to ſuch a degree, that he would ſoon
have been deprived of the uſe of his feet, if he had
not wiſely recollected, that it was much better to
diſpleaſe

158 the INFLUENCE of solitude
diſpleaſe the eyes of the ladies than to make
himſelf a cripple. To prevent the dreſs of his "
hair from being diſcompoſed, he protećted i 2.
anxiety from the rudeneſs of the winds as he paſſed
along the ſtreets. Devoted, however, as he was,
to the ſervice of the ſex, he maintained a rival'
fondneſs for literature, and an inviolable attach-
ment to moral ſentiment; and while he celebrated
the charms of his fair favourites in choice Italian,
he reſerved his knowledge of the learned lan-
guages for ſubjećts more ſerious and important.
Nor did he permit the warmth of his conſtitution,
-or the ſenſibility of his heart, great and exquiſite:
as they were, to debauch his mind, or betray
him into the moſt trifling indiſcretion, without
feeling the keeneſt compunétion and repentance.
“I wiſh,” ſaid he, “that I had a heart as hard as
“adamant, rather than be ſo continually torment-
“ed by ſuch ſeducing paſſions.” The heart of this
amiable young man was, indeed, icol tinually aſ-
ſailed by the crowd of beauties that adorned ther
Papal Court; and the power of their charms, and
the facility with which his fituation enabled them.
to enjoy his company, rendered him in ſome degree
their captive; but, alarmed by the approaching
torments and diſquietudes of Love, he cautiouſly
avoided t heir pl eaſing ſn nd continued, pre-
*:::::: red Laura, to roam
THE
















UPON THE HEART. I59
The pračtice of the civil law was at this period,
the only road to eminence at Avignon; but Pe-
trarch deteſted the venality of the profeſſion;
and, though he pračtiſed at the bar, and gained,
many cauſes by his eloquence, he afterwards re-
proached himſelf with it. “In my youth,” ſays
he, “I devoted myſelf to the trade of ſelling
“words, or rather of fabricating falſehoods; but
“ that which we do againſt our inclinations is ſel-
“dom attended with ſucceſs; my fondneſs was for
“Solitude, and therefore I attended the pračtice
“ of the Bar with averſion and diſguſt.” The
ſecret conſciouſneſs, however, which he enter-
tained of his own merit, gave him all the confi-
dence natural to youth; and, filling his mind with
that lofty ſpirit which begets the preſumption of
being equal to the higheſt achievements, he relin-
quiſhed the Bar for the Church; but his inveterate.
hatred of the manners of the Epiſcopal Court pre-
vented his exertions, and retarded his promotion.
“I have no hope,” ſaid he, in the thirty-fifth year.
of his age, “ of making my fortune in the court.
“ of the Vicar of jeſus Chriſ : to accompliſh-
“ that, I muſtaffiduouſly attend the palaces of the
“great, and practiſe flattery, falſehood, and de-
“ceit.” A taſk of this kind was too painful to his
feelings to perform; not becauſe he either hated the
ſociety of men,0rdiſliked advancement, but becauſe
he deteſted the means he muſt neceſſarily have uſed
& to

16o THE INFLUENCE of solitude
to gratify his ambition. Glory was his warmeſt
wiſh, and he ardently endeavoured to obtain it:
not, indeed, by the ways in which it is uſually
obtained, but by delighting to walk in the moſt
unfrequentedpaths, and,ofcourſe, by retiring from
the world. The ſacrifices he made to Solitude
were great and important; but his mind and his
heart were formed to enjoy the advantages it af-
fords with a ſuperior degree of delight; a happi-
neſs which reſulted to him from his hatred, of a
profligate court, and from his love of liberty.
The love of liberty was the ſecret cauſe which
gave the mind of Rouſſeau ſo inveterate a diſguſt
to ſociety, and became in Solitude the ſpring of
all his pleaſures. His Letters to Maleſherbes
are as remarkable for the diſcovery they make of
his real diſpoſition as his Confeſſions, which have
been as much miſunderſtood as his chara&ter. “I
“ miſtook for a great length of time,” ſays he, in
one of th *ſe letters, “ the cauſe of that invincible
“diſguſt which I always felt in my intercourſe
“with the world. I attributed it to the mor-
“tification of not poſſeſſing that quick and ready
“talent neceſſary to diſplay in converſation the
“little knowledge I poſſeſſed; and this refle&ted
“an idea, that I did not hold that reputation in the
“opinion of mankind which I conceived Imerit-
“ed. But, although, aft ribbling many ri-
: . . . . . . . . . “diculous


- Upon THE HEART. 161
“ diculous things, and perceiving myſelf ſought
“ after by all the world, and honoured with much
“more conſideration than even my own ridiculous
“vanity would have led me to expect, I found
“ that I was in no danger of being taken for a
“fool; yet, ſtill feeling the ſame diſguſt rather
“augmented than diminiſhed, I concluded that
“it muſt ariſe from ſome other cauſe, and
“ that theſe were not the kind of enjoyments
“ which I muſt look for. What then, in
“fact, was the cauſe of it? It was no other
“ than that invincible ſpirit of liberty which no-
“thing can overcome, and in competition with
“which, honour, fortune, and even ſame itſelf,
“are to me as nothing. It is certain, that this
“ſpirit of liberty is engendered leſs by pride than
“by indolence; but this indolence is incredible;
“it is alarmed at everything; it renders the moſt
“trifling duties of civil life inſupportable. To be
“ obliged to ſpeak a word, to write a letter, or
“to pay a viſit, are to me, from the moment
“ the obligation ariſes, the ſevereſt puniſhments.
“This is the reaſon why, although the ordinary
“commerce of men is odious to me, the pleaſures
“ of private friendſhip are ſo dear to my heart;
“for in the indulgence of private friendſhip there
“are no duties to perform; we have only to fol-
“low the feelings of the heart, ld all is done.
“This is the reaſon alſo why I have ſo much
M * : “dreaded

162 the Influence of solitude
“dreaded to accept of favours; for every act of
“kindneſs demands an acknowledgment, and I
“feel that my heart is ungrateful only becauſe
“gratitude becomes a duty. The kind of hap-
“ pineſs, in ſhort, which pleaſes me beſt, does
“not confiſt ſo much in doing what I wiſh, as
“in avoiding that which is diſagreeable to me.
“Aétive life affords no temptations to me.
“I would much rather do nothing at all than
“ that which I diſlike ; and I have frequently
“ thought that I ſhould not have lived very un-
“happily even in the Baſtile, provided I was
“free from any other conſtraint than that of
“ merely reſiding within its walls.”
An Engliſh Author aſks, “Why are the in-
“ habitants of the rich plains of Lombardy,
“where Nature pours her gifts in ſuch profu-
“fion, leſs opulent than thoſe of the mountains
“ of Swiſſerland? Becauſe Freedom, whoſe in-
“fluence is more benign than ſunſhine and ze-
“ phyrs; who covers the rugged rock with ſoil,
“ drains the fickly ſwamp, and clothes the brown
“heath in verdure; who dreſſes the labourer's
“face with ſmiles, and makes him behold his
“increaſing family with delight and exultation;
“Freedom has abandoned the fertile fields of
<< of Swifferland.” This obſervation, though














UPON THE HEART, 163
dreſſed in ſuch enthuſiaſtic expreſſions, is literally
true at Uri, Schwitz, Undewalde, Zug, Glaris,
and Appenzel; for thoſe who have more than
their wants require are rich; and thoſe who are
enabled to think, to ſpeak, and to act as inclina-
tion may dićtate, are free.
CoMPETENcy and Liberty therefore are the
true ſweeteners of life. That ſtate of mind, ſo
rarely poſſeſſed, in which a man can ſincerely ſay,
“I have enough,” is the higheſt attainment of phi-
loſophy. Happineſs does not conſiſt in having
much, but in having ſufficient. This is the reaſon
why Kings and Princes are ſeldom happy; for
they always deſire more than they poſſeſs, and are
urged inceſſantly to attempt more than it is in
their power eaſily to achieve. He who wants
little has always enough. “I am contented,”
ſays Petrarch, in a letter to his friends, the Car-
dinals Taleyrand and Bologna ; “I deſire nothing
“ more. I enjoy every thing that is neceſſary
“to life. Cincinnatus, Curtius, Fabricius, and
“Regulus, after having conquered nations, and
“led kings in triumph, were not ſo rich as I
“am. But I ſhould always be poor, if I were to
“open a door to my paſſions. Luxury, ambition,
“avarice, know no bounds; and deſire is an un-
“fathomable abyſs, I have clothes to cover me ,
“vićtuals to ſupport me; horſes to carry me 3
. M 2 “ lands

164 the Influence of solitude
“lands to lie down or walk upon while I live,
“ and to receive my remains when I die. What-
“more was any Roman Emperor poſſeſſed off
“My body is healthy; and being engaged in toil,
“ is leſs rebellious againſt my mind. I have books
“ of every kind, which are to me ineſtimable
“treaſures; they fill my ſoul with a voluptuous
“delight, untinčtured with remorſe. I have
“friends whom I conſider more precious than
“any thing I poſſeſs, provided their counſels do
“not tend to abridge my liberty; and I know of
“no other enemies than thoſe which envy has
“raiſed againſt me.”
SoLITUDE not only reſtrains inordinate deſires,
but diſcovers to mankind their real wants; and
where a fimplicity of manners prevails, the real
wants of men are not only few, but eaſily ſatisfied;
for being ignorant of thoſe deſires which luxury
creates, they can have no idea of indulging them.
An old country curate, who had all his life reſided
upon a lofty mountain near the Lake of Thun, in
the Canton of Berne, was one day preſented with
a moor-cock. The good oldman, ignorant that ſuch
a bird exiſted, conſulted with his cook-maid in
what manner this rarity was to be diſpoſed of, and
they both agreed to bury it in the garden. If we
were all, alas! as ignorant of the delicious flavour
of moor-cocks, we might be all as happy and con-
tented


upon the heart. . 3. 16s
tented as the fimple Paſtor of the mountain near
the Lake of Thun. .
The man who confines his deſires to his real
wants, is more wiſe, more rich, and more content-
ed, than any other mortal exiſting. The ſyſtem
upon which he acts is, like his ſoul, replete with
ſimplicity and true greatneſs; and ſeeking his feli-
city in innocent obſcurity and peaceful retirement,
he devotes his mind to the love of truth, and finds
his higheſt happineſs in a contented heart.
Pope, when only twelve years of age, wrote an
affecting and agreeable Ode on the ſubjećt of Soli-
tude, which comprehends the very eſſence of this
ſpecies of philoſophy.
oDE on solitude.
HAPPY the man whoſe wiſh and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whoſe herds with milk, whoſe fields with bread,
Whoſe flocks ſupply him with attire,
Whoſe trees in ſummer yield him ſhade;
In winter, fire.
M 3 Bleft,
166 the influence of solitude
Bleſt, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years ſlide ſoft away,
In health of body, peace of mind;
Quiet by day,
Sound ſleep by night; ſtudy and eaſe
Together mix’d; ſweet recreation!
And innocence, which moſt does pleaſe,
- With meditation.
Thus let me live unſeen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a ſtone
- Tell where I lie.
A cALM and tranquil life renders the indul-
gence of ſenſual pleaſures leſs dangerous. The
theatre of ſenſuality exhibits ſcenes of waſte and
brutality, of noiſy mirth and tumultuous riot;
preſents to obſervation pernicious goblets, over-
loaded tables, laſcivious dancing, receptacles for
diſeaſe, tombs with faded roſes, and all the diſ-
mal haunts of pain. But to him who retires in
deteſtation from ſuch groſs delights, the joys of
ſenſe are of a more elevated kind; ſoft, ſublime,
pure, permanent, and tranquil.
Petr ARch




Upon THE HEART. 167
Petr Arch one day inviting his friend the
Cardinal Colonna to viſit his retirement at
Vaucluſe, wrote to him, “If you prefer the tran-
“quillity of the country to the noiſe of the town, .
“ come here and enjoy yourſelf. Do not be alarm-
“ed by the ſimplicity of my table, or the hard-
“neſs of my beds. Kings themſelves are fre-
“quently diſguſted by the luxury in which they
“live, and figh for comforts of a more homely
“kind. Change of ſcene is always pleaſing ; and
“pleaſures by occaſional interruption frequently
“ become more lively. If, however, you ſhould
“not accord with theſe ſentiments, you may
“bring with you the moſt exquiſite viands, the
“ wines of Veſuvius, ſilver diſhes, and every
“thing elſe that the indulgence of your ſenſes
“requires. Leave the reſt to me. I promiſe to
“provide you with a bed of the fineſt turf, a cool-
“ing ſhade, the muſic of the nightingales, figs,
“raiſins, water drawn from the freſheſt ſprings;
“and, in ſhort, every thing that the hand of Na-
“ture prepares for the lap of genuine pleaſure.”
AH! who would not willingly renounce thoſe
things which only produce diſquietude in the mind,
for thoſe which render it contented? The art of
occaſionally diverting the imagination, taſte, and
paſſions, affords new and unknown enjoyments to
the mind, and confers pleaſure without pain, and
. . . . . . . . M 4 luxury
168 THE INFLUENce of solitude
luxury without repentance. The ſenſes, deadened
by ſatiety, revive to new enjoyments. The lively
twitter of the groves, and the murmur of the
brooks, yield a more delicious pleaſure to the ear
than the muſic of the opera, or the compoſitions
of the ableſt maſters. The eye repoſes more agree-
ably on the concave firmament, on an expanſe of
waters, on mountains covered with rocks, than it
does on all the glare of balls, aſſemblies, and petit
foupers. In ſhort, the mind enjoys in Solitude
objects which were before inſupportable, and, re-
clining on the boſom offimplicity, eaſily renounces
every vain delight. Petrarch wrote from Vau-
cluſe to one of his friends, “I have made war
“againſt my corporeal powers, for I find they are
“my enemies. My eyes, which have rendered
“me guilty of ſo many follies, are now confined
“to the view of a ſingle woman, old, black, and
“ ſun-burnt. If Helen or Lucretia had poſ.
“ ſeſſed ſuch a face, Troy would never have been
“ reduced to aſhes, nor Tarquin driven from the
“empire of the world. But, to compenſate theſe
“ defects, ſhe is faithful, ſubmiſſive, and in-
“ duſtrious. She paſſes whole days in the fields,
“her ſhrivelled ſkin defying the hotteſt rays of the
“ ſun. My wardrobe ſtill contains fine cloaths,
<< but I never wear them; and you would take
“me for a common labourer or a fimpleſhepherd;
“I, who formerly was ſo anxious about my dreſs.
º “ But


Upon THE HEART. 169
“But the reaſons which then prevailed no longer
“exiſt: the fetters by which I was enſlaved are
“broken; the eyes which I was anxious to pleaſe
“ are ſhut ; and if they were ſtill open, they would
“ not, perhaps, now be able to maintain the ſame
“empire over my heart.” - º
Solitude, by ſtripping worldly objećts of the
falſe ſplendour in which fancy arrays them, diſpels
all vain ambition from the mind. Accuſtomed to
rural delights, and indifferent to every other kind
of pleaſure, a wiſe man no longer thinks high of
fices and worldly advancement worthy of his de-
fires. A noble Roman was overwhelmed with tears
on being obliged to accept of the conſulſhip, be-
cauſe it would deprive him for one year of the op-
portunity of cultivating his fields. Cincinna-
tus, who was called from the plough to the ſu-
preme command of the Roman legions, defeated
the enemies of his country, added to it new pro-
vinces, made his triumphal entry into Rome, and
at the expiration of fixteen days returned to his
plough. It is true that the inmate of an humble
cottage, who is forced to earn his daily bread by
labour, and the owner of a ſpacious manſion, for
whom every luxury is provided, are not held in
equal eſtimation by mankind. Butlet theman who
has experienced both theſe ſituations be aſked under
which of them he felt the moſt content. The
Cal'CS
170 THE INFLUENCE of solitude
cares and inquietudes of the palace are innumera-
bly greater than thoſe of the cottage. In the for-
mer, diſcontent poiſons every enjoyment; and its
ſuperfluity is only miſery in diſguiſe. The Princes
of Germany do not digeſt all the palatable poiſon
which their cooks prepare, ſo well as a peaſant
upon the heaths of Limbourg digeſts his buck-
wheat pie. And thoſe who may differ from me in
this opinion, will be forced to acknowledge, that
there is great truth in the reply which a pretty
French country girl made to a young nobleman,
who ſolicited her to abandon her ruſtic ſtate, and
retire with him to Paris: “Ah! my Lord, the
“farther we remove from ourſelves, the greater
“ is our diſtance from happineſs.”
Solitude, by moderating the ſelfiſh defires of
the heart, and expelling ambition from the breaſt,
becomes a real aſylum to the diſappointed Stateſ-
man or diſcarded Miniſter: for it is not every pub-
lic Miniſter who can retire, like Neckar, thro'
the portals of everlaſting fame. Every perſon,
indeed, without diſtinétion, ought to raiſe his
grateful hands to heaven on being diſmiſſed from
the troubles of public life, to the calm repoſe which
the cultivation of his native fields, and the care of
his flocks and herds, afford. In France, however,
when a Miniſter, who has incurred the diſpleaſure
of his Sovereign, is ordered to retire, and thereby
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * . enabled

Upon THE HEARt. 171
enabled to viſit an eſtate which he had decorated
in the higheſt ſtyle of rural elegance, this delight-
ful retreat, alas! being conſidered a place of exile,
becomes intolerable to his mind: he no longer
fancies himſelf its maſter; is incapable of reliſhing
its enchanting beauties: repoſe flies from his pil-
low; and, turning with averſion from every objećt,
he dies at length the vićtim of ſpleen, petulance,
and dejection.* But in England it is juſt the re-
verſe. There a Miniſter is congratulated on re-
tiring, like a man who has happily eſcaped from a
dangerous malady. He ſees himſelf ſtill ſurrounded
by many friends, much more worthy than his ad-
herents while in power; for while thoſe were
bound to him by temporary conſiderations of in-
tereſt, theſe are attached to him by real and per-
manent eſteem. Thanks, generous Britons! for
the examples you have given to us, of men ſuffi-
ciently bold and independent to weigh events in
the ſcales of reaſon, and to guide themſelves by the
& intrinſic
* “This is the fate,” ſays one of our writers, “ which gene-
“ rally attends every ſpecies of diſgrace. The credit, authority,
“ and confideration, which they before enjoyed, are like thoſe
“ tranfient fires which ſhine during the night, and, being ſud-
* denly extinguiſhed, only render the darkneſs and ſolitude in
“ which the traveller is involved more viſible.” The truth of
this obſervation is finely illuſtrated by the pen of the celebrated
Le Sage, in the ſtory which he relates of the diſgrace of the
Duke of Oſuna, in a novel lately tranſlated into Engliſh, called,
“The Hiſtory of Vanillo Gonzales, or, the Merry Batchelor."

172 the Influence of solitude
intrinſic and real merits of each caſe: for, notwith-
ſtanding the freedom with which many Engliſh-
men have arraigned the diſpenſations of the Su-
preme Being; notwithſtanding the mockery and
ridicule with which they have ſo frequently in-
ſulted virtue, good manners, and decorum; there
are many more among them, who, eſpecially at an
advanced period of their lives, perfeótly underſtand
the art of living by themſelves; and in their
tranquil and delightful villas think with more
dignity, and live with more real happineſs, than
the haughtieſt noble in the zenith of his power.
OF the Miniſters who retire from the adminiſ-
tration of public affairs, the majority finiſh their
days in cultivating their gardens, in improving
their eſtates, and, like the excellent De la Roche
at Spire, certainly poſſeſs more content with the
ſhovel and the rake, than they enjoyed in the moſt
proſperous hours of their adminiſtration.
. It has, indeed, been ſaid, that obſervations like
theſe are common to perſons who, ignorant of the
manners of the world, and the charaćters of men,
love to moralize on, and recommend a contempt
of, human greatneſs; but that rural innocence, the
pure and ſimple pleaſures of nature, and an unin-
terrupted repoſe, are very ſeldom the companions
of this boaſted Solitude. Thoſe who maintain this
& '* º º -- º - * º - x opinion %


upon the heart. 173
opinion aſſert, that man, though ſurrounded with
difficulties, and obliged to employ every art and
cunning to attain his ends, feels with his ſucceſs
the pleaſing power which attaches to the chara&ter
of maſter, and fondly indulges in the exerciſe of
ſovereignty. Enabled to create and to deſtroy, to
plant and to root up, to make alterations when
and where he pleaſes, he may grub up a vineyard,
and plant an Engliſh grove on its ſcite; erect
hills where hills never were ſeen; level eminences
to the ground; compel the ſtream to flow as his
inclination ſhall direct; force woods and ſhrub-
beries to grow where he pleaſes; graft or lop as it
ſhall ſtrike his fancy; open views and ſhut out,
boundaries; conſtruct ruins where buildings never
exiſted; erect temples of which he alone is the
high prieſt; and build hermitages in which he
may ſeclude himſelf at pleaſure. It is ſaid, how-
ever, that this is not a reward for the reſtraints
he formerly experienced, but a natural inclina-
tion; for that a Miniſter muſt be, from the habits
of his life, fond of command and ſovereignty,
whether he continues at the head of an extenſive.
empire, or directs the management of a poultry
yard. - ^ w
It would moſt undoubtedly diſcover a great
ignorance of the world, and of the nature of man,
to contend that it is neceſſary to renounce all
174 the INFLUENCE of solitude
the inclinations of the human heart, in order to
enjoy the advantages of Solitude. That which
nature has implanted in the human breaſt muſt
there remain. If, therefore, a Miniſter, in his re-
tirement, is not ſatiated with the exerciſe of power
and authority, but ſtill fondly wiſhes for com-
mand, let him require obedience from his chickens,
provided ſuch a gratification is eſſential to his
happineſs, and tends to ſuppreſs the deſire of again
expoſing himſelf to thoſe tempeſts and ſhipwrecks
which he can only avoid in the ſafe harbour of
rural life.* An Ex-miniſter muſt, ſooner or later,
learn to deſpiſe the appearances of human great-
neſs, when he diſcovers that true greatneſs fre-
quently begins at that period of life which Stateſ.
men are apt to conſider a dreary void; that the
regret of being no longer able to do more good is
only ambition in diſguiſe; and that the inhabitants
of the country, in cultivating their cabbages and
potatoes, are an hundred times happier than the
greateſt Miniſter.
Not HING contributes more to the advance-
ment
* “ Marſhall de Boufflers has retired to his eſtate, to culti-
“vate his fields,” ſaid Madame Maintenon; “ but I am of
“ opinion that this Cincinnatus would not be ſorry to be fetched
“ from his plough; for, at his departure, he charged us all to
“think of him, if any thing was wanted during his abſence,
“ which may poſſibly continue fifteen days.” º


UPON THE HEART. 175
ment of earthly felicity, than a reliance on thoſe
maxims which teach us to do as much good as poſt-
ble, and to take things juſt as we find them; for it
is certainly true, that no charaćters are ſo unhappy
as thoſe who are continually finding fault with
everything they ſee. My barber, at Hanover,
while he was preparing to ſhave me, exclaimed,
with a deep figh, “It is terribly hot to-day.”
“You place heaven,” ſaid I to him,” in great
“ difficulties. For theſe nine months laſt paſt you
“ have regularly told me every other day, It is
“ terribly cold to-day.” Cannot the Almighty,
then, any longer govern the univerſe, without
theſe gentlemen-barbers finding ſomething to be
diſcontented with “Is it not,” I aſked him,
“much better to take the ſeaſons as they change,
“ and to receive with equal gratitude, from the
“ hand of God, the Winter’s cold, and the Sum-
“ mer's warmth?”—“Oh certainly,” replied
the barber.
CoMPETENcy and content, therefore, may,
in general, be confidered as the baſis of earthly
happineſs; and Solitude, in many inſtances, fa-
vours both the one and the other.

Solitude not only refines the enjoyments of
friendſhip, but enables us to acquire friends
176 THE INFLUENce of solitude .
from whom nothing can alienate our ſouls, and to
whoſe arms we never fly in vain. -
The friends of Petrarch ſometimes apolo-
gized to him for their long abſence. “It is im-
“ poſſible for us,” ſaid they, “to follow your
“ example: the life you lead at Vaucluſe is con-
“ trary to human nature. In winter you ſit like
“an owl in the chimney-corner. In ſummer
“ you are running inceſſantly about the fields.”
“ Petrarch ſmiled at theſe obſervations. “ Theſe
“ people,” ſaid he, “confider the pleaſures of the
“world as the ſupreme good; and cannot bear
“ the idea of renouncing them. I have friends
“ whoſe ſociety is extremely agreeable to me:
“ they are of all ages, and of every country. They
“ have diſtinguiſhed themſelves both in the cabi-
“ net and in the field, and obtained high honours
“ for their knowledge of the ſciences. It is eaſy
“ to gain acceſs to them; for they are always at
“ my ſervice; and I admit them to my company,
“ and diſmiſs them from it, whenever I pleaſe.
“ They are never troubleſome, but immediately
“ anſwer every queſtion I aſk them. Some relate
“to me the events of paſt ages, while others re-
“veal to me the ſecrets of nature. Some teach
** me how to live, and others how to die. Some,
“ by their vivacity, drive away my cares, and ex-
. “hilarate


Upon the Heart. 177
.
º
hilarate my ſpirits; while others give fortitude
“ to my mind, and teach me the important leſſon
“how to reſtrain my deſires, and to depend only
“ on myſelf. They open to me, in ſhort, the
“various avenues of all the arts and ſciences;
“ and upon their information I ſafely rely in all
“ emergencies. In return for all theſe ſervices,
“ they only aſk me to accommodate them with a
“ convenient chamber in ſome corner of my
“ humble habitation, where they may repoſe in
“ peace: for theſe friends are more delighted
“ with the tranquillity of retirement than with
“ the tumults of ſociety.”
Lovel the moſt precious gift of Heaven,
“The cordial drop that Heav'n in our cup has thrown,
“To make the bitter pill of life go down,
appears to merit a diſtinguiſhed rank among the
advantages of Solitude.
Love voluntarily unites itſelf with the aſpect
of beautiful Nature. The view of a pleaſingland-
ſcape makes the heart beat with the tendereſt
emotions. The lonely mountain, and the filent
grove, increaſe the ſuſceptibility of the female
boſom, inſpire the mind with rapturous enthu-
fiaſm, and, ſooner or later, draw aſide and ſubju-
gate the heart, -
N Wom EN
#78 THE INFLUENce of solitude
Women feel the pure and tranquil pleaſures
of rural life with a higher ſenſibility than men.
They enjoy more exquiſitely the beauties of a
lonely walk, the freſhneſs of a ſhady foreſt, and
admire with higher ecſtaſy the charms of Nature.*
Solitude is to them the ſchool of true philoſophy.
In England, at leaſt, where the face of the coun-
ſo beautiful, and where the taſte of its in-
its is hourly adding to its new embelliſh-
ments, the love of rural ſolitude is certainly
ſtronger in the women than the men. A noble-
man who employs the day in riding over his eſtate,
or in following the hounds, does not enjoy the
pleaſures of rural life with the ſame delight as his
lady, who devotes her time, in her romantic plea-
ſure-grounds, to needle-work, or to the reading of
3. . . ſome
* There are, however, as is well known, many females, who,
from vicious habits, and depraved taſtes, prefer, or think they pre-
fer, the noiſe and naſtineſs of a crowded city, to the beautiful ver-
dure and pure air of the country; a diſpoſition which the poet
has not unhappily ſatiriſed in the following lines.
“Such Fulvia's paſſion for the town ; freſh air
“ (An odd effect) gives vapours to the fair;
“Green fields, and ſhady groves, and cryſtal ſprings,
“And larks and nightingales, are odious things;
“But ſmoke and duſt, and noiſe and crowd, delight;
“And to be preſs'd to death tranſports her quite.
“ When filver riv'lets play the flowery meads,
“And woodbines give their ſweets, and limes their ſhades,
“ Black kennels' abſent odour ſhe regrets, %
“And ſtops her noſe at beds of violets.”


Upon the HEART. 179
ſome inſtructive intereſting work. In this happy
country, indeed, where the people, in general,
love the enjoyments of the mind, the calm of
rural retirement is doubly valuable, and its de-
lights more exquiſite. The learning which has
of late years ſo conſiderably increaſed among the
ladies of Germany, is certainly to be attributed to
their love of retirement; for, among thoſe who
paſs their time in the country, we find much more
true wit and rational ſentiment, than among the
Beaux Eſprits of the metropolis.” -
MINDs, indeed, apparently inſenſible in the at-
moſphere of a metropolis, unfold themſelves with
rapture in the country. This is the reaſon why
the return of ſpring fills every tender breaſt with
love. “What can more reſemble love,” ſays a
celebrated German philoſopher, “ than the feel-
“ing with which my ſoul is inſpired at the fight
“ of this magnificent valley, thus illumined by the
!” Rouſſeau felt inexpreſſible de-
º earances of ſpring:
º
%
º}
º
* The early amuſements of women, it is well ſaid, are the cir-
cumſtances that form their diſpoſitions and characters. What can
be expeded from the confinement, the agitations, and the paſſions
of a card table How different the effect of contemplating Na-
ture in her moſt exquiſite and uſeful forms It improves the
heart as well as the taſte; and botany is the moſt elegant and the
beſt of all female amuſements. & - %





180 the INFLUENCE of sol1t UDE
the earlieſt bloſſoms of that charming ſeaſon gave
new life and vigour to his mind; the tendereſt
diſpoſitions of his heart were awakened and aug-
mented by the ſoft verdure it preſented to his
eyes; and the charms of his miſtreſs were affimi-
lated with the beauties that ſurrounded him on
every ſide. The view of an extenſive and pleaſ-
ing proſpect ſoftened his ſorrows; and he breath-
ed his fighs with exquiſite delight amidſt the
rifing flowers of his garden, and the rich fruits
of his orchard. .
LoveRs conſtantly ſeek the rural grove to in-
dulge, in the tranquillity of retirement, the un-
interrupted contemplation of the beloved obječt
which forms the ſole happineſs of their lives. Of
what importance to them are all the tranſačtions
of the world, or, indeed, any thing that does not
tend to indulge the paſſion that fills their breaſts?
Silent groves, embowering glades, or the lonely
borders of murmuring ſtreams, where they may
freely reſign themſelves to their fond refle&tions,
are the only confidents of their ſouls. A lovely
ſhepherdeſs offering her foſtering boſom to the
infant ſhe is nurſing, while at her ſide her well-
beloved partner fits dividing with her his morſel of
hard black bread, is an hundred times more happy
than all the fops of the town 5. for love inſpires
the mind, in the higheſt degree, with all that is
& . . . : - elevated,

upon the HEARt. 181
elevated, delightful, and affecting in nature; and
warms the coldeſt boſoms with the greateſt ſen-
ſibility and the higheſt rapture.
Love's foſteſt images ſpring up anew in Soli-
tude. The remembrance of thoſe emotions which
the firſt bluſh of conſcious tenderneſs, the firſt
gentle preſſure of the hand, the firſt dread of in-
terruption, create, recurs inceſſantly Time, it
is ſaid, extinguiſhes the flame of Love; but Soli-
tude renews the fire, and calls forth thoſe agents
which lie long concealed, and only wait a favour-
able moment to diſplay their powers. The whole
courſe of youthful feeling again beams forth; and
the mind—delicious recolle&tion —fondly retra-
cing the firſt affection of the heart, fills the boſom
with an indelible ſenſeofthoſehighecſtaſies which
a connoiſſeur has ſaid, with as much truth as en-
ergy, proclaim, for the firſt time, that happy diſ-
covery, that fortunate moment, when two lovers
firſt perceive their mutual fondneſs.”
HERDER mentions a certain caſt of people in
Aſia, whoſe mythology thus divided the felicities
* - N 3 of
* No perſon has deſcribed the recollection of that praisºn.
ment ſo eloquently, ſweetly, and tenderly, as Rouſſeau : “Pre-
“cious moments, ſo much to be regretted Oh! begin again
“ your delightful courſe; flow on with longer duration in my
“remembrance, if it be poſſible, than you did in reality in your
* fugitive ſucceſſion.”
182 the INFLUENce of solitude
of eternity: “That men, after death, were, in
“ the celeſtial regions, immediately the obje Sł3 of
“female love during the courſe of a thouſand
“ years; firſt by tender looks, then by a balmy
“kiſs, and afterwards by immaculate alliance.”
It was this noble and ſublime ſpecies of affec-
tion that Wieland, in the warmeſt moments of
impaſſioned youth, felt for an amiable, ſenſible,
and beautiful lady of Z x.
Zurich; for that extraor-
dinary genius wasperfeótly ſatisfied that the meta-
phyſical effects of love begin with the firſt figh,
and expire, to a certain degree, with the firſt kiſs.
I one day aſked this young lady when it was that
Wieland had ſaluted her for the firſt time?
“Wieland,” replied the amiable girl, “ did
“ not kiſs my hand for the firſt time until four
“years after our acquaintance commenced.”
1.
Young perſons, in general, however, do not,
like //ieland, adopt the myſtic refinements of
love. Yielding to the ſentiments which the paſ-
ion inſpires, and leſs acquainted with its meta-
phyſical nature, they feel at an earlier age, in the
tranquillity of Solitude, that irreſiſtible impulſe
to the union of the ſexes, which the God of Na-
ture has ſo ſtrongly implanted in the human
breaſt. : . . . . . . º...:
A Lady .
















Upon THE HEART. - 183
A LADY who reſided in great retirement, at a
romantic cottage upon the banks of the Lake of
Geneva, had three innocent and lovely daughters.
The eldeſt was about fourteen years of age, the
youngeſt was about nine, when they were pre-
ſented with a tame bird, which hopped and flew
about the chamber the whole day, and formed the
ſole amuſement and pleaſure of their lives. Placing
themſelves on their knees, they offered, with un-
wearied delight, their little favourite pieces of
biſcuits from their fingers, and endeavoured, by
every means, to induce him to fly to, and neſtle in,
their boſoms; but the bird, the moment he had
got the biſcuit, with cunning coyneſs eluded their
hopes, and hopped away. The little favourite
at length died. A year after this event, the
youngeſt of the three ſiſters ſaid to her mother,
“Oh, I remember that dear little bird! I wiſh,
“mamma, you would procure me ſuch a one to
“ play with.”—“ Oh! no,” replied her eldeſt
ſiſter: “I ſhould like to have a little dog to play
“ with better than any thing. I could catch a
“ little dog, take him on my knee, and hug him.
“ in my arms. A bird affords me no pleaſure;
“ he perches a little while on my finger, then
“ flies away, and there is no catching him again:
“but a little dog, oh! what pleaſure—”
N 4 shallº



184 The INFLUENCE of solitude
* I shall never forget the poor Religeuſe in
whoſe apartment I found a breeding cage of canary
birds; nor forgive myſelf for having burſt into a
fit of laughter at the diſcovery. It was, alas! the
ſuggeſtion of Nature ; and who can reſiſt what
Nature ſuggeſts? This myſtic wandering of re-
ligious minds, this celeſtial epilepſy of Love, this
premature effect of Solitude, is only the fond ap-
plication of one natural inclination raiſed ſuperior
to all others. 3.
Absence and tranquillity appear ſo favourable
to the indulgence of this pleaſing paſſion, that
lovers frequently quit the beloved obječt, to reflect
in Solitude on her charms. Who does not recol-
lečt to have read, in the Confeſſions of Rouſſeau,
the ſtory related by Madame de Luxemberg, of a
lover who quitted the preſence of his miſtreſs,
only that he might have the pleaſure of writing
to her? Rouſſeau replied to Madame de Luxem-
berg, that he wiſhed he had been that man ;
and his wiſh was founded on a perfeót knowledge
of the paſſion; for who has ever been in love, and
does not know that there are moments when the
pen is capable of expreſſing the fine feelings of the
heart with much greater effect than the voice,
with its miſerable organ of ſpeech. The tongue,
even in its happieſt elocution, is never ſo perſua-
five as the ſpeaking eyes, when lovers gaze with
ſilent ecſtaſy on each other’s charms.
LovERs

Upon THE HEART. , 185
LoveRs not only expreſs but feel their paſſion
with higher ecſtaſy and happineſs in Solitude than
in any other ſituation. What faſhionable lover ever
painted his paſſion for a lovely miſtreſs with ſuch
laconic tenderneſs and effect, as the village Cho-
riſter of Hanover did, on the death of a young
and beautiful country girl with whom he was ena-
moured, when, after erecting, in the cemetery of
the cathedral, a ſepulchral ſtone to her memory,
he carved, in an artleſs manner, the figure of a
blooming roſe on its front, and inſcribed beneath
it theſe words: “C'eſt ainſ qu’elle fut.”
It was at the feet of thoſe rocks which over-
hang the celebrated retreat at Vaucluſe, that Pe-
trarch compoſed his fineſt ſonnets to deplore the
abſence, or to complain of the cruelty, of his be-
loved Laura. The Italians are of opinion, that
when love inſpired his muſe, his poetry ſoared far
beyond that of any poet who ever wrote before or
ſince his time, either in the Greek, the Latin, or
the Tuſcan languages. “Ah! how ſoft and tender
“is this language of the heart!” they exclaim.
“ Petrarch alone was acquainted with its
“ power: he has added to the three Graces a
“fourth—the Grace of delicacy.”
Love, however, when indulged in rural Soli-
tude, or amidſt the romantic ſcenery of an ancient
**-
186 THE INFLUENce of solºr UDE
caſtle, and, affiſted by the ardent imagination of
impetuous youth, frequently aſſumes a more bold
and violent charaćter. Religious enthuſiaſm,
blended with a ſaturnine diſpoſition, forms, in ef.
ferveſcent minds, a ſublime and extraordinary
compound of the feelings of the heart. A youth-
ful lover of this deſcription, when deprived of
the ſmiles of his miſtreſs, takes his firſt declara-
tion of love from the text of the Apocalypſe, and
thinks his paſſion an eternal melancholy; but when
he is inclined to ſharpen the dart within his breaſt,
his inſpired mind views in the beloved objećt the
faireſt model of divine perfection.
Two lovers of this romantic caſt, placed in ſome
ancient ſolitary caſtle, ſoar far beyond the com-
mon tribe, and, as their ideas refine, their paſſions
become proportionately ſublime. Surrounded by
ſtupendous rocks, and impreſſed by the awful ſtil-
neſs of the ſcene, the beloved youth is conſidered
not only as an amiable and virtuous man, but as
a god.* The inſpired mind of the fond femalefan-
cies her boſom to be the ſanétuary of love, and
º conceives
* when the paſſion of Love is at its height,” ſays Rouſ-
ſeau, “it arrays the beloved object in every poſſible perfection;
“ makes it an idol, places it in heaven; and, as the enthuſiaſm
“ of Devotion borrows the language of Love, the enthuſiaſm
“ of Love borrows % the language of Devotion. The lover
“ beholds nothing but paradiſe, angels, the virtues of faints,
“ and the felicities of heaven.” ??



Upon the HEARt. 187
conceives her affection for the youthful idol of her
heart to be an emanation from heaven; a ray of
the Divine Preſence. Ordinary lovers, without
doubt, in ſpite of abſence, unite their ſouls, write
by every poſt, ſeize all occaſions to converſe with,
or hear from, each other; but our more ſublime
and exalted female introduces into her romance of
paſſion every butterfly ſhe meets with, and all the
feathered ſongſters of the groves; and, except in
the objećt of her love, no longer ſees anything as
it really is. Reaſon and ſenſe no longer guide;
the refinements of love direét all her movements;
ſhe tears the world from its poles, and the ſun from
its axis; and to prove that all ſhe does is right,
eſtabliſhes for herſelf and her lover a new goſpel,
and a new ſyſtem of morality.
A lover, ſeparated, perhaps, for ever, from a
miſtreſs who has made the moſt important ſacri-
fices to his happineſs; who was his only conſola-
tion in afflićtion, his only comfort in calamity;
whoſe kindneſs ſupported his ſinking fortitude :
who remained his faithful and his only friend in
dire adverſity and domeſtic ſorrow ; ſeeks, as his
ſole reſource, a ſlothful Solitude. Nights paſſed
in ſleepleſs agonies, a diſtaſte of life, a deſire of
death, an abhorrence of all ſociety, and a love of
dreary ſecluſion, drive him, day after day, wander-
ing, as chance may direét, through the moſt ſoli-
- - tary

188 the influence of solitude
tary retirements, far from the hated traces of
mankind... Were he, however, to wander from the
Elbe to the Lake of Geneva, were he to ſeek
relief in the frozen confines of the North, or the
burning regions of the Weſt, to the utmoſt extre-
mities of earth or ſeas, he would ſtill be like the
hind deſcribed by Virgil:
* “ Stung with the ſtroke, and madding with the pain,
“She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain;
º “Shoots o'er the Cretan lawns with many a bound,
“ The cleaving dart ſtill rankling in the wound.”.”
Petrarch, on returning to Vaucluſe, felt
with new and increaſing ſtings the paſſion which
perturbed his breaſt. Immediately on his arrival
at this ſequeſtered ſpot, the image of his beloved
Laura inceſſantly haunted his imagination. He
beheld her at all times, in every place, and under
a thouſand different forms. “Three times in
“ the middle of the night, when every door was
“ cloſed, ſhe appeared to me,” ſays he, “at the
“ feet of my bed, with aſtedfaſt look, as if confi-
“dent of the power of her charms. Fear ſpread
“ a chilling dew over all my limbs. Myblood
“th rilled through my veins towardsmy heart. If
“any


* Diogenes Laertius, in his life of Crates, ſays, that love is to
be cured by hunger, if not by time s or, if neither of theſe
remedies ſucceed, by a halter.
- . Dieg. Laert, lib. 6. ſect. 86.
UPON THE HEART. 189
“ any one had then entered my apartment with
“ a candle, they would have beheld me as pale as
“ death, with every mark of terror on my face.
“Riſing, before the break of day, with trembling
“ limbs, from my diſordered bed, and haſtily
“ leaving my houſe, where everything created
“ alarm, I climbed to the ſummit of the rocks, and
“ ran wildly through the woods, caſting my eyes
“ inceſſantly on every ſide, to ſee if the form which
“ had haunted my repoſe ſtill purſued me. Alas !
“I could find no aſylum. Places the moſt ſe-
“ queſtered, where I fondly flattered myſelf that I
“ ſhould be alone, preſented her continually to
“my mind; and I beheld her ſometimes iſſuing
“ from the hollow trunk of a tree, from the con-
“ cealed ſource of a ſpring, or from the dark ca-
“ vity of a broken rock. Fear rendered me in-
“ſenſible, and I neither knew what I did, or
§
“ where I went.” ºf ſº
SoLITUDE affords no remedy to an imagination,
ſubječt to be thus violently perturbed,” and there-
fore Ovid has, with great propriety, ſaid,
“. But Solitude muſt never be allow'd :
* A lover's ne'er ſo ſafe as in a crowd;
. ** For
* Dr. Adam Smith, in his admirable Eſſay on “ The Theory.
“ of Moral Sentiments,” obſerves, “In Solitude we are apt to feel
“too ſtrongly whatever relates to ourſelves : we are apt to over-
- ** rate. ,
190 the INFLUEnce of solitude
“ For private places private grief increaſe;
“What haunts you there, in company will ceaſe:
“ If to the gloomy deſart you repair, -
& Your miſtreſs' angry form will meet you there.”
PETRARch, from the very commencement of
his paſſion, felt the inutility of attempting to fly
from Love, Rocks and foreſts afforded no com-
fort to his wounded heart. Love purſued his ſteps
through every haunt, however ſavage and forlorn.
The pure and limpid ſtream of Vaucluſe, and the
umbrageous woods which almoſt concealed the
decorated dale in which the ſtream aroſe, appeared
to him the only place likely to abate the fierceneſs
of thoſe fires which conſumed his heart. The
moſt frightful deſarts, the deepeſt foreſts, the moſt
inacceſſible mountains, were to him the moſt
agreeable abodes. But Love accompanied him
wherever he went, prevented his repoſe, and
drove his ſoul back to Avignon.
Sol ITUDE
“ rate the good offices we have done, and the injuries we may
- “ have ſuffered: we are apt to be too much elated by our good,
“ and too much dejected by our bad fortune. In adverſity,” he
continues, “ do not mourn in the darkneſs of Solitude; do not
“ regulate your ſorrow according to the indulgent ſympathy of
“ your intimate friends. Return as ſoon as poſſible to the day-
“light of the world and of ſociety. Live with ſtrangers, with
“ thoſe who know nothing, or care nothing, about your misfor-
“tune. Do not even ſhun the company of enemies; but give
• yourſelf the pleaſure of mortifying their malignant joy, by -
“making them feel how little you are affected by your calamity,
“ and how much you are above it.” -
º
&
º
UPON THE HEART. I 91
Sol ITUDE alſo is equally adverſe to the happi-
neſs of a lover, when the paſſion is not founded on
principles of the pureſt virtue; for the imagina-
tion, indulging itſelf without reſtraint, foments
the ſecret inclination of the ſenſes, introduces the
moſt voluptuous ideas, animates every deſire, and
inflames the heart. In ſuch a ſtate the preſence
of the beloved obječt cannot, when the mind is
vicious, be indulged without the greateſt danger:
but in a virtuous breaſt, when, by too fondly in-
dulging the imagination, in Solitude, the paſſion
even takes a criminal turn in the heart, the pre-
ſence of the beloved obječt, inſtead of being dan-
gerous, ſubdues and deſtroys every forbidden de-
fire. Abſence, indeed, removes the idea of danger,
and the lover's mind moves boldly on in all their
flattering fancies of an agreeable and inſpiring
illuſion, until the paſſion acquires a dangerous
tendency in his breaſt. .
The heart of Petrarch was frequently ſti-
mulated by ideas of voluptuous pleaſure, even
: ts of Vaucluſe, where he ſought an
among the ro
aſylum from Love and Laura.” He ſoon, how-
& . . . . … 3 ź ever,
* We read in a variety of books, now no longer known, that
Petrarch lived at Vaucluſe with Laura, and that he had form-
ed a ſubterraneous paſſage from his houſe to her own. Pe-
trarch was not ſo happy. Laura was married, and lived with


192 THE INFLUEnce of solitude
ever, baniſhed ſenſuality from his mind, and, by
refining his paſſion, acquired that vivacity and hea-
venly purity which breathe in every line of thoſe
immortal lyrics he compoſed among the rocks. *
But the city of Avignon, in which the objećt thus
tenderly
her huſband, Hugues de Sades, at Avignon, the place of her
nativity, and of her death. She was the mother of eleven chil-
dren, which had ſo debilitated her conſtitution, that at five and
thirty years of age no traces of her former beauty remained. She
experienced alſo many domeſtic ſorrows. Her huſband, ignorant
of the value of her virtues, and inſenſible to the propriety of her
conduct, was jealous without a cauſe, and even without love,
which to a woman was ſtill more mortifying. Petrarch, on
the contrary, loved Laura during the courſe of twenty years;
but he was never ſuffered to viſit her at her own houſe ; for her
huſband ſeldom, if ever, left her alone. He therefore had no op-
portunity of beholding his charming, his amiable Laura, except
at church, at aſſemblies, or upon the public walks; and then never
alone. Her huſband frequently forbid her to walk even with her
deareſt friends, and his mind became quite furious when ever ſhe
indulged in the ſlighteſt and moſt innocent pleaſure. Laura was
born in the year 1307, or 1308, and was two or three years younger
than Petrarch. She died of the plague in the year 1348.
Seven years after her death her huſband married again. Pe-
trarch ſurvived her till about the commencement of the year
1374. - * : * : * : *: º
* This once celebrated poetry has now, however, for many
ages been buried in oblivion; a fate which, if the notion of Dr.
Adam Smith be true, it was natural enough to expect. “ All
“ ſerious and ſtrong expreſſions of the paſſion of Love,” ſays he,
“appear ridiculous to a third perſon; and though a lover may
“ be good company to his miſtreſs, he is ſo to nobody elſe. He
“ himſelf is ſenſible of this; and, as long as he continues in his
“ ſober ſenſes, endeavours to treat his own paſſion with raillery
- ** and
*





Upon THE HEART. I93
tenderly beloved reſided, was not ſufficiently
diſtant from the place of his retreat, and he
viſited it too frequently. A paſſion, indeed, like
that which Petrarch felt, leaves the boſom,
even when uncorrupted, totally incapable of tran-
quillity. It is a violent fever of the ſoul, which in-
flićts upon the body a complication of painful diſ-
orders. Let Lovers, therefore, while they poſſeſs
ſome controul over the paſſion which fills their
breaſts, ſeat themſelves on the borders of a river,
and refle&t that Love, like the ſtream, ſometimes
precipitates itſelf with violence down the rocks;
and ſometimes, flowing with ſoft tranquillity along
the plain, meanders through meadows, and loſes
itſelfbeneath the peaceful ſhades of ſolitary bowers.
THE tranquillity of Solitude, however, may, to
a mind diſpoſed to reſign itſelf with humility to all
the diſpenſations of Heaven, be found not diſadvan-
tageous to the perturbations of love. A lover
whom death has bereaved of the dear obječt of his
affection, ſeeks only thoſe places which his favour-
ite inhabited; conſiders every other as deſart and
# * * O - forlorn;
s
&
and ridicule. It is the only ſtyle in which we care to hear of
it, becauſe it is the only ſtyle in which we ourſelves are diſ-
poſed to talk of it. We grow weary of the grave and long-
ſentenced love of Cowley and Petrarch, who never have done
with exaggerating the violence of their attachments; but
the gaiety of Ovid, and the gallantry of Horace, are always
agreeable.” Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part 1. ſ. 2. p. 68.
º
4.
*
•
&
g
&
&
#
º
g
g
194 THE INFLUENce of solitude
forlorn; and expects that death alone is able to ſtop
the torrent of his tears. Such an indulgence of
ſorrow, however, cannot be called a reſignation to
the will of God. A lover of this deſcription is at-
tached ſolely to the object, to the irrecoverable ob-
jećt of his increaſing ſorrows. His diſtraćted mind
fondly hopes that ſhe may ſtill return; he thinks
he hears her ſoftenchanting voice in every breeze;
he ſees her lovely form approaching, and opens his
expecting arms to claſp her once again to his ſtill
throbbing breaſt. But he finds, alas! his hopes
are vain: the fancy-breathing form eludes his
graſp, and convinces him that the delightful viſion
was only the light and love-formed phantom of
his ſorrow-fickened mind. A ſad remembrance of
her departed ſpirit is the only comfort of his lin-
gering life: he flies to the tomb where her mortal
remains were depoſited, plants roſes round her
ſhrine, waters them with his tears, cultivates them
with the tendereſt care, kiſſes them as emblems
of her bluſhing cheeks, and taſtes, with fighing
tranſports, their balmy fragrance as the fancied

odours of her ruby lips.
— aſk the faithful youth
Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov’d
So often fills his arms; ſo often draws &
His lonely footſteps, at the filent hour,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears.
Oh! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er ſeduce his boſom to forget
3 *: ºº 3 * 3: & & That


UPON THE HEART. 195
That ſacred hour, when, ſtealing from the noiſe
Of care and envy, ſweet remembrance fooths
With Virtue’s kindeſt looks his aching breaſt,
And turns his tears to rapture.
But theſe pleaſures, alas! alſo vaniſh; the roſes
loſe their bloom; then droop their heads—and die.
He muſt, indeed, wreſtle a long time with the ri-
gours of his fate, have frequently extended his
arms in vain to embrace the beloved object, have
long fixed his eyes upon her cheriſhed ſhade, and
loſt all hope of being re-united, before his mind
can again exert its powers, or make any effort to
counteract the feelings of his heart, and regain
his former tranquillity. It is only from the con-
ſtant exertion of ſound reaſon and true philoſophy
that the cure of this diſeaſe can be expected.


It muſt afford infinite pleaſure to every philo-
ſophic mind to reflect on the vićtory which the
virtuous Petrarch gained over the paſſion that
affailed his heart. During his retreat into Italy
from Love and Laura, his friends in France
uſed every endeavour to induce him to return.
One of them wrote to him:—“What daemon poſ-
“feſſes you? How could you quit a country in
“which you indulgedall the propenſities of youth,
“ and where the graceful figure which you for-
“merly adorned with ſo much care procured you
“ ſuch unbounded admiration? How can you live
* O 2 “ thus


196 the INFLUENce of solitude
“ thus exiled from Laura, whom you love
“ with ſo much tenderneſs, and whoſe heart is
“ ſo deeply aſflićted by your abſence?”
PETRARch replied: “Your anxiety is vain: I
“am reſolved to continue where I am. I ride here
“ſafely at anchor; and all the hurricanes of elo-
“quence ſhall never drive me from it. How then
“can you expect to perſuade me to change this
“reſolution, merely by placing before my eyes
“ the deviations of my youth, which I ought to
“ forget; by deſcribing an illicit paſſion, which
“left me no other reſource than a precipitate
“flight; and by extolling the meretricious ad-
“vantages of a handſome perſon, which too long
“ occupied my attention? Theſe are follies I muſt
“no longer thinkof. I am now rapidly approach-
“ing towards the laſt goal on the courſe of life.
“Objects more ſerious and important now occupy
“my thoughts. God forbid, that, liſtening to
“your flattering obſervations,Iſhould again throw
“myſelf into the ſnares of Love; again put on a
“yoke which ſo ſeverely galled me! The natu-
“ral levity of youth apologizes, in ſome degree,
“for the indiſcretion it creates; but I ſhould de-
“ſpiſe myſelf, if I could now be tempted to reviſit
“ either the bower of love or the theatre of am-
“bition. Your ſuggeſtions, however, have pro-
“duced a proper effect; for Iconſider them as the
- “ oblique

Upon THE HEART. 197
“oblique cenſures of a friend upon my paſt miſ-
“condućt. The ſolicitudes of the gay and buſy
“world no longer diſturb my mind; for my heart
“has tenaciouſly rooted all its fibres' in this
“delightful Solitude, where I rove at large, free
“ and unconſtrained, without inquietude or care.
“In ſummer I repoſe upon the verdant turf be-
“neath the ſhade of ſome embowering tree, or
“ ſaunter along the enamelled borders of a cool,
“refreſhing ſtream. At the approach of autumn
“I ſeek the woods, and join the Muſes’ train.
“This mode of life is ſurely preferable to a life at
“court, where nothing but diſguſting jealoufies
“ and corroding cares exiſt. I have now, in ſhort,
“no wiſh,except that, when death relieves me both
“from pleaſure and from pain, I may recline my
“head upon the boſom of a friend, whoſe eyes,
“while he performs the laſt office of cloſing mine,
“will drop a deploring tear upon my departing
“ſpirit, and convey my remains, with friendly
“care, to a decent tomb in my native country.”
THESE were the ſentiments of the philoſopher:
but, after a ſhort interval, the man returned once
again to the city of Avignon, and only viſited his
retreat at Vaucluſe occaſionally. -
PETRARch, however, by theſe continued en-
deavours to ſubdue the violence of his paſſion, ac-
tº . . . . w O 3 quired
198 the Influence of solitude
$
quired a ſublimity and richneſs of imagination
which diſtinguiſhed his character, and gave him
an aſcendancy over the age in which he lived,
greater than any of the literati have ſince attained.
To uſe the expreſſion of the poet, he was capable
of paſſing, with the happieſt facility,
“From grave to gay, from lively to ſevere :”
and was enabled, as occaſion required, to conceive
the boldeſt enterprizes, and to execute them with
the moſt heroic courage. He who languiſhed,
fighed, and even wept, with unmanly ſoftneſs, at
the feet of his miſtreſs, breathing only the tender
and affectionate language of gentle love, no ſooner
turned his thoughts towards the tranſačtions of
Rome, than he aſſumed a higher tone, and not
only wrote, but acted, with all the ſtrength and
ſpirit of the Auguſtan age. Monarchs have re-
linquiſhed the calls of hunger, and the charms of
reſt, to indulge the tender luxuries his love-lorn
muſe afforded.* But at a more advanced age he
was no longer a ſighing minſtrel, chaunting amo-
rous verſes to a relentleſs fair; he was no longer.
an effeminate ſlave, that kiſſed the chains of an
imperious miſtreſs, who treated him with diſdain;
he became a zealous republican, who ſpread by
his writings the ſpirit of liberty throughout Italy,
and
* Robert, King of Naples, frequently ſtole from buſineſs of
the moſt ſerious kind to read the works of Petrarch, without
thinking either of his meals or his bed.

~ UPON THE HEART. I99
and ſounded a loud alarm againſt tyranny and
tyrants. Great as a ſtateſman, profound and ju-
dicious as a public miniſter, he was conſulted in
the moſt important political tranſačtions of Eu-
rope, and frequently employed in the moſt arduous
and difficult negociations. Zealouſly active in
the cauſe of humanity, he anxiouſly endeavoured,
on all occaſions, to extinguiſh the torch of diſ-
cord. The greateſt Princes, conſcious of his ex-
traordinary genius, ſolicited his company, and en-
deavoured, by liſtening to his precepts, to learn
the noble art of rendering their countries reſpect-
able and their people happy.
THEse traits of Petrarch's chara&ter clearly
evince, that, oppreſſed as he was by the paſſion of
love, he derived great advantages from Solitude.
The retirement of Vaucluſe was not, as is com-
monly imagined, a pretence to be nearer the per-
ſon of Laura, for Laura reſided altogether at
Avignon; but a means of avoiding the frowns of
his miſtreſs, and of flying from the contagion of a
corrupt court. Seated in his little garden, which
was ſituated at the foot of a lofty mountain, and
ſurrounded by a rapid ſtream, his ſoul roſe ſuperior
to the adverſities of his fate. His diſpoſition, in-
deed, was naturally reſtleſs and unquiet; but in
his tranquil moments, a ſound judgment, joined to
an exquiſite ſenſibility, enabled him to enjoy the
. O 4 delights


200 THE INFLUENCE OF SOLITUDE
delights of Solitude with fingular advantage;
and to find in his retreat to Vaucluſe the temple
of peace, the reſidence of calm repoſe, and a ſafe
harbour againſt all the tempeſts of the ſoul.
THE flame of love, therefore, although it can-
not be entirely extinguiſhed, may be greatly puri-
fied and refined by Solitude. Man, indeed, ought
not to extirpate the paſſions which the God of
Nature has planted in the human breaſt, but to
direct them to their proper ends.
To avoid ſuch miſeries as Petrarch endured,
the pleaſures of retirement ſhould be ſhared with
ſome amiable female, who, better than the cold
precepts of philoſophy, will beguile or baniſh,
by the charms of her converſation, all the cares
and torments of life.*
IT
* Dr. Johnſon related, with ałł amiable fondneſs, the fol-
w lowing little - pleaſing circumſtance relative to his Rambler, to
his biographer, Mr. Boſwell. After a few numbers of that
highly celebrated work were publiſhed, he ſhewed ſeveral of them
to Mrs. johnſon, the companion of his Solitude, and in whoſe
taſte and judgment he had great confidence : “I thought very
“ well of you before,” ſaid ſhe, “but I did not imagine you
“ could have written any thing equal to this.”—“ Diſtant
“ praiſe,” continues Mr. Boſwell, “ from whatever quar-
“ter, is not ſo delightful as that of a wife whom a man loves
“ and eſteems : her approbation may be ſaid to come home to his
“ boſon; and being ſo near, its effect is moſt ſenſible and per-

. UPON THE HEART, 2OI
It has been ſaid by a very ſenſible author, that
“ the preſence of one thinking being like ourſelves,
“whoſe boſom glows with ſympathy, and whoſe
“ affection we poſſeſs, ſo far from deſtroying the
‘ advantages of Solitude, renders them more fa-
“vourable. If, like me, you owe your happineſs
“ to the fond attention of a wife, you will ſoon
“be induced, by her kindneſs, by her tender and
“unreſerved communication of every ſentiment
“ of her mind, of every feeling of her heart, to
“forget the ſociety of the world; and your hap-
“ pineſs will be as pleaſingly diverſified as the
“employments and the viciſſitudes of your lives.”
&
&
The orator who ſpeaksſo eloquently muſt have
felt with exquiſite ſenſibility the pleaſures he de-
ſcribes. “Here,” ſays he, “every kind expreſſion
“is remembered; the emotions of one heart cor-
“reſpond with thoſe of the other; every thought
“ is treaſured up; every teſtimony of affection is
* returned; the happy pair enjoy in each other's
“ company all the pleaſures of the mind; and
* there is no felicity which does not communicate
“ itſelf to their hearts. To beings thus united by
• the ſincereſt affection, and the cloſeſt friendſhip,
“everything that is ſaid or done, every wiſh, and
“every event, becomes mutually important. No
“jealous fear, no envious ſtings, diſturb their hap-
“ pineſs; faults are pointed out with cautious ten-
* derneſs
&
4.
6.

202 THE INFLUENce of solitude
“derneſs and good nature; looks beſpeak the in-
“clinations of the ſoul; every wiſh and every
“ deſire is anticipated; every view and intention
“aſſimilated; and, the ſentiments of one con-
“forming to thoſe of the other, each rejoices with
“cordiality at the ſmalleſt advantage which the
“other acquires.”* º
THUs it is that the Solitude which we ſhare
with an amiable obječt produces tranquillity,
ſatisfaction, and heart-felt joy ; and makes the
humbleſt cottage a dwelling-place of the pureſt
pleaſure.
Love in the ſhades of retirement, while the
mind and the heart are in harmony with each
other, inſpires the nobleſt ſentiments; raiſes the
underſtanding to the higheſt ſphere of intelle&t;
fills the boſom with increaſed benevolence; de-
ſtroys
* This deſcription of connubial happineſs, and the effects of
virtuous love, recall thoſe beautiful lines of Mr. Pope in his
Epiſtle from Elºíſa to Abelard:
“Oh happy ſtate' when ſouls each other draw,
* When love is liberty, and nature law 5
“All then is full, poſſeſſing and poſſeſs'd,
* No craving void left aching in the breaſt :
“E'en thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
“And each warm wiſh ſprings mutual from the heart.
“This ſure is bliſs, if bliſs on earth there be,
“And once the lot of Abelard and me.”
UPON THE HEART. 203
ſtroys all the ſeeds of vice; and ameliorates and
extends all the virtues. By its delightful influ-
ence the attack of ill-humour is reſiſted; the vio-
lence of our paſſions abated; the bitter cup of hu-
man afflićtion ſweetened; all the injuries of the
world alleviated; and the ſweeteſt flowers plenti-
fully ſtrewed along the moſt thorny paths of life.
Every unhappy ſufferer, whether the malady be of
the body or the mind, derives from this ſource ex-
traordinary comfort and conſolation. At a time,
alas! when everything diſpleaſed me, when every
objećt was diſguſting, when my ſufferings had de-
ſtroyed all the energy and vigour of my ſoul, when
grief had ſhut from my ſtreaming eyes the beauties
of nature, and rendered the whole univerſea dreary
tomb, the kind attentions of a wife were capable
of conveying a ſecret charm, a ſilent conſolation
to my mind. Oh! nothing can render the bowers
of retirement ſo ſerene and comfortable, or can ſo
ſweetly ſoften all our woes, as a convićtion that
woman is not indifferent to our fate.
Solitude, it is true, will not completely heal
every wound which this imperious paſſion is capa-
ble of inflićting on the human heart; but it teaches
us to endure our pains without wiſhing for relief,
and enables us to convert them into ſoft ſorrow
and plaintive grief. .” > . . . .
Both
204 THE INFLUENce of solitude
Both ſexes in early youth, but particularly fe-
males from fifteen to eighteen years of age, who
poſſeſs high ſenſibilities, and lively imaginations,
generally feel, during the ſolitude of rural retire-
int, a ſoft and pleaſing melancholy, when their
ns beginto heave with the firſt propenſities of
---> They wander every where in ſearch of a
ved object, and figh for one alone, long before
irt is fixed in its affection, or the mind con-
is of its latent inclination. I have frequently
ſerved this diſpoſition unaccompanied by any
mptom of ill health. It is an original malady.
uſeau felt its influence at Vevai, upon the
orders of the Lake of Geneva. “My heart,”
ys he, “ruſhed with ardour from my boſom into
a thouſand innocent felicities; and, melting into
tenderneſs, I fighed and wept like a child. How
§...” my feelings, and
ereſt emotion, the delightful borders of the Lake of Geneva;
the enchanting ſpectacle which nature there exhibits, and the
vaſt and majeſtic horizon which that maſs of water preſents to
the view. Who has ever returned from this ſcene without turn-
ing his eyes again on the intereſting view, and experiencing
the ſame affliction with which the heart ſeparates from a beloved
friend whom we have no expećtation ever to ſee again *

















det,
3.

















UPON THE HEART. 205
*
RETIREMENT, however, is not equally favour-
able to every ſpecies of afflićtion. Some boſoms are
ſo exquiſitely alive to the ſenſe of misfortune, that
the indelible remembrance of the object of their
affection preys upon their minds: the reading of a
ſingle line written by the hand they loved freezes
their blood; the very fight of the tomb which has
ſwallowed up the remains of all their ſoul held
dear is intolerable to their eyes. On ſuch beings,
alas! the heavens ſmile in vain: to them the new-
born flowers and the twittering groves, proclaim-
ing the approach of ſpring, and the regeneration of
vegetable nature, bring no charms: the garden's
variegated hues irritate their feelings; and the ſi-
lent retreats from which they once expected con-
ſolation only increaſe their pains. Such refined
and exquiſite feelings, the offspring of warm and
generous paſſions, are real misfortunes; and the
malady they engender requires to be treated with
the mildeſt attention and the tendereſt care.
But to minds of ſofter temper, Solitude poſ-
ſeſſes many powerful charms, although the loſſes
they deplore are equally great. Such characters
feel, indeed, a ſenſe of their misfortune in its ut-
moſt poſſible extent, but they ſoften its acuteneſs
by yielding to the natural mildneſs of their diſpoſi-
tions: they plant upon the fatal tomb the weeping %
. % willow
206 THE INFLUENCE of sol1t UDE
willow and the ephemeral roſe; they erect mauſo-
lea; compoſe funeral dirges; and render the very
emblems of death the means of conſolation. Their
hearts are continually occupied by the idea of thoſe
whom their eyes deplore; and they exiſt, under
the ſenſations of the trueſt and moſt ſincere ſor-
row, in a kind of middle ſtate, between earth and
heaven. This ſpecies of ſorrow is of the happieſt
kind. Farbeit from me to ſuppoſe it in the leaſt
degree affected. But I call ſuch charaćters happy
mourners; becauſe, from the very frame and tex-
ture of their conſtitutions, grief does not deſtroy
the energy of their minds, but permits them to
find conſolation in thoſe things which, to minds
differently conſtrućted, would create averſion.
They feel a heavenly joy in purſuing employ-
ments which preſerve the memory of thoſe who
are the ſubjećts of their ſorrow.
Solitude will enable the heart to vanquiſh the
moſt painful ſenſe of adverſity, provided the mind
will generouſly lend its aid, and fix its attention to
a different objećt. If men think there is any
misfortune from which they have no other re-
ſource than deſpair or death, they deceive them-
ſelves; for deſpair is no reſource. Let ſuch men
retire to their ſtudies, and there ſeriouſly trace
out a ſeries of important and ſettled truths, and
- their
UPON THE HEART. 207
their tears will no longer fall; but the weight of
their misfortunes will grow light, and ſorrow fly
from their breafts.
Solitude, by encouraging the enjoyments of
the heart, by promoting domeſtic felicity, and by
creating a taſte for rural ſcenery, ſubdues impati-
ence, and drives away ill-humour. Impatience is
a ſtifled anger, which men filently manifeſt by
looks and geſtures, and weak minds ordinarily
reveal by a ſhower of complaints. A grumbler
is never farther from his proper ſphere than when
he is in company: Solitude is his only aſylum.
Ill-humour is an uneaſy and inſupportable condi-
tion, which the ſoul frequently falls into when
ſoured by a number of thoſe petty vexations which
we daily experience in every ſtep of our progreſs
through life; but we need only to ſhut the door
againſt improper and diſagreeable intruſions to
avoid this ſcourge of happineſs.
Vexations, indeed, of every kind, are much
ſooner quieted in the filence of retirement than in
the noiſe of the world. A cheerful diſpoſition, a
placid temper, and well-regulated paſſions, will
prevent worldly vexations from interrupting our
happineſs. By theſe attainments, the deepeſt me-
lancholy, and moſt ſettled uneaſineſs of life, have
been frequently baniſhed from the heart. It is
true,
208 THE INFLUENce of solitude
true, that the progreſs in this caſe is much more
rapid in women than in men. The mind of alively
female flies immediately to happineſs, while that
of a melancholy man ſtill creeps on with pain: the
yielding boſoms of the fair are eaſily elevated or
depreſſed. Theſe effects, it is true, may be pro-
duced by means leſs abſtraćted than Solitude ; by
anything that ſtrikes the ſenſes, and penetrates the &
heart. Men, on the contrary, augment the diſeaſe,
and fix it more firmly in the boſom, by brooding
over its cauſe and conſequences, and are obliged to
apply the moſt efficacious remedies, with unſhaken
conſtancy, to effect a cure; for feeble preſcriptions
are, in ſuch caſes, of no avail. The only chance,
indeed, of ſucceſs, is by exerting every endeavour
to place the body under the regimen of the mind.
V igorous mindsfrequ tly baniſh the moſt invete-
- or form a power ul ſhield againſt all the
* ~ * * * ***** ng every danger, drive
fºg. ... others are irritated
wº boldly turn their eyes from
with determined reſolution ſupport the bodies they
are deſigned to animate; while weak minds ſur-
render every thing committed to their care.
#.
he
The ſoul, however, always follows what is
moſt agreeable to its ruling paſſion. Worldly men
generally delight in gaming, feaſting, and debau-
-: - chery :








UPON THE HEART. - 209
chery; while thoſe who are fond of Solitude feel,
from a conſciouſneſs of its advantages, no enjoy-
ments equal to thoſe its peaceful ſhades afford.
I Now conclude my refle&tions upon the advan-
tages of Solitude to the heart. May they give
greater currency to uſeful ſentiments, to conſola-
tory truths, and contribute in ſome degree to dif-
fuſe the enjoyment of a happineſs which is ſo
much within our reach
P

2 IO THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES
CHAPTE R THE FOUR T H.
THE GENERAL Advant Ages
OF RETIREMENT.
RETIREMENT engages the affections of
men whenever it holds up a pićture of tranquil-
lity to their view. ..
THE doleful and monotonous found of the clock
of a ſequeſtered monaſtry, the filence of nature in
a ſtill night, the pure air on the ſummit of a high
mountain, the thick dar tneſs of an aged foreſt,
the fight of a temple fallen into ruins, inſpire the
ſoul with a ſoft melancholy, and baniſh all recol-
of the world and its concerns.
man who cannot hold a friendly corre-
e with his own heart, who derives no
rt from the reflections of his mind, who
the idea of meditation, and is fearful of paſſ.
ing a ſingle moment with himſelf, looks with
equal dread on Solitude and on Death. He endea-
vours to enjoy all the voluptuouſneſs which the
world affords; drains the pernicious cup of plea-
ſure to its dregs; and until the dreadful moment
:3: § approaches
#







of RetIREMENT. 2 II
*
approaches when he beholds his nerves ſhattered,
and all the powers of his ſoul deſtroyed, has not
the courage to make the delayed confeſſion, “I
“am tired of the world and all its idle follies /*
THE legions of fantaſtic faſhions to which a
man of pleaſure is obliged to ſacrifice his time, im-
pair the rational faculties of his mind, and deſtroy
the native energies of his ſoul. Forced continu-
ally to lend himſelf to the performance of a thou-
ſand little trifles, a thouſand mean abſurdities, he
becomes by habit frivolous and abſurd. The face
of things no longer wears its true and genuine
aſpect; and his depraved taſte loſes all reliſh for
rational entertainment or ſubſtantial pleaſure. The
infatuation ſeizes on his brain, and his corrupted
heart teems with idle fancies and vain imagina-
tionS. §
THE inevitable conſequences of this ardent pur-
ſuit of entertainments and diverſions are languor
and diſlatisfaction. He who has drained the cup
of pleaſure to the laſt drop, who is at length
obliged to confeſs that all his hopes are fled, who
finds diſappointment and diſguſt mingled with
every enjoyment, who feels aſtoniſhed at his own
inſenſibility, and who no longer poſſeſſes the magic
of the enchantreſs Imagination to gild and deco-
rate the ſcene, calls in vain to his aſſiſtance the
P 2 Ż daughters
%
212 THE GENERAL AdvantAGEs
daughters of Senſuality and Intemperance: their
careſſes can no longer delight his dark and melan-
choly mind: the ſoft and ſyren ſong of Luxury
no longer can diſpel the cloud of diſcontent that
hovers round his head.
Behold that debilitated weakold man running
after pleaſures he can no longer enjoy. The airs
of gaiety which he affects render him ridiculous:
his attempts to ſhine expoſe him to deriſion: his
endeavours to diſplay the wit and eloquence of
youth betray him into the garrulity of old age.
His converſation, filled with repetition and tire-
ſome narrative, creates diſguſt, and only forces the
ſmile of pity from the lips of his youthful rivals.
To the eye of wiſdom, however, who obſerved
him through all the former periods of his life
ſparkling in the mazes of folly, and rioting in all
the noiſy circles of extravagance and vice, his
“A languid, leaden iteration reigns,
“And ever muſt, o'er thoſe whoſe joys are joys
“Of fight, ſmell, taſte. The cuckow-ſeaſons ſing
“The ſame dull note to ſuch as nothing prize,
“But what thoſe ſeaſons, from the teeming earth,
“To doating ſenſe indulge. But nobler minds,
“Which reliſh fruits unripened by the ſun,
“Make their days various; various as the dyes
“On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays.
ğ ** On

OF RETIREMENT. 213
“On minds of dove-like innocence poſſeſt,
“On lighten’d minds, that baſk in Virtue's beams,
“Nothing hangs tedious—.” .
THE wiſe man, in the midſt of the moſt tumul-
tuous pleaſures, frequently retires within himſelf,
and ſilently compares what he might do with
what he is doing. Surrounded by, and even when
accidentally engaged in, the exceſſes of intoxica-
tion, he aſſociates only with thoſe warm and ge-
nerous ſouls whoſe highly elevated minds are
drawn towards each other by the moſt virtuous
inclinations and ſublime ſentiments. The ſilent
retreat of the mind within itſelf, has more than
once given birth to enterprizes of the greateſt im-
portance and utility; and it is not difficult to ima-
gine that ſome of the moſt celebrated ačtions of
mankind were firſt inſpired among the ſounds of
muſic, or conceived amidſt the mazes of the dance.
Senſible and elevated minds never commune more
cloſely with themſelves than in thoſe places of
public reſort in which the low and vulgar, ſur-
rendering themſelves to illuſion and caprice, be-
come incapable of reflection, and blindly ſuffer
themſelves to be overwhelmed by the ſurrounding
torrent of folly and diſtraćtion.
The unceaſing purſuit of ſenſual enjoyment is :
merely a mean uſed by the votaries of worldly
P 3 pleaſure
214 THE GENERAL ADVANT AGEs
pleaſure of flying from themſelves: they ſeize with
avidity upon any obječt that promiſes to occupy the
preſent hour agreeably, and provide entertainment
for the day that is paſſing over their heads. To
ſuch characters the man who can invent hour after
hour new ſchemes of pleaſure, and open day after
day freſh ſources of amuſement, is a valuable
companion indeed: he is their beſt, their only
friend. Are then theſe lazy and luxurious votaries
offenſual pleaſures deſtitute ofthoſeabilities which
might prevent this ſacrifice of time, and, if pro-
perly exerted, afford them relief? Certainly not.
But, having been continually-led from objećt to
obječt in the purſuit of pleaſure, the aſſiſtance of
others has habitually become the firſt want and
greateſt neceſſity of their lives: they have inſenſi-
bly loſt all power of a&ting for themſelves, and de-
pend, for every object they ſee, for every ſenſation
they feel, for every ſentiment they entertain, on
thoſe by whom they are attended. This is the
reaſon why the rich, who are ſeldom acquainted
with any other pleaſures than thoſe of ſenſe,
are, in general, the moſt miſerable of man-
kind. g

The Nobility and Courtiers of France think
their enjoyments appear vain and ridiculous only to
thoſe who have not the opportunity of partaking in
them; but I am of a different opinion. Returning
º - On C
of RETIREMENT. 215
one Sunday from Trianon to Verſailles, I per-
ceived at a diſtance a number of people aſſem-
bled upon the terrace of the caſtle; and, on a
nearer approach, I beheld Louis the Fifteenth
ſurrounded by his court at the windows of his pa-
lace. A man very richly dreſſed, with a large pair
of branching antlers faſtened on his head, whom
they called the ſtag, was purſued by about a dozen
others who compoſed the pack. The purſued
and the purſuers leaped into the great canal,
ſcrambled out again, and ran wildly round and
round, amidſt the acclamations of the aſſembly,
who loudly clapped their hands to teſtify their de-
light, and to encourage the diverſion. “What can
“all this mean?” ſaid I to a French gentleman
who ſtood near me. “Sir,” he replied, with a
very ſerious countenance, “it is for the enter-
tainment of the Court.” The moſt obſcure and
indigent individuals may certainly be much hap-
pier than theſe maſters of mankind with their
melancholy ſlaves and miſerable entertainments.
“But all, alas! would into fame advance,
“From fancied merit in this idle dance:
“The tavern, park, aſſembly, maſk, and play,
“Thoſe dear deſtroyers of the tedious day,
“Are call’d by fops, who ſaunter round the town,
“Splendid diverſions; and the pill goes down;
“Where fools meet fools, and, ſtoic-like, ſupport,
“Without one figh, the pleaſures of a Court.
- -- P 4 ** But

216 THE GENERAL ADVANTAG es
“But courts give nothing to the wife and good,
“But ſcorn of pomp, and love of Solitude.
“High ſtations tumult, but not bliſs, create;
“None think the great unhappy but the great.
“Fools gaze and envy; envy darts a ſting
“Which makes a Swain as wretched as a King.”
DIREFUL condition Is there then no occupa-
tion whatſoever, nouſeful employment, no ration-
al recreation, ſufficiently high and dignified for
ſuch chara&ters? Are they reduced to the melan-
choly condition of not being able to perform one
good and virtuous action during the intervals of
ſuſpended pleaſure ? Can they render no ſervices
to friendſhip, to their country, to themſelves?
Are there no poor and miſerable beings, to whoſe
boſoms they might afford charitable comfort and
relief? Is it, in ſhort, impoſſible for ſuch charac-
ters in any way to improve themſelves in wiſdom
or in virtue?

THE powers of the human mind are of greater
extent than is generally imagined. He who, either
from taſte or neceſſity, exerciſes them frequently, %
ſoon finds that the higheſt felicities of which our
nature is capable reſide entirely within ourſelves.
The wants of life are, for the greater part, merely
artificial; and, although ſenſual objećts contribute
moſt efficaciouſly to our happineſs and delight,it is
& # 33.3% .
of Retirement. 217

not becauſe they are indiſpenſably neceſſary for
this purpoſe, but becauſe they have been rendered
deſirable by habit; and, from the pleaſures they
produce, we flatter ourſelves that they are ab-
ſolutely neceſſary to our felicity. If, however,
we had fortitude to reſiſt their charms, and courage
to ſeek our happineſs in ourſelves, we ſhould fre-
quently find in our own boſoms a greater variety
of reſources than all the objećts of ſenſe are capable
of affording.
AMUs EMENT, indeed, may ſometimes be found
in thoſe places to which the ſexes reſort merely
to ſee and to be ſeen. The eye may be occaſionally
gratified by the fight of obječts really agreeable;
the ear may liſten to obſervations truly flattering.
Lively thoughts and ſenſible remarks now and then
prevail. Characters equally amiable and intereſt-
ing occaſionally mix among the group. We may
form acquaintance with men of diſtinguiſhed me-
rit, whom we ſhould not otherwiſe have had an
opportunity of knowing; and meet with women
of amiable qualities, and irreproachable condućt,
whoſe refined converſation raviſhes the ear with a
delight equal to that with which their exquiſite
beauty captivates the heart. But by whatanumber
of painful ſenſations muſt the chance of receiving
theſe pleaſures be purchaſed! Thoſe whom reaſon
or diſguſt reſtrain from mixing in the idle diffipa-
tions

218 the General Advant Ages
tions of life, cannot ſee without a figh, the gay
conceit, the airy confidence, the blind arrogance,
and the boldloquacity, with which theſe votaries of
worldly pleaſure proclaima felicity which is almoſt
invariably deceitful; nor obſerve without a figh,
the extravagant joy of ſo many great men, the ab-
ſurd airs of ſo many old dowagers, and the ridicu-
lous fopperies of ſo many grey-headed children.
“What numbers here through love of pleaſure ſtrive
“To ſeem the moſt tranſported things alive
“As if by joy deſert was underſtood,
“And all the rich and great were wiſe and good.
“Here aching boſoms wear a viſage gay,
“And ſtifled groans frequent the ball or play.
“Completely dreſs'd in fin'ry and grimace,
“They ſhew their birth-day ſuits and public face.
“Their ſmiles are only part of what they wear,
“Put off at night, like Lady Betty’s hair.
“What bodily fatigue is half ſo bad
“How anxiouſly they labour to be glad tº
HoNour, Fame, and Pleaſure, are conceived to
accompany an invitation to the board of Luxury;
although Diſeaſe, with leaden ſceptre, is knownto
preſide; and reproach and calumny are indiſcrimi-,
nately caſt upon the pureſt charaćters. But he
who feels the leaſtenergy of mind, turns with aver-
fion from all ſociety which tends to weaken its ef-
feet; and finds the ſimpleſt fare, enjoyed with free-
. 3. dom

of RETIREMENT. 219
dom and content amidſt a happy and affectionate
family, ten thouſand times more agreeable than
the rareſt dainty, and the richeſt wine, with a ſo-
ciety where he muſt ſit ceremoniouſly ſilent in
compliment to ſome reputed wit, from whoſe lips
nothing but abſurdities and nonſenſe proceed.
THE ſpiritleſs and crowded ſocieties of the
world, where a round of low and trifling amuſe-
ments fills the hour of entertainment, and where
to diſplay a pomp of dreſs and levity of manner is
the only ambition, may afford ſome pleaſure to
thoſe light and empty minds who are impatient of
the weight of idleneſs; but the wiſe man, who
occaſionally reſorts to them in ſearch of rational
converſation or temporary amuſement, and only
finds a dull unvaried jargon, and a tireſome round
of compliments, will turn with averſion from theſe
temples of falſe delight, and exclaim, in the lan-
guage of the poet,
“I envy none their pageantry and ſhow;
“I envy none the gilding of their woe.
“Give me, indulgent Gods 1 with mind ſerene,
“And guiltleſs heart, to range the ſylvan ſcene.
“No ſplendid poverty, no ſmiling care,
“No well-bred hate or ſervile grandeur there:
“There pleaſing objects uſeful thoughts ſuggeſt;
“The ſenſe is raviſh'd, and the ſoul is bleſt:
** On
220 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
“On every thorn delightful wiſdom grows,
“In every rill a ſweet inſtruction flows.”
TRUE ſocial pleaſure is founded on unlimited
confidence, on an affectionate and reciprocal inter-
change of ſentiments and opinions. A tender,
faithful, refined, and rational friendſhip, renders
the pleaſures of the world ſpiritleſs and diſguſting.
How joyfully do we diſencumber ourſelves from
the ſhackles of ſociety, for that cloſe and ſublime
intercourſe in which our inclinations are free, our
feelings generous, our ſentiments unbiaſed; where
a mutuality of thought and ačtion, of pleaſures
and of pains, uninterruptedly prevail; where the
gentle hand of Love conducts us along the paths
of truth and virtue; where every thought is an-
ticipated before it eſcapes from the lips; where ad-
vice, conſolation, ſuccour, are reciprocally given
and received in all the accidents and in all the
misfortunes of life The ſoul, touched by the
charm of friendſhip, ſprings from its apathy and
deječtion, and views the enlivening beam of hope
awakening it to activity. The happy pair, caſting
a retroſpective glance on the time paſſed, mutually
exclaim with the tendereſt emotions, “Oh the
“delights that we have already experienced Oh
“the joys that we have already felt!” If the tear
of afflićtion ſteal down the cheek of the one, the
zzº. other

of Retirement. 221
other with affection wipes it tenderly away. The
ſorrows of one are felt with equal ſenſibility by
the other: and what ſorrow will not an intercourſe
of hearts, ſo cloſely and affectionately united, en-
tirely ſubdue? Day after day they communicate
to each other all that they have ſeen, all that they
have heard, all that they feel, and everything that
they know. Time flies before them on his ſwifteſt
pinions. They are never tired of each other's
company and converſation. The only misfortune
they fear, the greateſt indeed they can poſſibly ex-
perience, is the misfortune of being ſeparated by
occaſional abſence or untimely death.
But human happineſs is continually expoſed to
interruption. At the very moment, alas! when
we vainly think ourſelves the moſt ſecure, Fate,
by a ſudden blow, ſtrikes its unhappy vićtim even
in our arms. All the pleaſures of life then ſeem
for ever extinguiſhed, every obječt alarms our
mind, and every place ſeems deſart and forlorn.
In vain are our arms extended to embrace our loved
though loſt companion; in vain do we invoke her
return. Her well-known ſtep ſtill ſeems to beat
upon the liſtening ear, and promiſe her approach;
but ſuſpended ſenſe returns, and the deluſive ſounds
are heard no more. A death-like filence reigns
around, and involves us in the ſhades of dreary ſo-
litude, unconſcious of everything but our bleeding
hearts.
222 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES
hearts. Wearied and dejećted, we imagine our-
ſelves no longer capable of loving or of being be-
loved; and life without love, to the heart that
has once felt its pleaſures, is more terrible than
death. So ſudden a tranſition from the higheſt
happineſs to the deepeſt miſery overpowers the
mind. No kind friend appears to aſſuage our ſuf-
ferings, or ſeems capable of forming an adequate
idea of our diſtreſs. The pangs, indeed, which
ſuch a loſs inflićts, cannot be conceived, unleſs they
have been felt. The only conſolation of the un-
happy ſufferer is to live in Solitude, and his only
wiſh to die alone. But is is under circumſtances
like theſe that Solitude enjoys its greateſt triumph,
and the afflićted ſufferer receives the greateſt bene-
fits; for there is no ſorrow, however great, no
& pang, however powerful, that it will not, when
wiſely indulged, at firſt ſoften, and at length ſub-
due. The remedy, however, which Solitude “ad-
miniſters to a mind diſeaſed,” is ſlow and gradual;
for the art of living alone requires ſo much experi-
ence, is ſubjećt to ſo many caſualties, and depends
ſo materially upon the temperament of the patient,
that it is neceſſary we ſhould attain a complete
maturity before any great advantages can be de-
rived from it. But he who is able to throw off
the galling yoke of prejudice, and poſſeſſes a na-
tural eſteem and fondneſs for retirement, will not
‘. . . . . . . . . . . . . .”.” be


OF RETIREMENT, 223
be embarraſſed as to the choice he ought to make
under ſuch circumſtances. Indifferent to external
obječts, and averſe from the diffipations of the
world, he will rely on the powers of his mind,
and will never be leſs alone than when he is
in the company of himſelf. -
Men of genius are frequently condemned to
employments as diſagreeable to the turn and tem-
per of their minds, as the moſt nauſeous medicine
muſt be to an empty ſtomach. Confined to toil
on a dry and diſguſting ſubječt, fixed to a par-
ticular ſpot, and harraſſed by ſubordinate duties,
they relinquiſh all expectation of tranquillity on
this ſide the grave. Deprived of enjoying the
common pleaſures of nature, every objećt increaſes
their diſguſt. “It is not for us,” they exclaim,
“that the youthfulzephyrs call forth the budding
“foliage with their careſſing breath; that the
“feathered choir chant in enlivening ſtrains
“ their rural ſongs; that the verdant meadows
“are decked with fragrant flowers.” But ſet
theſe complainants free, give them liberty and
leiſure to think for themſelves, and the enthuſiaſm
of their minds will ſoon regenerate, and ſoar into
the higheſt regions of intelle&tual happineſs, with
the bold wing and penetrating eye of the bird of
224 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
If Solitude becapable of diffipating the afflićtions
of perſons thus circumſtanced, what may not beex-
pećted from its influence on thoſe who are enabled
toretire, at pleaſure, to its friendly ſhades, and who
have no other wiſh than to enjoy pure air and do-
meſtic felicity | When Antifthenes was aſked
what advantages philoſophy had afforded him, he
anſwered, “It has taught me to ſubdue myſelf.”
Pope ſays, he never laid his head upon his pillow,
without acknowledging that the moſt important
leſſon of life is to learn the art of being happy within
ourſelves. And it ſeems to me that we ſhall all
find what Pope looked for, when home is our con-
tent, and everything about us, even to the dog and
the cat, partakes of our affection.
It has, indeed, been truly obſerved by a cele-
brated philoſopher, that it is equally arrogant and
erroneous to imagine, than man is capable, by his
own exertions, of reaching real felicity. He may,
however, modify the natural diſpoſition of his ſoul,
chaſtiſe his taſte, curb his inclinations, ameliorate
his ſentiments, and even ſubdue his paſſions; and
thereby not only render himſelf leſs ſenſible of the
wants of life, but feel even ſatisfaction under the
moſt untoward circumſtances. . . . . . . . . . .
HEALTH is certainly eſſential to happineſs, and
yet there are circumſtances and ſituations under
º which
º
*
OF RETIREMENT, ºr 225
which the privation of it may be attended with
tranquillity. § 3. … . . . . . . . . . . º. º.º.º.º.º. º. ºº
How frequently have I returned thanks to God,
when indiſpoſition has prevented me from going
abroad, and enabled me to recruit my weakened
powers in ſolitude and ſilence Obliged to drag
through the ſtreets of the metropolis day after day
during a number of years, feeble in conſtitution,
weak in limbs; ſuſceptible, on feeling the ſmalleſt
cold, to the ſame ſenſation as if knives were ſepa-
rating the fleſh from the bone; continually ſur-
rounded, in the courſe of my profeſſion, with the
moſt afflićting ſorrows; it is not ſurpriſing that I
ſhould thank the Almighty with tears of gratitude,
on experiencing even the relief which a confine-
ment by indiſpoſition procured. A phyſician, if
he poſſeſs ſenſibility, muſt, in his anxiety to relieve
the ſufferings of others, frequently forget his own.
But, alas! how frequently muſt he feel all the hor-
rors of his ſituation, when he is ſummoned to at-
tend patients whoſe maladies are beyond the reach
of medicine ! Under ſuch circumſtances, the in-
diſpoſition which excuſes my attendance, and
leaves me the powers of thought, affords me com-
paratively a ſweet repoſe; and, provided I am not
diſturbed by the polite interruptions ofceremonious
viſitors, I enjoy a pleaſing ſolitude. One ſingle day
paſſed undiſturbed at home in literary leiſure, af-
Q & fords
The GENERAL Adv ANTAGEs
fords to my mind more real pleaſure than all the
circles of faſhionable entertainment are able to
beſtow.
The fear of being alone is no longer felt either
by the young or old, whenever the mind has ac-
quired the power of employing itſelf in ſome uſe-
ful or agreeable ſtudy. Ill-humour may be ba-
niſhed by adopting a regular courſe of reading.
Books, indeed, cannot be inſpected without pro-
ducing a beneficial effect, provided we always read
with a pen or pencil in our hand, and note down
the new ideas that may occur, or the obſervations
which confirm the knowledge we before poſſeſſed;
for readingbecomes not only uſeleſs, but fatiguing,
unleſs we apply the information it affords eitherto
our own characters, or to thoſe of other men. This
habit, however, may be eaſily acquired; and then
books become one of the moſt ſafe and certain an-
tidotes to laſſitude and diſcontent. By this means
a man becomes his own companion, and finds his
beſt and moſt cheerful friend in his own heart.
PLEASUREs of this kind certainly ſurpaſs in a
great degree all thoſe which reſult merely from the
indulgence of the ſenſes. The pleaſures of the
mind, generally ſpeaking, ſignify ſublime medita-
tion, the profound deductions of reaſon, and the
brilliant effuſions of the imagination; but there
; : ºº arC

OF RETIREMENT". 227
are alſo others, for the perfect enjoyment of which
neither extenſive knowledge nor extraordinary ta-
lents are neceſſary. Such are the pleaſures which
reſult from active labour; pleaſures equally within
the reach of the ignorant and learned, and not leſs
exquiſite than thoſe which reſult ſolely from the
mind. Manual exertions, therefore, ought never to
be deſpiſed. I am acquainted with gentlemen who
underſtand the mechaniſm of their watches, who
are able to work as painters, lockſmiths, carpen-
ters; and who are not only poſſeſſed of the tools
and implements of every trade, but know how to
uſe them. Such men never feel the leaſt diſquie-
tude from the want of ſociety, and are in general
the happieſt charaćters in exiſtence.
MENTAL pleaſures are within the reach of all
perſons who, free, tranquil, and affectionate, are
contented with themſelves, and at peace with
their fellow-creatures. The mind contemplates
the pranks of ſchool, the ſprightly aberrations of
our boyiſh days, the wanton ſtories of early youth,
our plays and paſtimes, and all the little hopes and
fears of infancy, with fond delight. Oh! with
what approving ſmiles, and ſoft regret, the aged
caſt their eyes upon thoſe happy times when youth-
ful incarnation prompted all their actions, when
every enterprize was undertaken with lively vi-
gour, and executed with undaunted courage; when
Q 2 - difficulties
228 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
difficulties were ſought, merely for the purpoſe of
ſurmounting them | Let us compare what we were
- formerly with what we are at preſent; or rather,
by giving our thoughts a freer range, reflecton the
various events, we have experienced or obſerved;
upon the means that the Almighty employs to raiſe
or ſink the proſperity of empires; upon the rapid
progreſs made, even in our time, in every art and
ſcience; upon the diffuſion of uſeful knowledge,
and the deſtruction of dangerous prejudices; upon
the empire which barbariſm and ſuperſtition have
gained, notwithſtanding the exertions of genius
and reaſon to prevent them; upon the ſublime power
of the human mind and its inefficient productions,
and languor will inſtantly diſappear, and tranquil-
lity, peace, and good-humour, prevail.
Thus advantage may in Solitude beattained and
reliſhed at every period of our lives; at the moſt
advanced age, as well as during the vigour of youth. .
He who to an unbroken conſtitution joins a free
and contented mind, and affiduouſly cultivates the
powers of his underſtanding, will, if his heart be
innocent, at all times enjoy the pureſt and moſt
unalterable pleaſures. Employment animates all
the functions of the ſoul, and calls forth their
higheſt energies. It is the ſecret conſciouſneſs
which every perſon of a lively imagination poſ-
ſeſſes, of the powers of the mind, and the dignity

OF RETIRE MENT. 229
they are capable of attaining, that creates that no-
ble anxiety and ardour which carries their efforts
to the ſublimeſt heights. But if, either by duty
or ſituation, we maintain too cloſe an intercourſe
with ſociety, if we are obliged, in ſpite of in-
clination, to ſubmit to frivolous and fatiguing
diffipations, it is only by quitting the tumult,
and entering into filent meditation, that we feel
that efferveſcence, that deſire to break from bond-
age, to fly from paſt errors, and avoid in future
every noiſy and tumultuous pleaſure.
The mind never feels with more energy and
ſatisfaction that it lives, that it is rational, great,
ačtive, free, and immortal, than during thoſe
moments in which it excludes idle and imper-
tinent intruders. %
OF all the vexations of life, there are none ſo in-
ſupportable as thoſe inſipid viſits, thoſe annoying
partialities, which occupy the time of frivolous
and faſhionable characters. “My thoughts,” ſays
Rouſſeau, “will only come when they pleaſe,
“ and not when I chooſe;” and therefore the in-
truſion of ſtrangers, or of mere acquaintances,
were always extremely odious to him. It was for
this reaſon alone that this extraordinary charaćter,
who ſeldom experienced an hour of tranquillity,
felt ſuch indignation againſt the importunate civi-
Q 3 lities
230 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
lities and empty compliments of common conver-
ſation, whilſt he enjoyed the rational intercourſe
of ſenſible and well-informed minds with the high-
eſt delight.” How frequently are the brighteſt
beams of intelle&t obſcured by aſſociating with low
* “I never could endure, “ ſays Rouſſeau, “the empty
“ and unmeaning compliments of common converſation: but
& ºt from converſation uſeful or ingenious, I have always felt the
sc higheſt pleaſure, and have never refuſed to partake of it.” In
one of thoſe very elegant and ſenſible Epiſtles which are publiſh-
ed under the title of “ Fitzoſborne's Letters,” the ideas which
Zimmerman ſeems to have entertained on this ſubject are very hap-
pily expreſſed. “I have had occaſion,” ſays the Writer, in a letter
to Palamedes, “a thouſand times, ſince I ſaw you, to wiſh myſelf
“ in the land where all things are forgotten ; at leaſt, that I did
“ not live in the memory of certain reſtleſs mortals of your ac-
“ quaintance, who are viſitors by profeſſion. The misfortune is,
“no retirement is ſo remote, nor ſanctuary ſo ſacred, as to af.
“ ford a protećtion from their impertinence; and though we were
• to fly to the deſart, and take refuge in the cells of ſaints and
* hermits, we ſhould be alarmed with their unmeaning voice,
“ crying even in the wilderneſs. They ſpread themſelves, in truth,
“ over the whole face of the land, and lay waſte the faireſt
“ hours of converſation. For my part (to ſpeak of them in a
“ ſtyle ſuitable to their taſte and talents) I look upon them not
“ as paying viſits, but viſitations; and am never obliged to give
“ audience to one of this ſpecies, that I do not confider my-
“ ſelf as under a judgment for thoſe numberleſs hours which I
e
&
&
g
•
{
4.
&
have ſpent in vain. If theſe ſons and daughters of idleneſs
and folly would be perſuaded to enter into an excluſive ſociety
among themſelves, the reſt of the world might poſſeſs their
moments unmoleſted: but nothing leſs will ſatisfy them than
opening a general commerce, and ſailing into every port where
choice or chance may drive them. Were we to live, indeed,
~ ** to


º
t
º
º
º
g
&
&
“
OF RETIREMENT. 231
and little minds ! how frequently do the ſoundeſt
underſtandings become frivolous, by keeping fri-
volous company For, although thoſe bright
beams are immediate emanations from the Deity
on the mind of man, they muſt be matured by me-
ditation and refle&tion, before they can give ele-
wation to genius, and conſiſtency to character.
VIRTUEs to which the mind cannot riſe even
when affiſted by the moſt advantageous intercourſe,
are frequently the fruits of Solitude. Deprived
for ever of the company and converſation of thoſe
whom we love and eſteem, we endeavour to charm
the uneaſy void by every effort in our power; but
while Love and Friendſhip lead us by the hand,
and cheriſh us by their care, we lean inceſſantly
on their boſoms, and remain inert. Solitude, were
it for this reaſon alone, is indiſpenſably neceſſary to
the human chara&ter; for when men are enabled
to depend on themſelves alone, the ſoul, toſſed
about by the tempeſts of life, acquires new vigour;
Q 4 learns
“ to the years of the Antediluvians, one might afford to reſign
“ ſome part of one's own time in charitable relief of the inſuffer-
“ able weight of theirs; but fince the days of man are ſhrunk into
“ a few haſty revolutions of the ſun, whole afternoons are much
“too conſiderable a ſacrifice to be offered up to tame civility.
“What heightens the contempt of this character is, that they
“ who have ſo much of the force, have always the leaſt of the
“ power of friendſhip : and though they will “ craze their cha-
“ riot wheels,” as Milton expreſſes it, to deſtroy your repoſ, they
“will not drive half the length of a ſtreet to aſſ; your diſtreſs.”

2 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES
learns to bear with conſtancy, or avoid with
addreſs, thoſe dangerous rocks on which vulgar
minds are inevitably wrecked ; and diſcovers con-
tinually new reſources, by which the mind re-
fiſts with ſtoic courage the rigours of its fate.
WEAK minds always conceive it moſt ſafe to
adopt the ſentiments of the multitude. They ne-
ver venture to expreſs an opinion upon any ſub-
jećt until the majority have decided; and blindly
follow the ſentiments of the many, whether upon
men or things, without troubling themſelves to
inquire who are right, or on which ſide truth
... preponderates. A love of equity and truth, in-
deed, is ſeldom found, except in thoſe who have
no dread of Solitude. Men of diffipation never
protećt the weak, or avenge the oppreſſed. If
the various and powerful hoſts of knaves and
fools are your enemies, if you have been injured
in your property by injuſtice, or traduced in your
fame by calumny, you muſt not fly for protećtion
and redreſs to men of light and diffipated charac-
ters; for they are merely the organs of error,
and the conduit-pipes of prejudice. -
THE knowledge of ourſelves is in Solitude more
eaſily and effectually acquired than in any other
ſituation; for we there live in habits of the ſtrićteſt
intimacy with our own boſoms. It is certainly
* - poſſible
\

of RETIREMENT. 233
poſſible for men to be deliberate and wiſe even
amidſt all the tumultuous folly of the world, eſpe-
cially if their principles be well fixed before they
enter on the ſtage of life; but integrity is un-
doubtedly more eaſily preſerved in the innocent
ſimplicity of Solitude, than in the corrupted inter-
courſes of Society. In the world how many men
pleaſe only by their vices ! How many profligate
villains, and unprincipled adventurers, of inſinuat-
ing manners, are well received only becauſe they
have learnt the art of adminiſtering to the follies,
the weakneſſes, and the vices of others | The
mind, intoxicated with the fumes of that incenſe
which artful flattery is continually offering to it,
is rendered incapable of juſtly appreciating the
chara&ters of men. On the contrary, we truly
diſcover in the ſilence of Solitude the inward com-
plexion of the heart; and learn not only what the
characters of men are, but what in truth and na-
ture they ought to be. -
How many new and uſeful diſcoveries may be
made by occaſionally forcing ourſelves from the
vortex of the world, and retiring to the calm en-
joyments of ſtudy and reflection To accompliſh
this end, it is only neceſſary to commune ſeriouſly
with our own hearts, and to examine our actions
with impartiality. The worldly-minded man, in-
deed, has reaſon to avoid this ſelf-examination, for
: the
THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES
+ ult would in all probability be painful to his
feelings; as he who only judges of himſelf by the
flattering opinions which others may have expreſſed
of hischaracter, will, inſuch aſcrutiny, behold with
ſurpriſe, that he is the miſerable ſlave of habit and
public opinion; ſubmitting himſelf with ſcrupu-
lous exačtneſs, and the beſt poſſible grace, to the
tyranny of faſhion and eſtabliſhed ceremony; ne-
ver venturing to oppoſe their influence, however
ridiculous and abſurd it may be ; and obſequiouſly
following the example of others, without daringto
reſiſt purſuits which every one ſeems ſo highly to
approve. He will perceive, that almoſt all his
thoughts and actions are engendered by a baſe
fear of himſelf, or ariſe from a ſervile complai-
ſance to others; that he only ſeeks to flatter the
vanities, and indulge the caprices, of his ſuperiors,
and becomes the contemptible miniſter of theſe
men, without daring to offer them the ſmalleſt
contradićtion, or hazard an opinion that is likely
to give them the leaſt diſpleaſure. Whoever
with calm confideration views this terrifying pic-
ture, will feel, in the ſilent emotions of his heart,
the neceſſity of occaſionally retiring into Soli-
tude, and ſeeking ſociety with men of nobler
ſentiments and purer principles.
therefore, who wiſhes to think
e, ſeek the retreats
of
Let everyone,
with dignity, or live with ea









of Ret IREMENT. 235
of Solitude, and enter into a friendly intercourſe
with his own heart. How ſmall a portion of true
philoſophy, with an enlightened underſtanding,
will render it humble and compliant! But in the
miſts of prejudice, dazzled by the intelle&tual glim-
meroffalſe lights, every one miſtakes thetruepath,
and ſeeks for happineſs in the ſhades of darkneſs,
and in the labyrinths of obſcurity. The habits of
retirement and tranquillity can alone enable us to
make a juſt eſtimate of men and things; and it is
by renouncing all the prepoſſeſſions which the cor-
ruptions of ſociety have implanted in the mind,
that we make the firſt advances towards the re-
ſtoration of reaſon, and the attainment of felicity.
We have hitherto only pointed out one claſs of
the general advantages which may be derived from
rational Solitude, but there are many others which
apply ſtill more cloſely to mens' buſineſs and bo-
ſoms. Who, alas ! is there that has not experi-
enced its comforting influence in the keeneſt ad-
verſities of life? Who is there that does not ſeek
relief from its friendly ſhades in the languors of
convaleſcence, in the pangs of afflićtion, and even
in that diſtreſsful moment, when death deprives
us of thoſe whoſe company was the charm and
ſolace of our lives Happy are they who know
the advantages of a religious retirement, of that º
holy reſt in which the virtues rivet themſelves
In Ort
236 the Gener Al Advant Ages
more cloſely to the ſoul, and in which every man,
when he is on the bed of death, devoutly wiſhes
he had lived.
But theſe advantages become more conſpicuous
when we compare the manner of thinking which
employs the mind of a ſolitary philoſopher with
that of a worldly ſenſualiſt; the tireſome and tu-
multuous life of the one with the eaſe and tranquil-
lity of the other; the horrors which diſturb the
death-bed of vice, with the calm figh which ac-
companies the expiring ſoul of virtue. This is the
awful moment in which we feel how important it
is to commune morally with ourſelves, and reli-
giouſly with our Creator; to enable us to bear the
ſufferings of life with dignity, and the pains of
death with eaſe.* -- THE
* Pont a Nus, a man celebrated among the early reſtorers
of Literature, thought the ſtudy of our own hearts of ſo much im-
portance, that he has recommended it from his tomb : Sum Jo-
“ANNEs Jovian us Pont AN us, quem amavirunt bone muſae,
“ſuſpexerunt viri probi, boneſaverunt regis domini; jam ſcio quiſm,
“veloqui potius fuerim ; ego vero te, hoſpes, naſcere in tenebris me-
“queo, ſed te ipſum ut noſcas rogo.”—Seneca alſo ſays, “Death
“falls heavy upon him who is too much known to others, and
“ too little to himſelf: z
“Illi mors gravis incubat
“ Qui, notus nimis omnibus,
** Ignotus moritur fibi.”
“To him, alas! to him I fear
“ The face of death will terrible appear,
- ** Who
OF RETIR EMENT. 237
The fick, the ſorrowful, and the diſcontented,
may find equal relief in Solitude; it adminiſters
a balm to their tortured ſouls, heals the deep and
painful wounds they have received, and in time
reſtores them to their priſtine health and vigour.
The deceitful ſhrine in which the intoxication of
ſenſuality involved health and happineſs diſappears,
and they behold, in the place of imaginary joys,
thoſe obječts only which afford realpleaſure. Proſ-
perity arrays every objećt in the moſt glowing and
delightful colours; but to adverſity everythingap-
pears black and diſmal. Nor are the errors of theſe
contrary extremes diſcovered until the moment
when the curtain drops, and diſſipates the illuſion:
the deceitful dream continues until the imagina-
tion is ſilenced. The unhappy then perceive that
the Almighty was watching over them, even when
they conceived themſelves entirely abandoned.
The happy then diſcover the vanity of thoſe plea-
ſures and amuſements to which they ſurrendered
themſelves ſo implicitly during the intoxication of
the world, and reflect ſeriouſly upon their miſcon-
dućt; upon their preſent ſtate and future deſtiny;
and upon the modes moſt likely to condućt them
:- to
“Who, in his life, flattºring his ſenſeleſs pride,
“ By being known to all the world beſide,
“ Does not himſelf, when he is dying, know,
“Nor what he is, nor whither he's to go.”
. Cowley.
238 the Gener Al AdvantAGEs
to true felicity. How miſerable ſhould webe, were
the Divine Providence to grant us everything we
deſire | At the very inſtant when we conceive all
the happineſs of our lives annihilated, God, per-
haps, is performing ſomething extraordinary in our
favour. Certain it is, that patience and perſeve-
rance will, in Solitude, convert the deepeſt ſorrow
into tranquillity and joy. Thoſe objećts which,
at a diſtance, appear menacing, loſe, on a nearer
approach, their diſagreeable aſpect, and, in the
event, frequently produce the moſt agreeable plea-
ſures. He who tries every expedient, who boldly
oppoſes himſelf to every difficulty, who ſteadily
reſiſts every obſtacle, who neglects no exertion
within his power, and relies with confidence on
the aſſiſtance of God, extračts from afflićtion both
its poiſon and its ſting, and deprives misfortune
of its vićtory.* ..
SoRRow

* Dr. Johnſon obſerves, that “It is one of the chief pre-
“cepts of the Stoical Philoſophy, that Man ſhould never ſuf-
“fer his happineſs to depend upon external circumſtances; a
“ precept, indeed, which that lofty ſect has extended beyond
“ the condition of human life, and in which ſome of them ſeem
“ to have comprized an utter excluſion of all corporeal pain and
“ pleaſure from the regard or attention of a wiſe man. Such
“ſapientia inſaniens, as Horace calls the doctrine of another ſect,
“ ſuch extravagance of philoſophy , can want neither authority
“ nor argument for its confutation: it is overthrown by the ex-
“ perience of every hour, and the powers of nature riſe up
“ againſt it. But,” continues he, “we may very properly in-
. . 3. gº quire,

OF RETIRE MENT. 239
tº
SoRRow, misfortune, and ſickneſs, ſoon render
Solitude eaſy and familiar to our minds. How
willingly do we renounce the world, and become
indifferent to all its pleaſures, when the infidious
eloquence of the paſſions is ſilenced, and our powers
are debilitated by vexation or ill health ! It is then
we perceive the weakneſs of thoſe ſuccours which
the world affords. How many uſeful truths, alas!
has the bed of ſickneſs and ſorrow inſtilled even
into the minds of Kings and Princes' truths which,
in the hour of health, they would have been unable
to learn amidſt the deceitful counſels of their pre-
tended friends. The time, indeed, in which a va-
letudinary is capable of employing his powers with
facility and ſucceſs, in a manner conformable to
his deſigns, is ſhort, and runs rapidly away. Thoſe
only who enjoy robuſt health can exclaim, “Time
“ is my own ; for he who labours under continual
ſickneſs and ſuffering, and whoſe avocations de-
pend on the public neceſſity or caprice, can never
ſay that that he has one moment to himſelf. He muſt
. . watch
“quire, how near to this exalted ſtate it is in our power to ap-
“ proach, how far we can exempt ourſelves from outward influ-
ences, and ſecure to our minds a ſtate of tranquillity : for
though the boaſt of abſolute independence is ridiculous and
-“vain, yet a mean flexibility to every impulſe, and a patient
“ ſubmiſſion to the tyranny of caſual troubles, is below the dig-
nity of that mind, which, however depraved, or weakened,
boaſts its derivation from a celeſtial original, and hopes for an
g
&
g
g
g

*
&
g
º
union with infinite goodneſs and invariable felicity.” "
w . Rambler, No. 6.
º
º
24o THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
watch the fleeting hours as they paſs, and ſeize an
interval of leiſure when and where he can. Ne-
ceſſity as well as reaſon convinces him that he
muſt, in ſpite of his daily ſufferings, his wearied
body, or his harraſſed mind, firmly reſiſt his accu-
mulating troubles; and, if he would ſave himſelf
from becoming the vićtim of deječtion, he muſt
manfully combat the difficulties by which he is at-
tacked. The more we enervate ourſelves, the more
we become the prey of ill health; but determined
courage, and obſtinate reſiſtance, frequently reno-
vate our powers; and he who, in the the calm
of Solitude, vigorouſly wreſtles with misfortune,
is, in the event, ſure of gaining a vićtory.
The influence of the mind upon the body is a
conſolatory truth to thoſe who are ſubječt to con-
ſtitutional complaints. Supported by this reflec-
tion, the effects of reaſon continue unſubdued;
the influence of religion maintains its empire ;
and the lamentable truth, that men of the fineſt
ſenſibility, and moſt cultivated underſtanding, fre-
quently poſſeſs leſs fortitude under afflićtions than
the moſt vulgar of mankind, remains unknown.”
. CAMPENELLA,
* This weakneſs of human nature is finely illuſtrated by Dr.
johnſon in his celebrated Hiſtory of Raſſelas, Prince of Abyſ-
finia. The Prince attends the ledures of a Philoſopher, who
compared reaſon to the ſun, of which the light is conſtant,
. . sº a uniform,
OF RETIREMENT. 241
CAMPENELLA, incredible as it may ſeem, ſuffered
by the indulgence of melancholy reflections, a ſpe-
cies of mental torture more painful than any bodily
torture could have produced. I can, however,
from
uniform, and laſting; communicated various precepts for the con-
queſt of paſſion; and diſplayed the happineſs of thoſe who had ob-
tained the important vićtory, after which man is no longer the
ſlave of fear, or the fool of hope; is no more emaciated by envy,
inflamed by anger, emaſculated by tenderneſs, or depreſſed by
grief; and concluded that this ſtate only was happineſs, and that
this happineſs was in every one’s power. Raſſelas liſtened to
him with the veneration due to the inſtructions of a ſuperior be-
ing, and implored the liberty of viſiting ſo great a maſter of true
wiſdom. On the enſuing day the Prince entered the apartment
of the Philoſopher, whom he found in a room half darkened,
with his eyes miſty, and his face pale. “Sir,” ſaid the Philo-
ſopher, “ you are come at a time when all human friendſhip is
* uſeleſs. What I ſuffer cannot be remedied; what I have loſt
“ cannot be ſupplied. My daughter, my only daughter, from
“ whoſe tenderneſs I expected all the comforts of my age, died
“ laſt night of a fever. My views, my purpoſes, my hopes, are
4.
“ at an end. I am now a lonely being, diſunited from ſociety.”
The Prince remonſtrated againſt the exceſs of his affliction.
“Young man,” replied the Philoſopher, “ you ſpeak like one
“ who has never felt the pangs of ſeparation.”—“Have you
“ then forgot the precepts,” ſaid Raffelas, “ which you ſo
powerfully enforced Has wiſdom no ſtrength to arm the heart
“ againſt calamity ? Conſider that external things are naturally
“ variable, but Truth and Reaſon are always the ſame.” “what
“ comfort,” ſaid the mourner, “ can Truth and Reaſon afford
“ me Of what effect are they now, but to tell me that my
“ daughter will not be reſtored P’’ This illuſtration of the inef-
ficacy of philoſophy, to counterað or ſubdue the ſenſibilities of
human nature under deep calamity, brings to mind an obſervation
R of
4.
&
&
242 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGES
from my own experience, aſſert that, even in the
extremity ofdiſtreſs, every objećt which diverts the
attention, ſoftens the evils we endure, and frequent-
ly drives them entirely away. By diverting the
attention, many celebrated philoſophers have been
able not only to preſerve a tranquil mind in the
midſt of the moſt poignant ſufferings, but have
even increaſed the ſtrength of their intelle&tual fa-
culties, in ſpite of their corporeal pains. Rouſſeau
compoſed the greater part of his immortal works
under the continual preſſure of ſickneſs and ſor-
row.” Gellert, who, by his mild, agreeable, and
inſtructive writings, has become the preceptor
of Germany, certainly found, in this intereſting
occupation, the ſecret remedy againſt melancholy.
Mendelſohm, at an age far advanced in life, and
not, in general, ſubject to dejećtion, was for a long
time oppreſſed by an almoſt inconceivablederange-
ment of the nervous ſyſtem; but, by ſubmitting
with patience and docility to his ſufferings, he ſtill
maintains
of Dr. Goldſmith's, that “ Philoſophy may be an excellent
“ horſe in the ſtable, but is generally an arrant jade upon the
“ road.” × 3 × . .: ; ;
* The author of that ſtupendous and elaborate work, “ The
“ Engliſh Dićtionary,” thus eloquently and affectingly deſcribes
the circumſtances under which it was compiled. “It may gra-
& tify curioſity to inform it, that THE ENGL 1sh Diction ARY
was written with very little aſſiſtance of the learned, and with-
out any patronage of the great : not in the ſoft obſcurities of
retirement, nor under the ſhelter of academic bowers, but
amidſt inconvenience and diſtraćtion, in fickneſs and in ſorrow.”
s
*
“
º
g
º
*
º
OF RETIRE MENT". 243
maintains all the noble and high advantages of
youth. Garve, who was for ſeveral years unable
to read, to write, or even to think, has ſince pro-
duced his Treatiſe upon Cicero, in which this
profound writer, ſo circumſpect in all his expreſ-
fions, that he appears hurt if any improper word
eſcapes his pen, thanks the Almighty, with a ſort
of rapture, for the weakneſs of his conſtitution,
becauſe it had taught him the extraordinary in-
fluence which the powers of the mind have over
thoſe of the body.
SoLITUDE is not merely deſirable, but abſolute-
ly neceſſary, to thoſe charaćters who poſſeſs ſenſi-
bilities too quick, and imaginations too ardent,
to live quietly in the world, and who are inceſſant-
ly inveighing againſt men and things. Thoſe who
ſuffer their minds to be ſubdued by circumſtances
which would ſcarcely produce an emotion in other
boſoms; who complain of the ſeverity of their miſ-
fortunes on occaſions which others would not feel;
who are diſpirited by every occurrence which does
not produce immediate ſatisfaction and pleaſure;
who are inceſſantly tormented by the illuſions of
fancy; who are unhinged and deječted the moment
proſperity is out of their view; who repine at what
they poſſeſs, from an ignorance of what they really
want; whoſe minds are for ever veering from one
vain wiſh to another; who are alarmed at every
thing, and enjoy nothing; are not formed for ſocie-
R 2 § ty,
244 THE GENERAL ADVANTAGEs
ty, and, if Solitude have no power to heal their
wounded ſpirits, are certainly incurable.
MeN who in other reſpects poſſeſs rational minds
and pious diſpoſitions, frequently fall into low ſpi-
rits and deſpair; but it is in general almoſt entire-
ly their own fault. If it proceed, as is generally
the caſe, from unfounded fears; if they love to
torment themſelves and others on every trivial diſ-
appointment or ſlight indiſpoſition; if they con-
ſtantly reſort to medicine for that relief which reaſon
alone can beſtow; if they fondly indulge, inſtead of
repreſſing, theſe idle fancies; if, after having en-
dured the moſt excruciating pains with patience,
and ſupported the greateſt misfortunes with forti-
tude, they neither can nor will learn to bear the
púnéture of the ſmalleſt pin, or thoſe triflin gadver-
ſities to which human life is unavoidably ſubjećt ;
they can only attribute their unhappy condition to
their own miſcondućt; and, although they might,
by no very irkſome effort of their underſtandings,
look with an eye of compoſure and tranquillity
on the multiplied and fatal fires iſſuing from the
dreadful cannon's mouth, will continue ſhame-
fully ſubdued by the idle apprehenſion of being
fired at by pop-guns.

ALL theſe qualities of the ſoul, fortitude, firm-
neſs, and ſtoic inflexibility, are much ſooner ac-
quired
of RETIR EMENT. 245
quired by filent meditation than amidſt the noiſy
intercourſes of mankind, where innumerable dif-
ficulties continually oppoſe us ; where ceremony,
ſervility, flattery, and fear, contaminate our diſpo-
ſitions; where every occurrence oppoſes our en-
deavours; and where, for this reaſon, men of
the weakeſt minds, and moſt contraćted notions,
become more ačtive and popular, gain more at-
tention, and are better received, than men of feel-
ing hearts and liberal underſtandings.
The mind, in ſhort, fortifies itſelf with impreg-
nable ſtrength in the bowers of ſolitary retirement
againſt every ſpecies of ſuffering and afflićtion.
The frivolous attachments which, in the world,
divert the ſoul from its proper obječts, and drive it
wandering, as chance may direét, into an eccentric
void, die away. Contented, from experience, with
the little which nature requires, rejećting every
ſuperfluous deſire, and having acquired a complete
knowledge of ourſelves, the viſitations of the Al-
mighty, when he chaſtiſes us with afflićtion, hum-
bles our preſumptuous pride, diſappoints our vain
conceits, reſtrains the violence of our paſſions, and
makes us ſenſible of our inanity and weakneſs, are
received with compoſure, and felt without ſurpriſe.
How many important truths do we here learn of
which the worldly-minded man has no idea! Caſt-
ing the eye of calm reflection on ourſelves, and
. & R 3 . QII
246 THE GENERAL AdvantAGEs
on the objects around us, how reſigned we become
to the lot of humanity! How different every ob-
jećt appears! The heart expands to every noble
ſentiment; the bloom of conſcious virtue bright-
ens on the cheek; the mind teems with ſublime
conceptions; and, boldly taking the right path,
we at length reach the bowers of innocence, and
the plains of peace.
On the death of a beloved friend, we con-
ſtantly feel a ſtrong deſire to withdraw from ſo-
ciety; but our worldly acquaintances unite in
general to deſtroy this laudable inclination. Con-
ceiving it improper to mention the ſubječt of our
grief, our companions, cold and indifferent to the
event, ſurround us, and think their duties ſuff-
ciently diſcharged by paying the tributary viſit,
and amuſing us with the current topics of the
town. Such idle pleaſantries cannot convey a
balm of comfort into the wounded heart.
WHEN I, alas! within two years after my ar-
rival in Germany, loſt the lovely idol of my
heart, the amiable companion of my former days,
I exclaimed a thouſand times to my ſurrounding
friends, “Oh 1 leave me to myſelf!” Her departed
ſpirit ſtill hovers round me: the tender recollection
of her ſociety, the afflićting remembrance of her
ſufferings on my account, are always preſent to
x my
QF RETIREMENT, 247
my mind. What mildneſs and affability | Her
death was as calm and reſigned as her life was pure
and virtuous. During five long months the lin-
gering pangs of diſſolution hung continually round
her. One day, as ſhe reclined upon her pillow,
while I read to her “ The Death of Chriſt,”
by Rammler, ſhe caſt her eyes over the page, and
ſilently pointed out to me the following paſſage:
“My breath grows weak, my days are ſhortened,
“my heart is full of affliction, and my ſoul pre-
“pares to take its flight.” Alas! when I recall
all thoſe circumſtances to my mind, and recolle&t
how impoſſible it was for me to abandon the world
at that moment of anguiſh and diſtreſs, when
I carried the ſeeds of death within my boſom,
when I had neither fortitude to bear my afflic-
tions, nor courage to reſiſt them, while I was
yet purſued by malice, and traduced by calumny,
I can eaſily conceive, in ſuch a ſituation, that my
exclamation might be, “ Leave me to myſelf.”
To a heart thus torn by too rigorous a deſtiny
from the boſom that was opened for its reception,
from a boſom in which it fondly dwelt, from an
objećt that it dearly loved, detached from every
obječt, at a loſs where to fix its affection, or com-
municate its feelings, Solitude alone can admi-
niſter comfort.
The rich and the poor, the happy and the mi-
R 4 ſerable,
248 THE GENERAL ADv ANTAGEs
ſerable, the healthy and the ſick, in ſhort, all de-
ſcriptions of perſons,whatever may be their ſtations
or their circumſtances in life, will experience in-
finite advantages in a religious retirement from the
world. It is not, alas! in the temples of pleaſure,
in thoſe meetings where every one drains the cup
of folly to its loweſt dregs, in thoſe coteries where
vulgar gaiety reſorts, in brilliant aſſemblies, or at
luxurious boards, that the mind acquires thoſe re-
fined and exalted notions which reſtrain the ſen-
ſual appetites, ennoble the pleaſures of life, bring
futurity to view, and baniſh, from a ſhort and tran-
ſitory exiſtence, an inordinate fondneſs for the diſ-
fipations of the world. It is in Solitude alone that.
we are capable of averting our eyes from thoſedan-
gerous ſcenes, and caſting them towards the celeſ-
tial Providence which protećts us. It is only du-
ring the filent hour of pious meditation that we
recur to the conſolatory idea, to the bland and
ſatisfactory ſentiment, that the eye of the Almighty
is for ever tenderly viewing the actions of his crea-
tures, kindly ſuperintending all our concerns, and,
by his power and his goodneſs, directing our ways.
The bright image of our Creator appears to us in
Solitude on every ſide.* Emancipated from the
dangerous
* The following addreſs to the Deity is tranſlated from Bos-
thius by a celebrated moral Philoſopher:
. . . . . . . . “ O Thou


OF RETIREMENT. 249
dangerous fermentation of the paſſions, we con-
template with ſeriouſneſs and vigour, with free-
dom and with confidence, the attainment of ſu-
preme felicity, and enjoy in thought the happineſs
we hope ultimately to reach. In this holy me-
ditation every ignoble ſentiment, every painful
anxiety, every low thought and vulgar care,
vaniſh from the mind.
Sol ITUDE, when it has ripened and preſerved
the tender and humane feelings of the heart, and
created in the mind a ſalutary diſtruſt of our vain
reaſon and boaſted abilities, may be conſidered to
have brought us nearer to God. Humility is the
firſt leſſon we learn from refle&tion, and ſelf-diſtruſt
the firſt proof we give of having obtained a know-
ledge of ourſelves. When, in attending the duties
of my profeſſion, I behold, on the bed of ſickneſs,
the efforts of the ſoul to oppoſe its impending diſ-
ſolution, and diſcover, by the increaſing torments
of the patient, the rapid advances of death; when I
ſee the unhappy ſufferer extend his cold and tremb-
- ling
“ O Thou whoſe power o'er moving worlds preſides,
“Whoſe voice created, and whoſe wiſdom guides,
“ On darkling man in pure effulgence ſhine,
* And cheer the clouded mind with light divine !
“”Tis thine alone to calm the pious breaſt
“With filent confidence and holy reſt; x
“From Thee, Great God, we ſpring; to thee we tend,
* Path, Motive, Guide, Original, and End,”
g
250 THE GENERAL ADVANTAG Eg
ling hands to thank the Almighty for the ſmalleſt
mitigation of his pains; when I hear his utterance
checked by intermingled groans, and view the ten-
der looks, the filent anguiſh, of his attending
friends; all my fortitude abandons me; my heart
bleeds; and I tear myſelf from the ſorrowful
ſcene, only to pour my tears more freely over
the lamentable lot of humanity, to regret the in-
efficacy of thoſe medical powers which I am ſup-
poſed only to have ſought with ſo much anxiety
as a means of prolonging my own miſerable
exiſtence.
“When in this vale of years I backward look,
“ And miſs ſuch numbers, numbers too of ſuch,
“ Firmer in health, and greener in their age,
“ And ſtrićter on their guard, and fitter far
“To play life's ſubtle game, I ſcarce believe
“ I ſtill ſurvive: and am I fond of life,
“ who ſcarce can think it poſſible I live
“Alive by miracle! If I am ſtill alive,
“ who long have buried what gives life to live.”
THE wiſdom that teaches us to avoid the ſnares
of the world, is not to be acquired by the inceſſant
purſuit of entertainments; by flying, without re-
fle&tion, from one party to another; by continual
converſation on low and trifling ſubjećts; by un-
dertaking every thing and doing nothing. “He
“who would acquire true wiſdom,” ſays a cele-
brated
OF RETIREMENT". 251
brated philoſopher, “muſt learn to live in Soli-
tude.” An uninterrupted courſe of diſſipation ſtifles
every virtuous ſentiment. The dominion of rea-
ſon is loſt amidſt the intoxications of pleaſure; its
voice is no longer heard; its authority no longer
obeyed: the mind no longer ſtrives to ſurmount
temptations; but, inſtead of ſhunning the perils
which the paſſions ſcatter in our way, we run
eagerly to find them. The idea of God, and the
precepts of his holy religion, are never ſo little re-
membered as in the ordinary intercourſe of ſociety.
Engaged in a multiplicity of abſurd purſuits, in-
tranced in the delirium of gaiety, inflamed by the
continual ebriety which raiſes the paſſions and
ſtimulates the deſires, every connection between
God and man is diſſolved; the bright and noble
faculty of reaſon obſcured; and even the great and
important duties of religion, the only ſource of
true felicity, totally obliterated from the mind,
or remembered only with levity and indifference.
On the contrary, he who, entering into a ſerious
ſelf-examination, elevates his thoughts in filence
towards his God; who conſults the theatre of na-
ture, the ſpangled firmament of heaven, the mea-
dows enamelled with flowers, the ſtupendous
mountains, and the filent groves, as the temples
of the Divinity; who directs the emotions of his
heart to the great Author and Condućtor of every
thing; who has his enlightened providence con-
3. . tinually
252 THE GENERAL Advant Ages
tinually before his eyes, muſt, moſt aſſuredly,
have already lived in pious Solitude and religious
Retirement.
The pious diſpoſitions which a zealous devotion
to God engenders in Solitude, may, it is true, in
certain charaćters,and underparticular circumſtan-
ces, degenerate into the gloom of ſuperſtition,or riſe
into the phrenzy of fanaticiſm; but theſe exceſſes
ſoon abate; and, compared with that fatal ſupine-
neſs which extinguiſhes every virtue, are really
advantageous. The ſophiſtry of the paſſions is
filent during the ſerious hours of ſelf-examination;
and the perturbations we feel on the diſcovery of
our errors and defects, is converted, by the light
of a pure and rational faith, into happy eaſe and
perfeót tranquillity. The fanatic enthuſiaſt pre-
ſents himſelf before the Almighty much oftener
than the ſupercilious wit, who derides an holy re-
and Morality become in Solitude the handmaids
of Religion, and join their powers to condućt us
into the bowers of eternal peace. They teach us to
examine our hearts, and exhort us to guard againſt
the dangers of fanaticiſm. But if virtue cannot be
inſtilled into the ſoul without convulfive efforts,
they alſo admoniſh us not to be intimidated by the
apprehenſion of danger. It is not in the moment
of joy, when we turn our eyes from God, and our
* . . . . . . - thoughts

of RETIREMENT. 253
thoughts from eternity, that we experience thoſe
ſalutary fervours of the ſoul, which even Religion,
with all her powers, cannot produce ſo ſoon as a
mental afflićtion or a corporeal malady. The
celebrated M. Garve, one of the greateſt philo-
ſophers of Germany, exclaimed to Dr. Spalding
and myſelf, “I am indebted to my malady for
“ having led me to make a cloſer ſcrutiny and
“more accurate obſervation on my own cha-
“ racter.”
IN the laſt moments of life, it is certain that we
all wiſh we had paſſed our days in greater privacy
and Solitude, in ſtrićter intimacy with ourſelves,
and in cloſer communion with God. Preſſed by
the recollection of our errors, we then clearly per-
ceive that they were occaſioned by not having
ſhunned the ſnares of the world, and by not having
watched with ſufficient care over the inclinations
of our hearts. Oppoſe the ſentiments of a ſolitary
man, who has paſſed his life in pious conference
with God, to thoſe which occupy a worldly mind,
forgetful of its Creator, and ſacrificing its deareſt
intereſts to the enjoyment of the moment; com-
pare the chara&ter of a wiſe man, who refleås in
filence on the importance of eternity, with that
of a faſhionable being, who conſumes all his time
at ridottos, balls, and aſſemblies; and we ſhall
then perceive that ſolitude, dignified retirement,
ſele&
254 the GENERAL Adv ANTAGEs
ſelect friendſhips, and rational ſociety, can alone
afford true pleaſure, and give us what all the vain
enjoyments of the world will never beſtow—con-
ſolation in death, and hope of everlaſting life. But
the bed of death diſcovers moſt clearly the differ-
ence between the juſt man, who has quietly paſſed
his days in religious contemplation, and the man
of the world, whoſe thoughts have only been em-
ployed to feed his paſſions and gratify his deſires.
A life paſſed amidſt the tumultuous diſſipations of
the world, even when unfullied by the commiſſion
of any poſitive crime, concludes, alas! very differ-
ently from that which has been ſpent in the bowers
of Solitude, adorned by innocence, and rewarded
by virtue. . .
But, as example teaches more effectually than
precept, and curioſity is more alive to recent facts
than remote illuſtrations, I ſhall here relate the
hiſtory of a man of family and faſhion, who a few
years ſince ſhot himſelf in London; from which it
will appear, that men poſſeſſed even of the beſt
feelings of the heart, may be rendered extremely
miſerable, by ſuffering their principles to be cor-
rupted by the practice of the world.
The Honourable Mr. Damer, the eldeſt ſon of
Lord Milton, was five-and-thirty years of age
when he put a period to his exiſtence by means
.. perfeótly
OF RETIREMENT, 255
perfeótly correſpondent to the principles on which
he had lived. He was married to a rich heireſs,
the daughter-in-law of General Conway. Na-
ture had endowed him with extraordinary ta-
lents; but a moſt infatuated fondneſs for exceſſive
diffipation obſcured the brighteſt faculties of his
mind, and perverted many of the excellent quali-
ties of his heart. His houſes, his carriages, his
horſes, and his liveries, ſurpaſſed in ſplendour and
magnificence every thing ſumptuous and coſtly
even in the ſuperb and extravagant metropolis of
Great-Britain. The fortune he poſſeſſed was great;
but the variety of laviſh expenditures in which he
engaged exceeded his income, and he was at length
reduced to the neceſſity of borrowing money. He
raiſed, in different ways, near forty thouſand
pounds, the greater part of which he employed,
with improvident generoſity, in relieving the diſ-
treſſes of his leſs opulent companions; for his heart
overflowed with tenderneſs and compaſſion; but
this exquiſite ſenſibility, which was ever alive to
the misfortunes of others, was at length awakened
to his own embarraſſed ſituation; and his mind
driven, by the ſeemingly irretrievable condition
of his affairs, to the utmoſt verge of deſpair. Re-
tiring to a common brothel, he ſent for four wo-
men of the town, and paſſed ſeveral hours in their
company with apparent good ſpirits and unincum-
bered gaiety; but, when the dead of night arrived,
he
256 THE GENERAL Adv ANTAGEs
he requeſted them, with viſible dejećtion, to
retire; and immediately afterwards drawing from
his pocket a piſtol, which he had carried about
him the whole afternoon, blew out his brains,
It appeared that he had paſſed the evening with
theſe women in the ſame manner as he had been
uſed to paſs many others with different women of
the ſame deſcription, without demanding favours
which they would moſt willingly have granted,
and only deſiring, in return for the money he la-
viſhed on them, the diffipation of their diſcourſe,
or, at moſt, the ceremony of a ſalute, to divert the
ſorrow that preyed upon his tortured mind. But
the gratitude he felt for the temporary oblivion
which theſe intercourſes afforded, ſometimes ri-
pened into feelings of the warmeſt friendſhip. A
celebrated ačtreſs of the London Theatre, whoſe
converſations had already drained him of conſider-
able ſums of money, requeſted of him, only three
days before his death, to ſend her five-and-twenty
guineas. At that moment he had only ten guineas
about him; but he ſent her, with an apology for his
inability to comply immediately with her requeſt,
all he had, and ſoon after borrowed the remainder
of the money, and ſent it to her without delay.
This unhappy young man, ſhortly before the fatal
cataſtrophe, had written to his father, and diſcloſed
to him the diſtreſſed fituation he was in; and the
night, the very night on which he terminated his
exiſtence,
- of RETIREMENT, 257
exiſtence, his affectionate parent, the good Lord
Milton, arrived in London, for the purpoſe of
diſcharging all the debts, and arranging the affairs,
of his unhappy ſon. Thus lived and died this de-
ſtitute and diffipated man! How different from
that life which the innocent live, or that death
which the virtuous die!
I Hope I may be permitted in this place to relate
the ſtory of a young lady whoſe memory I am ex-
tremely anxious to preſerve; for I can with great
truth ſay of her, as Petrarch ſaid of his beloved
Laura, “ The world was unacquainted with the
“excellence of her charaćter; for ſhe was only
“ known to thoſe whom ſhe has left behind to
“ bewail her loſs.”—Solitude was all the world
ſhe knew; for her only pleaſures were thoſe
which a retired and virtuous life affords. Sub-
mitting with pious reſignation to the diſpenſa-
tions of Heaven, her weak frame ſuſtained, with
ſteady fortitude, every afflićtion of mortality.
Mild, good, and tender, ſhe endured her ſufferings
without a murmur or a figh; and, although natu-
rally timid and reſerved, diſcloſed the feelings of
her ſoul with all the warmth of filial enthuſiaſm.
Of this deſcription was the ſuperior charaćter of
whom I now write; a charaćter who convinced
me, by her fortitude under the ſevereſt misfor-
tunes, how much ſtrength Solitude is capable
S of
258 THE GENERAL apv ANTAG es
of conveying to the mind even of the feebleſt be-
ing. Diffident of her own powers, ſhe liſtened to
the precepts of a fond parent, and relied with per-
fea confidence on the goodneſs of God. Taught
by my experience, ſubmitting to my judgment, ſhe
entertained for me the moſt ardent affection; and
convinced me not by profeſſions, but by actions, of
her ſincerity. Willingly would I have ſacrificed
my life to have ſaved her; and I am ſatisfied that
ſhe would as willingly have given up her own for
me. I had no pleaſure but in pleaſing her, and my
endeavours for that purpoſe were moſt gratefully
returned. A roſe was my favourite flower, and ſhe
preſented one tome almoſt daily during the ſeaſon.
I received it from her hand with the higheſt de-
light, and cheriſhed it as the richeſt treaſure. A
malady of almoſt a ſingular kind, a haemorrhage
in the lungs, ſuddenly deprived me of the comfort
of this beloved child, and tore her from my pro-
te&ting arms. From the knowledge I had of her
conſtitution, I immediately perceived that the diſ-
order was mortal. How frequently during that
fatal day did my wounded, bleeding heart bend
me on my knees before God to ſupplicate for her
recovery. But I concealed my feelings from her
obſervation. Although ſenſible of her danger, ſhe
never diſcovered the leaſt apprehenſion of its ap-
proach. Smiles played around her pallid cheeks
whenever I entered or quitted the room; and when
• WQIf?

of RETIREMENT. 259
worn down by the fatal diſtemper, a prey to the
moſt corroding grief, a vićtim to the ſharpeſt and
moſt intolerable pains, ſhe made no complaint;
but mildly anſwered all my queſtions by ſome
fhort ſentence, without entering into any detail.
Her decay and impending diſſolution became ob-
vious to the eye; but to the laſt moment of her
life, her countenance preſerved a ſerenity cor-
reſpondent to the purity of her mind, and the af-
fectionate tenderneſs of her heart. Thus I beheld
my dear, my only daughter, at the age of five-and-
twenty,after alingering ſuffering of nine long, long
months, expire in my arms. So long and ſo ſevere
an attack was not neceſſary to the conqueſt: ſhe
had been the ſubmiſſive vićtim of ill health from
her earlieſt infancy: her appetite was almoſt gone
when we left Swiſſerland; a reſidence which ſhe
quitted with her uſual ſweetneſs of temper, and
without diſcovering the ſmalleſt regret; although
a young man, as handſome in his perſon as he was
amiable in the qualities of his mind, the objećt of
her firſt, her only affection, a few weeks after-
wards put a period to his exiſtence. During the
few happy days we paſſed at Hanover, where ſhe
rendered herſelf univerſally reſpected and beloved,
ſhe amuſed herſelf by compoſing religious prayers,
which were afterwards found among her papers,
and in which ſhe implores death to afford her a
ſpeedy relief from her pains. During the ſame
S 2 . period
260 THE GENERAL Adv ANTAGEs
º
period ſhe wrote alſo many letters, always affect
ing, and frequently ſublime. They were couched
in expreſſions of the ſame deſire ſpeedily to re-
unite her ſoul with the Author of her days.
The laſt words that my dear, my well-beloved
child uttered, amidſt the moſt painful agonies,
were theſe—“To-day I ſhall taſte the joys of
Heaven l’” +
- How
* The meek, calm, and pious refignation with which this ami-
able girl is deſcribed to have endured the afflićtions of life, and de-
fied the torments of death, will perhaps bring to mind the ſenti-
ments of that ſublime Ode by Mr. Pope, of “A dying Chriſtian
to his Soul.
“ Vital ſpark of heavenly flame !
“ Quit, oh quit this mortal frame !
“Trembling, hoping, ling’ring, flying;
- “Oh the pain, the bliſs of dying
“Ceaſe, fond Nature, ceaſe thy ſtrife,
“ And let me languiſh into life
“Hark! they whiſper; Angels ſay,
“ Siſter Spirit, come away !
“What is this abſorbs me quite,
“Steals my ſenſes, ſhuts my fight,
* Drowns my ſpirits, draws my breath P
“Tell me, my ſoul, can this be Death *
“The world recedes it diſappears
“Heav'n opens on my eyes, my ears
“With ſounds ſeraphic ring:
. “ Lend, lend your wings I mount I fly!
“ o, Gravel where is thy Victory !
w “o, Death where is thy Sting 2 º

OF RETIREMENT. 261
How unworthy of this bright example ſhould
we be, if, after having ſeen the ſevereſt ſufferings
ſuſtained by a female in the earlieſt period of life,
and of the weakeſt conſtitution, we permitted our
minds to be deječted by misfortunes which courage
might enable us to ſurmount! a female who, under
the anguiſh of inexpreſſible torments, never per-
mitted a figh or complaint to eſcape from her lips;
but ſubmitted with filent reſignation to the will
of Heaven, in hope of meeting with reward here-
after. She was ever ačtive, invariably mild, and
always compaſſionate to the miſeries of others.
But we, who have before our eyes the ſublime in-
ftrućtions which a charaćter thus virtuous and no-
ble has here given us, we, who, like her, aſpire
to a ſeat in the manſions of the bleſſed, refuſe the
ſmalleſt ſacrifice, make no endeavour to ſtem with
courage the torrent of adverſity, or to acquire that
degree of patience and reſignation, which a ſtrićt
examination of our own hearts, and a ſilent com-
munion with God, would certainly afford.
SENSIBLE and unfortunate beings' the ſlight
misfortunes by which you are now oppreſſed, and
driven to deſpair, (for light, indeed, they are, when
compared with mine,) will ultimately raiſe your
minds above the low confiderations of the world,
and give a ſtrength to your power which you now
S 3 conceive
262 THE GENERAL ADv ANTAGEs
conceive to be impoſſible.* You now think your-
ſelves ſunk into the deepeſtabyſsofſuffering and ſor-
row; but the time will ſoon arrive, when you will
perceive yourſelves in that happy ſtate in which
the mind verges from earth, and fixes its attention
on heaven. You will then enjoy a calm repoſe,
be ſuſceptible of pleaſures equally ſubſtantial and
ſublime, and poſſeſs, in lieu of tumultuous anxie-
ties for life, the ſerene and comfortable hope of
immortality. Bleſſed, ſupremely bleſſed, is he
who knows the value of retirement and tranquil-
lity, who is capable of enjoying the ſilence of the
groves, and all the pleaſures of rural Solitude.
The ſoul then taſtes celeſtial delight, even under
the deepeſt impreſſions of ſorrow and dejećtion;
regains its ſtrength, colle&ts new courage, and
aćts with perfeót freedom. The eye then looks
with fortitude on the tranſient ſufferings of diſeaſe ;
the mind no longer feels a dread of being alone;
and we learn to cultivate, during the remainder
of our lives, a bed of roſes round even the tomb of
death.
- THESE
* “Explorant adverſa viros, perque aſpera duro
“ Nittitur ad laudem virtus interrita clivo.”
N. : SI L I us ITAL 1 cus.
“But oft-Adverſity exalts the mind;
“And fearleſs virtue may from perils find
* “Some means, howe'er depreſs'd, her head to raiſe,
“And reach the heights of never-ending praiſe.”


of RETIREMENT.
THESE reflections upon the general Advantages
reſulting from rational Solitude and occaſional Re-
tirement, bring me next to this important queſtion,
“Whether it is eaſier to live virtuouſly in Solitude
or in the World?”


264 THE ADVANT Ages of sol ITUDE
w SHAPTER THE FIFTH.
THE QUESTION,
WHETHER IT IS EASIER TO LIVE VIRTUOUSLY
IN sol ITUDE, or IN THE world,
CONSIDE RE D.
HE virtues, when they are practiſed in ſociety,
ſed merely from a ſenſe of duty.
y afford inſtruction to the ignorant and
the innocent and vindicate the injured. The Phy-
ficians viſit the fick, and adminiſter relief to their
complaints, whether r lor imaginary. But not,
as they would i e, from charitable feelings,
and for the ſake of humanity. Inſtruction, con-
ſolation, protećtion, and health, are in ſuch caſes
afforded not from any particular bias of the heart
towards their reſpective objects, but from a ſenſe
of duty which the profeſſors of Law, Divinity, and
Phyſic, reſpectively entertain; aduty impoſed upon
them by their peculiar ſtations in ſociety; and
which it would be diſgraceful in them not to per-
form. The words, “your known humanity,” words
%. . which






IN THE PR actice of virtue. 265
which always hurt my feelings, when they in-
troduce the ſubjećts of the letters I daily receive,
are nothing but words of ceremony, a common
falſehood, introduced by flattery, and ſupported
only by cuſtom. Humanity is a high and im-
portant virtue, founded on a nobleneſs of ſoul of the
firſt ſpecies; and how is it to be known whether a
man performs certain ačtions from this warm and
generous motive, or from a cold ſenſe of duty :
Good works certainly do not always proceed from
motives completely virtuous. The boſom of a man
whoſe mind is conſtantly immerſed in the cor-
rupted currents of the world, is generally ſhut
againſt every thing that is truly good: he may,
however, ſometimes do good without being vir-
tuous; for he may be great in his ačtions, though
little in his heart.* Virtue is a quality much more
rare than is generally imagined; and therefore the
words humanity, virtue, patriotiſm, and many
others of ſimilar kinds, ſhould be uſed with greater
caution than they uſually are in the intercourſes
of mankind. It is only upon particular occaſions
that they ought to be called forth; for by making
them too familiar,their real importis weakened,and
the ſenſe of thoſe excellent qualities they expreſs in
a great
* “ viri poteſtatibus ſublimes,” ſays Lord Chancellor Bacon,
“ipſ; tibi ignoti ſunt. Et dam negotiis diffrahuntur, tempore carent,
“gº, ſat itati aut corporis, aut anima ſuae cauſulant.”

266 THE ADVANTAGEs of solitude
a great degree deſtroyed. Who would not bluſh
to be called learned or humane, when he hears the
moſt ignorant complimented on their knowledge,
and “the well-known humanity” of the moſt atro-
cious villain laviſhly praiſed? &: * *
MEN are, without doubt, more likely to become
really virtuous in the boſom of rational Retire-
ment, than amidſt the corruptions of the world.
virtue, for ever frail as fair below,
Her tender nature ſuffers in the crowd,
Nor touches on THE wo RLD without a ſtain.
The world’s infectious; few bring back at eve,
Immaculate, the manners of the morn. …
Something we thought is blotted; we reſolv’d,
Is ſhaken; we renounc'd, returns again.
Each ſalutation may let in a ſin
Unthought before, or fix a former flaw.
Nor is it ſtrange: light, motion, concourſe, noiſe,
All ſcatter us abroad: thought, outward bound,
Neglectful of our home affairs, flies off
In fume and diſſipation; quits her charge;
And leaves the breaſt unguarded to the foe.
VIRTUE, indeed, of whatever deſcription it may
be, cannot be the produce of good example, for
virtuous examples are very rarely ſeen in the world;
but ariſes from a convićtion, which ſilent refle&tion
inſpires, that goodneſs is ſuperior to every other
». * ... < * , % poſſeſſion;
IN THE PR Act Ice of virtue. 267
poſſeſſion, and alone conſtitutes the true happineſs
of life. The greater variety, therefore, of virtu-
ous ačtions are generally performed in the ſilence
of Solitude, and in the obſcurity of Retreat.
THE opportunity of doing public good, of per-
forming ačtions of extenſive utility or univerſal
benevolence, is confined to a few charaćters. But
how many private virtues are there which every
man has it in his power to perform without quit-
ting his chamber He who can contentedly em.
ploy himſelf at home, may continue there the
whole year, and yet, in every day of that year,
may contribute to the felicity of other men: he
may liſten to their complaints, relieve their diſ-
treſs, render ſervices to thoſe about him, and ex-
tend his benevolence in various ways, without
being ſeen by the world, or known by thoſe on
whom his favours are conferred. §
VIRTUous actions are certainly more eaſily and
more freely performed in Solitude than in the
world. In Solitude no man bluſhes at the fight of
Virtue, nor fears to make her the beloved compa-
nion of his thoughts, and the ſacred motive of his
aćtions; but in the world ſhe drags on an obſcure
exiſtence, and, everywhere neglected, ſeems afraid
to ſhew her face. The world is a ſchool of vice,
# ‘’’. . . . .3 and
gº
268 THE ADVANTAG es of solitude
and its intercourſe the moſt baneful ſpecies of edu. .
cation. Men poſſeſſed of the beſt inclinations are
there ſurrounded by ſuch a multitude of ſnares,
and beſet with ſuch a variety of dangers, that error
is daily unavoidable. Many men, who play high
and conſpicuous charaćters on the theatre of the
world, are totally devoid of virtuous inclinations;
others, with excellently good diſpoſitions, are to-
tally incapable of performing any thing great or
praiſe-worthy. Before we engage in the hurrying
buſineſs of the day, we are perhaps kind, impartial,
candid, and virtuous ; for then the current of our
tempers has not been diſturbed or contaminated;
but it is impoſſible, even with the greateſt vigi-
lance, to continue through the day perfect maſters
of ourſelves, oppreſſed as we are with incumbent
cares and vexations, tortured by a variety of un-
avoidable diſtraćtions, and obliged to conform to a
thouſanddiſagreeable and diſguſtingcircumſtances.
The folly therefore of myſtic minds was in for-
getting that their ſouls were ſubjected to a body,
and aiming, in conſequence of that error, at the
higheſt point of ſpeculative virtue. The nature
of the human character cannot be changed by
living in a hermitage; but the exerciſe of virtue is
certainly eaſier in thoſe ſituations where it is ex-
poſed to the leaſt danger, and then it loſes all its
merit. God created many hermits too weak to
ſave

in the PR Actrce of virtue. 269
ſave themſelves when plunged into the abyſs, be-
cauſe he rendered them ſtrong enough not to fall
into it. ---
I shall here ſubjoin an excellent obſervation
by a celebrated Scotch Philoſopher: “It is the
“ peculiar effect of virtue to make a man’s chief
“happineſs ariſe from himſelf and his own con-
“ dućt. A bad man is wholly the creature of the
“world: he hangs upon its favours; lives by its
“ ſmiles; and is happy or miſerable in proportion
“ to his ſucceſs. But to a virtuous man, ſucceſs in
“worldly matters is but a ſecondary objećt. To
“ diſcharge his own part with integrity and honour
“ is his chief aim : having done properly what
“ was incumbenton him to do, his mind is at reſt,
“ and he leaves the event to Providence. His
“Witneſs is in heaven, and his record is on high.
“Satisfied with the approbation of God, and the
“ teſtimony of a good conſcience, he enjoys him-
“ſelf, and deſpiſes the triumphs of guilt. In pro-
“ portion as ſuch manly principles rule your heart,
“you will become independent of the world,
“ and will forbear complaining of its diſcourage-
“ments.” w º * ... : . . . .3 : *% ºf

The firſt aim and only end of the Philoſophy
which may be found in this Treatiſe upon Solt-
tube, is to recommend this noble independence to
º the
the attention of mankind. It is not my doćtrine
that men ſhould reſide in deſerts, or ſleep like owls
in the hollow trunks of trees ; but I am anxious to
expel from their minds the exceſſive fear which
they too frequently entertain of the opinion of the
world. I would, as far as it is conſiſtent with their
reſpecti veſtations in life, render them independent:
I wiſh them to break through the ſetters of pre-
judice, to imbibe a juſt contempt for the vices,of
ſociety, and to ſeek occaſionally a rational Soli-
tude, where they may ſo far enlarge their ſphere
of thought and action, as to be able to ſay, at leaſt
during a few hours in every day, “We are free.”
The true apoſtles of Solitude have ſaid, “It is
“only by employing with propriety the hours of
4. a happy leiſure, that we acquire a ſufficient de-
&c. gree of firmneſs to direčt our thoughts and
& C. guide our actions to their proper objećts. > It is
“ then only that we can quietly reflečt on the
“tranſactions of life, upon the temptations to .
“ which we are moſt expoſed, upon thoſe weak-
“er ſides of the heart which we ought to guard.
“with the moſt unceaſing care, and previouſly,
“arm ourſelves againſt whatever is dangerous in
“our commerce with mankind. Perhaps, though º
“virtue may appear, at firſt fight, to contract the
“bounds of enjoyment, you will find, upon re-
“flection, that, in truth, it enlarges them: if it.
“reſtrain the exceſs of ſome pleaſures, it favours
“ and

- IN THE PRActice of VIRTUE. 271
“ and increaſes others; it precludes you from none
“but ſuch as are fantaſtic and imaginary, or per-
“nicious and deſtructive. The rich proprietary
“loves to amuſe himſelf in a contemplation of his
“wealth, the voluptuary in his entertainments,
“ the man of the world with his friends and his
“aſſemblies; but the truly good man finds his
“pleaſures in the ſcrupulous diſcharge of the au-
“guſt duties of life. He ſees a new ſun ſhining
“before him; thinks himſelf ſurrounded by a
“more pure and lively ſplendour; every obječt is
“embelliſhed; and he gaily purſues his career.
“He who penetrates into the ſecret cauſes of
“things, who reads in the reſpectable obſcurity of
“a wiſe Solitude, will return us public thanks.
“We immediately acquit ourſelves more per-
“feótly in buſineſs; we reſiſt with greater eaſe
“the temptations of vice; and we owe all theſe
“advantages to the pious recolle&tion which
“Solitude inſpires, to our ſeparation from man-
“kind, and to an independence of the world.”
LIBERTY, leiſure, a quiet conſcience, and a re-
tirement from the world, are therefore the ſureſt
and moſt infallible means of acquiring a virtuous
mind. The paſſions then need no longer be re-
ſtrained, nor the fervor of the imagination damped;
the evils of public example loſe their effect, and we
w - . . . . . finile
272 the Advant Ages of self-rube
fmile at the dangers by which we 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-hu-
mour. 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
circles of vice, who flies from the inſolent be-
haviour of proud ſtupidity, or proſperous villainy,
who has diſcovered the vanity of worldly purſuits,
and the emptineſs of mundane pleaſures, retires
into private life with permanent content and joy-
ful 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 wou LD
* The change of appearances which a fall from the bright
throne of Virtue into the dark and diſmal abyſs of Vice occaſions, is
finely pićtured by MIL to N, in his deſcription of the diminiſhed
luſtre of SAT AN.
& & - As when the Sun new riſen
“Looks through the horizontal miſty air
* Shorn of his beams; or from behind the Moon
“In dim eclipſe diſaſtrous twilight ſheds
£6 On
IN THE PRAct Ice of virtue. 273
“I would rather ſhed tears myſelf than 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 ge-
nerous. Virtue like this affords more real content
T to
*
“On half the Nations, and with fear of change
“ Perplexes Monarchs; darken'd ſo, yet ſhone
“Above them all th’ AR ch A N G E L ; but his face
“ Deep ſcars of thunder had intrench'd, and care
* Sat on his faded cheek.”
g
So alſo when SATAN ſays to IT H U R 1 E L and ZE P hon,
“ Know ye not me? Ye knew me once no mate
“ For you, there ſitting where ye durſt not ſoar :
“ Not to know me argues yourſelves unknown,
“The loweſt of your throng; or if you know,
“Why aſk ye **
ZR P Ho N replies,
g
* Think not, revolted ſpirit, thy ſhape the ſame ;
“ Or undiminiſh’d brightneſs to be known,
* As when thou ſtoodſt in heaven upright and pure ;
“That glory then, when thou no more waſt Good,
“ Departed from thee; and thou reſembleſt now
“ Thy fin and place of doom, obſcure and foul.”
gº abaſh'd the Devil ſtood,
• And felt how awful Goodneſs is ; and ſaw
“ Virtue in her ſhape how lovely: ſaw and pin'd
“ His loſs; but chiefly to find here obſcur'd
“ His luſtre viſibly impair’d— **
*
º
sº
So the Angel GABR1E 1. diſcerns him paſſing through the ſhade
“ in faded ſplendour wan — —”
274 the Advant Ages of solitude
to the heart than all the enjoyments of the world,
which are only ſought to conſume the tedious irk.
ſome hours, and to drown the anxious cares which
moleſt the boſoms of its votaries. Although Vice
is continually caſting her ſilkennets, and involving
within her glittering lines ſuch multitudes of every
rank and ſtation, there is not a villain in exiſtence,
whoſe mind does not filently 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 ſedućtive deſire, whether preſent or ap-
proaching, and to conquer vice by the purſuit of
uſeful pleaſure, is a vićtory of the nobleſt kind, fol-
lowed by virtue, and rewarded with happineſs.
Happy is the man who carries with him into So-
litude the peace of mind which ſuch a vićtory pro-
cures, 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 retire-
ment, while miſanthropy ſtill lurks within the
heart? It is the moſt important, and ought to 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
8 : * > . .3 × 2 plains,
IN THE PRAct Ice of v1RTUE. 275
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, with-
out 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 paying 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 re-
ſigned by this ad the government of the Empire
to the diſcretion of a ſingle man, that artful citi-
zen beat his breaſt, as a token of grief at being in-
veſted with the honour, and exclaimed, “Alas!
“ am I continually to be involved in endleſs trou-
“bles? 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 en-
“joyment of rural Solitude, with my wife and
“ children?” He ſpoke truth in the language of
T 2. diffinulation;
276 THE AD v ANTAGFs of solitute
diſfimulation; for he had not yet learned really to
eſteem that which al poſſeſſed of ambition
and the luſt of power ſe; nor did he yet con-
temn that which, at -
eriod of the Republic,
every Roman who wa
ed more than all ot
er to command eſteem-
Curius, the nobleſt
hings. But Manlius
poſſeſſed the ſentimen
lan of the age, really
- hich Pompey expreſſed.
Having vanquiſhed ſeve
. Pyrrhus out of Italy,
warlike nations, driven
the honour of a triul
ld enjoyed three tim
tage in the country,
he retired to his cot-
d there cultivated, with
his own vićtorious hands, his little farm, where,
when the Ambaſſadors from the Samnite
ed to offer him a large preſent of gold, he was
found, ſeated in his chimney corner, dreſſing tur-
- The noble recluſe refuſed the preſent,
%
Ill OS.
. gave the ambaſſadors this anſ
“ that can be ſatisfied with ſuc
- “ need of gold ; and I think
“ to conquer the owners of it,
x
§
º:
º
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































cuſe.
*alley 4%
*
:3.3%
N
3.
N
S
N
`
`
N
žģ







IN THE PR Act Ice of VIRTUE. 277
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, re-
flection, and good ſenſe, pities the condition of
virtuous Sovereigns; foreven 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 expe-
rience the ſame tranquillity and unalloyed content.
The proviſions, indeed, of a peaſant are coarſe, but
to his appetite they aredelicious : his bread is hard,
but he goes to it fatigued by the honeſt labours of
the day, and fleeps founder on his mat of ſtraw
than monarchs on their beds of down.”
* The reſtleſſneſs which hangs around the thorny pillow of
Royalty, and prevents the wearied eye of greatneſs from taſting
that ſweet and comfortable repoſe which relieves the unambitious
soil of humble induſtry, is finely deſcribed by ouri mmortal Poet
Shakes; rare, in the Soliloquy of Henry the Four riſ,
. . . is hour aſleep !—o, sleep, o, ge º
ſoft nurſe, how have I fighted thee,
more wilt weigh my eyelids dow
ind ſteep my ſenſes in \lneſs?
§
%
“Why rather, Sleep , lyſt thou in ſmoaky s il gº
“ Upon uneaſy pallets ſtretching thee, %
“ And huſh'd with buzzing night-flies to thy ſlumber,
“Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
“ Under high canopies of coſtly ſtate,
“And lull'd with ſounds of ſweeteſt melody ?
T 3 “ O, thou











278 THE ADVANTAG es of
“ O, thou dull God, why ly'ſt thou with the vile
“ In loathſome beds, and leav'ſt the kingly couch
“A watch-caſe, or a common larum bell?
“ wilt thou upon the high and giddy maſt
“ Seal up the ſhip-boy's eyes, and rock his brain
“ In cradle of the rude imperious ſurge,
“And in the viſitation of the winds,
“ who take the ruffian billows by the top,
* Curling their monſtrous heads, and hanging them
“With deaf 'ning clamours in the ſlippery ſhrouds,
“ That, with the hurly, Death itſelf awakes 2
“ Can'ſt thou, O, partial Sleep! give thy repoſe
“To the wet ſea boy in an hour ſo rude,
** And in the calmeſt and the ſtilleſt night,
* With all appliances and means to boot,
gº Deny it to a king ! Then, happy, lowly clown,
“ Uneaſy lies the head that wears a crown.”
Henry IV. Part 2, 4: 3, Scene 1,
&

sol ITUDE IN EXILE. 279
cHAPTER THE SIXTH.
THE ADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE IN EXILE.
TH E advantages of Solitude are not confined to
rank, to fortune, or to circumſtances. Fra-
grant breezes, magnificent foreſts, richly tinted
meadows, and that endleſs variety of beautiful ob-
jećts 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 au-
thor has very juſtly obſerved, that “it is not ne-
“ceſſary that he who looks with pleaſure on the
“colour of a flower, ſhould ſtudy the principles of
“ vegetation; or that the Ptolemaick and Coperni-
“can ſyſtems ſhould be compared, before the li ght
“of the Sun can gladden, or its warmth invigo-
“rate. Novelty in itſelf is a ſource of gratifica-
“tion; 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, *” N.
. T 4 Exiles
* The lines of Milton upon this ſubjećt are ſo extremely
beautiful, that we ſhall make no apology for tranſcribing them.
On Satan's entrance into Paradiſe, z- §
* . “ Evs.
286 the advantages of
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
fićtitious pleaſures which they followed in the ze-
nith of greatneſs, habituate their minds to others
of a nobler kind, more worthy the attention of
rational beings;* and, to paſs their days with
“ — Eve ſeparate he ſpies,
** Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where ſhe ſtood,
“Half ſpied, ſo thick the roſes bluſhing round
** About her glowed —- … . . . * *
“ Nearer he drew, and many a walk traverſed
“ of ſtatelieſt covert, Cedar, Pine, or Palm;
“Then voluble and bold, now hid, now ſeen,
“Among thick woven arborets and flowers,
* *
“Imbordered on each bank —
“ Much he the place admir’d, the perſon more.
“As one who long in populous cities pent,
“ where houſes thick and ſewers annoy the air,
“Forth iſſuing on a ſummer's morn to breathe
“ Among the pleaſant villages and farms
“Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight,
“The ſmell of grain, or tedded graſs, or kine,
“Or dairy; each rural fight, each rural ſound,
“ If chance, with nymph-like ſtep, fair virgin paſs,
“ what pleaſing ſeemed, for her now pleaſes more,
“ She moſt, and in her looks ſeems all delight.”
Paradise Lost, Book 9, line 438.

* Cicero ſays, “ Multa praeclare Dionysius Phair ºr us
“ in ill, evilio ſcripfit; non in uſum aliquem ſuum, quº ºral orbatus;
“ſed animi, cullus ille, crat eigueſ quidam humanitatis cibus.”
solitude IN Exile. 281
tranquillity, invent a variety of innocent felicities,
which are only thought of at a diſtance from ſo-
ciety, far removed from all conſolation, far from
their country, their families, and their friends.
BUT exiles, if they wiſh to inſure 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 Ruſ-
ſian army, he fell under the diſpleaſure of the Em-
preſs, and was ſent into exile. The calamitous
condition to which perſons exiled by this govern-
ment are reduced is well known; but this philo-
ſophic 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 accidentall y met
with the little Eſſay written by Lord Boling-
broke on the ſubject of Exile. He read it ſeveral
... --> times,

282 THE ADVANTAGES OF
º
times, and “in proportion to the number of times
“I read,” ſaid the Prince, in the preface to the ele-
gant 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 maſter-piece of ſtoic philoſophy and fine
writing. He there boldly examines all the adver-
ſities of life. “Let us,” ſays he, “ſet all our paſt
“ and preſent afflićtions 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. In-
“ ſtead of palliating remedies, let us uſe the in-
“ciſion knife and the cauſtic, ſearch the wound
“ to the bottom, and work an immediate and
“ radical cure.”
Perpet UAL baniſhment, like uninterrupted
Solitude, certainly ſtrengthens the powers of the
- mind, and enables the ſufferer to colle&t ſufficient
becomes an eaſy ſituation to thoſe exiles who are
3.
:e to ſupport his misfortunes. Solitude, indeed,
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
&
an
§ 3. - * ,
* * * * * *
º
d proſperous conditions of life.
3. *... " …: jº º ż & * . . . . . * º * , , ºr "
& .
*
BRUTUs,



sol1t UDE IN ExILE. 283
BRUT Us, when he viſited the baniſhed Mar-
cellus in his retreat at Mytilene, found him
enjoying the higheſt felicities of which human
nature is ſuſceptible, and devoting his time, as
before his baniſhment, to the ſtudy of every uſeful
ſcience. Deeply impreſſed by the example this un-
expected ſcene afforded, he felt, on his return, that
it was Brutus who was exiled, and not Mar-
cellus whom he left behind. Quintus Metel-
lus Numidicus had experienced the like fate
a few years before. While the Roman people,
under the guidance of Marius, were laying the
foundation of that tyranny which Caſar after-
wards completed, Metellus ſingly, in the midſt
of analarmed Senate, and ſurrounded by an enraged
populace, refuſed to take the oath impoſed by the
pernicious laws of the tribune Saturnius; and
his intrepid condućt was converted, by the voice of
fačtion, into an high crime againſt the State; for
which he was dragged from his ſenatorial ſeat by
the licentious rabble, expoſed to the indignity of a
public impeachment, and ſentenced to perpetual
exile. The more virtuous citizens, however, took
arms in his defence, and generouſly reſolved rather
to periſh than behold their country unjuſtly de-
prived of ſo much merit: but this magnanimous
Roman, whom no perſuaſion could induce to do
wrong, declined to increaſe the confuſion of the
Commonwealth by encouraging reſiſtance, con-
ceiving
284 THE ADVANTAG es of
ceiving it a duty he owed to the laws, not to ſuffer
any ſedition to take place on his account. Content-
ing himſelf with proteſting his innocence, and ſin-
cerely lamenting the public phrenſy, he exclaimed,
as Plato had done before during the diſtraćtions
of the Athenian Commonwealth, “If the times
“ſhould mend, I ſhall recover my ſtation; if not,
“it is a happineſs to be abſent from Rome;” and
departed without regret into exile, fully convinced
of its advantages to a mind incapable of finding re-
poſe except on foreign ſhores, and which at Rome
muſt have been inceſſantly tortured by the hourly
fight of a ſickly State and an expiring Republic.
Rutilius alſo, feeling the ſame contempt for
the ſentiments and manners of the age, voluntari |y
withdrew himſelf from the corrupted metropolis
of the Republic. Aſia had been defended by his
integrity and courage againſt the ruinous and op-
preſſive extortion of the publicans. Theſe … noble
and ſpirited exertions, which he was prompted to
make not only from his high ſenſe of juſtice, but in
the honourable diſcharge of the particular duties of
his office, drew on him the indignation of the
Equeſtrian Order, and excited the animofity of the
faction which ſupported the intereſts of Marius.
They induced the vile and infamous Apicius to
become the inſtrument of his deſtrućtion. He was
accuſed ofcorruption! and, a theauthors and abet-
torS
*


SOLITU DE IN EXILE. 285
tors of this falſe accuſation ſat as judges on his trial,
Rutilius, the moſt innocent and virtuous citizen
of the Republic, was of courſe condemned; for, in-
deed, he ſcarcely condeſcended to defend the cauſe.
Seeking an aſylum in the Eaſt, this truly reſpecta-
ble Roman, whoſe merits were not only over-
looked, but traduced, by his ungrateful country,
was every where received with profound venera-
tion and unqualified applauſe. He had, however,
before the term of his exile expired, an opportu-
nity of exhibiting the juſt contempt he felt for the
treatment he had received; for when Sylla ear-
neſtly ſolicited him to return to Rome, he not
only refuſed to comply with his requeſt, but re-
moved his reſidence to a greater diſtance from
his infatuated country.
CIceRo, however, who poſſeſſed in an eminent
degree all the reſources and ſentiments which are
neceſſary to render Solitude pleaſant and advanta-
geous, is a memorable exception to theſe inſtances
of happy and contented exiles. This eloquent pa-
triot, who had been publicly proclaimed “ The
“Saviour of his Country,” who had purſued his
meaſures with undaunted perſeverance, in defiance
of the open menaces of a deſperate faction, and the
concealed dangers of hired aſſaſſins, ſunk into de-
jećtion and diſmay under a ſentence of exile. The
ſtrength of his conſtitution had long been impaired
3 by
286 THE Advant Ages of
by his inceſſant anxiety and fatigue; and the ter.
rors of baniſhment ſo oppreſſed his mind, that he
loſt all his powers, and became, from the deep me.
lancholy into which it plunged him, totally in-
capable of adopting juſt ſentiments, or purſuing ſpi-
rited meaſures. By this weak and unmanly con-
dućt he diſgraced an event by which Providence
intended to render his glory complete. Undeter-
mined where to go, or what to do, he lamented,
with effeminate fighs and childiſh tears, that he
could now no longer enjoy the luxuries of his for-
tune, the ſplendor of his rank, or the charms of his
popularity. Weeping over the ruins of his mag-
nificent manſion, which Clodius levelled with the
ground, and groaning for the abſence of his wife
Terentia, whom he ſoon afterwards repudiated,
he ſuffered the deepeſt melancholy to ſeize upon his
mind; became a prey to the moſt inveterate grief;
complained with bitter anguiſh of wants, which, if
ſupplied, would have afforded him no enjoyment;
and acted, in ſhort, ſo ridiculouſly, that both his
friends and his enemies concluded that adverſity
had deranged his mind. Caſar beheld with fe-
cret and malignant pleaſure the man who had re-
fuſed to act as his Lieutenant ſuffering under
the ſcourge of Clodius. Pompey hoped that all
ſenſe of his ingratitude would be effaced by the
contempt and deriſion to which a benefactor,
whom he had ſhamefully abandoned, thus meanly
expoſed
solitude in Exile. , 287
expoſed his chara&ter. Atticus himſelf, whoſe
mind was bent on magnificence and money, and
who, by his temporizing talents, endeavoured to
preſerve the friendſhip of all parties without en-
liſting in any, bluſhed for the unmanly condućt of
Cicero, and, in the cenſorial ſtyle of Cato, in-
ſtead of his own plauſible diale&t, ſeverely re-
proached him for continuing ſo meanly attached
to his former fortunes. Solitude had no influence
over a mind ſo weak and depreſſed as to turn the
worſt fide of every object to its view. He died,
however, with greater heroiſm than he lived.
“Approach, old ſoldier!” cried he, from his
litter, to Pompilius Laenas, his former client
and preſent murderer, “and, if you have the
“courage, take my life.”
“These inſtances,” ſays Lord Bolingbroke,
“ſhew, that as a change of place, ſimply con-
“ſidered, can render no man unhappy, ſo the
“other evils which are obječted to exile, either
“cannot happen to wiſe and virtuous men, or, if
“they do happen to them, cannot render them
‘miſerable. Stones are hard, and cakes of ice are
“cold, and all who feel them feel alike; but the
“good or the bad events which fortune brings
“upon us, are felt according to the qualities that
‘we, not they, poſſeſs. They are in themſelves in-
“different and commonaccidents, and they acquire
“ſtrength
{
6.
Ç
288 THE Advant Ages of solitude
“ſtrength by nothing but our vice or our weak-
“neſs. Fortune can diſpenſe neither felicity 1101"
“infelicity, unleſs we co-operate with her. Few
“men who are unhappy under the loſs of an
“eſtate would be happy in the poſſeſſion of it;
“ and thoſe who deſerve to enjoy the advantages
“which exile takes away, will not be unhappy
“when they are deprived of them.”
AN exile, however, cannot hope to ſee his days
glide quietly away in rural delights and philoſo-
phic repoſe, except he has conſcientiouſly diſ-
charged thoſe duties which he owed to the world,
and given that example of rečtitude to future ages,
which every chara&ter exhibits who is as great
after his fall as he was at the moſt brilliant period
of his proſperity.

IN old AGE, &c. 289
CHA P T E R T H E SEVENT H.
THE ADVANTAGES of Sol ITUDE IN ol D AGE ;
A N D. O. N.
THE BED OF DEATH.
THE decline of life, and particularly the con-
dition of old age, derive from Solitude the
pureſt ſources of uninterrupted enjoyment. Old
age, when conſidered as a period of comparative
quietude and repoſe, as a ſerious and contempla-
tive interval between a tranſitory exiſtence and
an approaching immortality, is, perhaps, the moſt
agreeable condition of human life: a condition
to which Solitude affords a ſecure harbour againſt
thoſe ſhattering tempeſts to which the frail bark
of man is continually expoſed in a ſhort, but
dangerous, voyage of the world; a harbour from
whence he may ſecurely view the rocks and quick-
ſands which threatened his deſtrućtion, and which
he has ſo happily eſcaped.
MEN are by nature diſpoſed to inveſtigate the va-
rious properties of diſtant objećts before they think
of contemplating their own chara&ters; like mo-
dern travellers, who viſit foreign countries before
- D they
290 the Advantages of solitude
they are acquainted with their own. But pru-
dence will exhort the young, and experience
teach the aged, to conduct themſelves on very
different principles; and both the one and the other
will find that Solitude and ſelf-examination are
the beginning and the end of true wiſdom.
O 1 loſt to Virtue, loſt to manly thought,
Loſt to the noble ſallies of the ſoul |
Who think it Solitude to be alone.
Communion ſweet communion large and high I
Our Reaſon, guardian angel, and our Go D,
Then neareſt theſe when others moſt remote;
And all, ere long, ſhall be remote but theſe.
The levity of youth, by this communion large
and high, will be repreſſed, and the depreſſion
which ſometimes accompanies old age entirely re-
moved. An unceaſing ſucceſſion of gay hopes,
fond defires, ardent wiſhes, high delights, and un-
founded fancies, form the charaćter of our early
years; but thoſe which follow are marked with
melancholy and increaſing ſorrows. A mind, how-
ever, that is invigorated by obſervation and expe-
rience, remains dauntleſs and unmoved amidſt both
the proſperities and adverſities of life. He who is
no longer forced to exert his powers, and who, at
an early period of his life, has well ſtudied the
manners of men, will complain very little of the
: ingratitude
1N ol D Age, &c. 291
ingratitude with which his favours and anxieties
have been requited. All he aſks is, that the world
will let him alone; and having a thorough know-
ledge, not only of his own character, but of man-
kind, he is enabled to enjoy the comforts of repoſe.*
It is finely remarked by a celebrated German,
that there are political as well as religious Carthu-
fians, and that both orders are ſometimes compoſed
of moſt excellent and pious charaćters. “It is,”
* U 2 ſays
* Worldly hopes expire in old age; and if he who has at-
tained that period has not provided himſelf with another hope,
a man of years and a man of miſery mean the ſame thing. There-
fore the ſame ſteps are to be taken, whether we would ſweeten
the remaining dregs of life, or provide a triumph for eternity.
There is a noble abſence from earth while we are yet on it.
There is a noble intimacy with heaven while we are yet beneath
it. And can it be hard for us to lay aſide this world, fince they
that have fared beſt in it have only the feweſt objećtions againſt
it The worldly wiſhes which an old man ſends out are like
Noah's doves; they cannot find whereon to light, and muſt re-
turn to his own heart again for reſt. Out of pure decency to
the dignity of human nature, of which the decays and imperfec-
tions ſhould not be expoſed, men in years ſhould, by Retirement,
fling a veil over them, and be, with reſpect to the world,
at leaſt a little buried before they are interred. An old man's too
great familiarity with the public is an indignity to the buman and
a neglečt of the divine nature. His fancying himſelf to be ſtill
properly one of this world, and on a common footing with the
reſt of mankind, is as if a man getting drunk in the morning,
after a long nap, lifting his drowſy eyelids at ſun-ſet, ſhould take
it for break of day.
Dr. Young's Letters.
292 THE ADVANTAGEs of sol1 TUDE
ſays this admirable writer, “ in the deepeſt and
“moſt ſequeſtered receſſes of foreſts that we meet
“with the peaceful ſage, the calm obſerver, the
“friend of truth, and the lover of his country,
“who renders himſelf beloved by his wiſdom, re-
“vered for his knowledge, reſpected for his vera-
“city, and adored for his benevolence; whoſe
“confidence and friendſhip every one is anxious
“to gain; and who excites admiration by the elo-
“quence of his converſation, and eſteem by the
“virtue of his ačtions, while he raiſes wonder by
“the obſcurity of his name, and the mode of his
“exiſtence. The giddy multitude ſolicit him to
“relinquiſh his ſolitude, and ſeat himſelf on the
“throne; but they perceive inſcribed on his fore-
“head, beaming with ſacred fire, “Odi profanum
“vulgus et arceo; and, inſtead of being his ſedu-
“ cers, become his diſciples.” But, alas ! this ex-
traordinary chara&ter, whom I ſaw ſome years ago
in Weteravia, who inſpired me with filial re-
verence and affection, and whoſe animated coun-
tenance announced the ſuperior wiſdom and happy
tranquillity of his mind, is now no more. There
did not perhaps at that time exiſt in any court a
more profound ſtateſman: he was intimately ac-
quainted with all,and correſponded perſonally with
ſome of the moſt celebrated Sovereigns of Europe.
I never met with an obſerver who penetrated with
3. § 3-3 z. ſuch

IN old AGE, &c. 293
ſuch quick and accurate ſagacity into the minds
and charaćters of men, who formed ſuch true opi-
nions of the world, or criticiſed with ſuch diſcern-
ing accuracy the actions of thoſe who were play-
ing important parts on its various theatres. There
never was a mind more free, more enlarged, more
powerful, or more engaging; oran eye more lively
and inquiſitive. He was the man, of all others, in
whoſe company I could have lived with the higheſt
pleaſure, and died with the greateſt comfort. The
rural habitation in which he lived was ſimple in its
ftrućture, and modeſt in its attire; the ſurround-
ing grounds and gardens laid out in the happy
ſimplicity of nature; and his fare healthy and fru-
gal. I never felt a charm more powerful than
that which filled my boſom while I contemplated
the happy Solitude of the venerable Baron de
Schautenbach at Weteravia.
Rousse AU, feeling his end approach, alſo paſſed
the few remaining years of an uneaſy life in Soli-
tude. It was during old age that he compoſed the
beſt and greater part of his admirable works; but,
although he employed his time with judicious ac-
tivity, his feelings had been too deeply wounded
by the perſecutions of the world, to enable him to
find complete tranquillity in the bowers of retire-
ment. Unhappily he continued ignorant of the
danger of his ſituation, until the vexations of his
U 3 mind,
294 the AdvantAGEs of solitude
mind, the diſorders of his body, and his unpardon-
able neglect of health, had rendered his recovery
impoſſible. It was not until he had been many
years tormented by phyſicians, and racked by a
painful malady, that he took up his pen ; and his
years increaſed only to increaſe the viſible effect
of his mental and corporeal afflićtions, which at
length became ſo acute, that he frequently raved
wildly, or fainted away under the exceſs of his
pains.
It is obſerved by one of our refined critics,
that “all Rouſſeau wrote during his old age
“ is the effect of madneſs.” “ Yes,” replied
his fair friend, with greater truth, “but he
“ raved ſo pleaſantly, that we are delighted to
“ run mad with him.”
The mind becomes more diſpoſed to ſeek its
“ Guardian Angel and its God,” the nearer it ap-
proaches the confines of mortality. When the
ardent fire of youth is extinguiſhed, and the meri-
dian heat of life's ſhort day ſubſides into the ſoft
tranquillity and refreſhing quietude of its evening,
we feel the important neceſſity of devoting ſome
few hours to pious meditation before we cloſe our
eyes in endleſs night; and the very idea of being
able to poſſeſs this interval of holy leiſure, and to
hold this ſacred communion with God, recreates
. the
IN old AGE, &c. 295
the mind, like the approach of ſpring after a dull,
a dreary, and a diſtreſſing winter.
Pet RARch ſcarcely perceived the approaches
of old age. By conſtant activity he contrived to
render retirement always happy, and year after
year rolled unperceived away in pleaſures and
tranquillity. Seated in a verdant arbour in the
vicinity of a Carthuſian Monaſtery, about three
miles from Milan, he wrote to his friend Settimo
with a ſimplicity of heart unknown in modern
times. “ Like a wearied traveller, I increaſe
“ my pace in proportion as I approach the end of
“my journey. I paſs my days and nights in read-
“ing and writing: theſe agreeable occupations al-
“ternately relieve each other, and are the only
“ſources from whence I derive my pleaſures. I
“lie awake and think, and divert my mind by
“every means in my power, and my ardour in-
“creaſes as new difficulties ariſe. Novelties incite,
“ and obſtacles ſharpen, my reſiſtance. The la-
“bours I endure are certain, for my hand is tired
“ of holding my pen: but whether I ſhall reap the
“harveſt of my toils I cannot tell. I am anxious
“to tranſmit my name to poſterity: but if I am
“diſappointed in this wiſh, I am ſatisfied the age
“in which I live, or at leaſt my friends, will know
“me, and this fame ſhall ſatisfy me. My health
“is ſo good, my conſtitution ſo robuſt, and my
U 4 “temperament
296 the AdvantAGEs of solitude
“ temperament ſo warm, that neither the advance
“ of years, nor the moſt ſerious occupation, have
“power to conquer the rebellious enemy by
“which I am inceſſantly attacked. I ſhould cer-
“tainly become its vićtim, as I have frequently
“ been, if Providence did not protećt me. On
“the approach of ſpring, I take up arms againſt
“ the fleſh, and am even at this moment ſtrug-
“gling for my liberty againſt this dangerous
“enemy.”
A RURAL retreat, however lonely or obſcure,
contributes to increaſe the fame of thoſe great and
noble chara&ters who relinquiſh the world at an
advanced period of their lives, and paſs the remain-
der of their days in rational ſolitude : their luſtre
beams from their retirement with brighter rays
than thoſe which ſhone around them in their
earlieſt days, and on the theatre of their glory.
“It is in ſolitude, in exile, and on the bed of
“ death,” ſays Pope, “that the nobleſt charac-
“ters of antiquity ſhone with the greateſt ſplen-
“ dor; it was then they performed the greateſt
“ ſervices; for it was during thoſe periods that
“ they became uſeful examples to the reſt of
“ mankind.” And Rouſſeau appears to have en-
tertained the ſame opinion. “It is noble,” ſays
he, “to exhibit to the eyes of men an example
“ of the life they ought to lead. The man who,
. . “ when
1N ol D AGE, &c. 297
“when age or ill health has deprived him of ac-
“tivity, dares to reſound from his retreat the
“ voice of truth, and to announce to mankind the
“folly of thoſe opinions which render them mi-
“ ſerable, is a public benefactor. I ſhould be of
“much leſs uſe to my countrymen, were I to
“live among them, than I can poſſibly be in my
“ retreat. Of what importance can it be, whe-
“ ther I live in one place or another, provided I
“ diſcharge my duties properly ’’’ <
A cer TAIN young lady of Germany, however,
was of opinion that Rouſſeau was not entitled
to praiſe. She maintained that he was a dangerous
corrupter of the youthful mind, and that he had
very improperly diſcharged his duties, by diſcover-
ing in his Confeſſions the moral defects and vicious
inclinations of his heart. “Such a work written
“by a man of virtue,” ſaid ſhe, “would render him
“an obječt of abhorrence: but Rouſſeau, whoſe
“writings are calculated to captivate the wicked,
“proves, by his ſtory of the Ruban volé, that he
“poſſeſſes a heart of the blackeſt dye. It is evi-
“dent, from many paſſages in that publication,
“that it was vanity alone which guided his pen;
“ and from many others, that he felt himſelf con-
“ſcious he was diſcloſing falſehoods. There is no-
“thing, in ſhort, throughout the work, that bears
“ the ſtamp of truth; and all it informs us of is,
“ that
298 THE ADvaNTAGEs of solitude
“ that Madame de Warens was the original
“from which he drew the charaćter of julia.
“Theſe unjuſtly celebrated Confeſſions contain,
“generally ſpeaking, a great many fine words,
“ and but very few good thoughts. If, inſtead of
“rejećting every opportunity of advancing him-
“ſelf in life, he had engaged in ſome induſtrious
“profeſſion, he might have been more uſeful to
“the world than he has been by the publication
“ of his dangerous writings.”
THIs incomparable criticiſm upon Rouſſeau
merits preſervation; for, in my opinion, it is the
only one of its kind. The Confeſſions of Rouſ-
ſeau are a work certainly not proper for the eye
of youth; but to me it appears one of the moſt
remarkable philoſophic publications that the pre-
ſent age has produced. The fine ſtyle and en-
chanting colours in which it is written are its leaſt
merits. The moſt diſtant poſterity will read it
with rapture, without enquiring what age the ve-
nerable author had attained when he gave to
the world this laſt proof of his ſincerity.
AGE, however advanced, is capable of enjoying
real pleaſure. A virtuous old man paſſes his days
with ſerene gaiety, and receives, in the happineſs
he feels from the benedićtions of all around him,
a rich reward for the reëtitude and integrity of
his
1N old AGE, &c. 299
his paſt life; for the mind reviews with joy-
ful ſatisfaction its honourable and ſelf-approving
tranſactions: nor does the near proſpect of the
tomb give fearful emotion to his undiſmayed and
ſteady ſoul.
THE Empreſs Maria Thereſa has cauſed
her own mauſoleum to be erected, and frequent-
ly, accompanied by her family, viſits, with ſe-
renity and compoſure, a monumental depoſitory,
the idea of which conveys ſuch painful apprehen-
fion to almoſt every mind. Pointing it out to the
obſervation of her children, “Ought we to be
“proud or arrogant,” ſays ſhe, “when we here
{{ behold the tomb in which, after a few years,
“ the poor remains of Royalty muſt quietly re-
“ poſe f" g
THERE are few men capable of thinking with
ſo much ſublimity. Every one, however, is ca-
pable of retiring, at leaſt occaſionally, from the
corruptions of the world; and if, during this calm
retreat, they ſhall happily learn to eſtimate their
paſt days with propriety, and to live the remain-
der in private virtue and public utility, the tomb
will loſe its menacing aſpect, and death appear
like the calm evening of a fine and well-ſpent
day.
THE

300 The advant Ages of solitude
The man how bleſt who, ſick of gaudy ſcenes,
Is led by choice to take his favourite walk
Beneath Death’s gloomy, filent, cypreſs ſhades,
Unpierc’d by Vanity's fantaſtic ray; *:
To read his monuments, to weigh his duſt,
Viſit his vaults, and dwell among the Tombs t
Forth from the Tomb , as from an humble ſhrine,
Truth, radiant Goddeſs! ſallies on the ſoul,
And puts Deluſion's duſky train to flight;
Diſpels the miſts our ſultry paſſions raiſe,
From objects low, terreſtrial, and obſcure,
And ſhews the real eſtimate of things. *
A RELIGIOUs diſpoſition frequently mixes itſelf
in retirement with the innocent and moral enjoy-
ments of the heart, and promotes, by reciprocal
effects, the higheſt pleaſures of Solitude. A ſim-
ple, virtuous, and tranquil life, prepares and
- prompts
* Charles the Fifth reſolved to celebrate his own obſequies
before his death. He ordered his tomb to be erected in the chapel
of the Monaſtery. His domeſtics marched thither in funeral
proceſſion with black tapers in their hands. He himſelf followed
in his ſhroud. He was laid in his coffin with much ſolemnity.
The ſervice of the dead was chaunted, and Charles joined in the
prayers which were offered up for the reſt of his ſoul, mingling
his tears with thoſe which his attendants ſhed, as if they had been
celebrating a real funeral. The ceremony cloſed with ſprinkling
holy water on the coffin in the uſual form, and all the affiſtants
retiring, the doors of the chapel were ſhut. Then Charles roſe
out of the coffin, and withdrew to his apartment, full of thoſe
awful ſentiments which ſuch a fingular ſolemnity was calculated
to inſpire.
1N ol D AGE, &c. - 301
prompts the mind to raiſe itſelf towards its God;
the contemplation of the Divine Nature fills the
heart with religious devotion; and the ſublime ef-
fect of Religion is tranquillity. When the mind
is once touched with the true precepts of our holy
Religion, the vanities of the world loſe their
charms, and the boſom feels the miſeries and tor-
ments of humanity with diminiſhed anguiſh. All
around is calm and quiet. The tumultuous din
of ſociety appears like thunder rolling at a diſ-
tance: and the pious recluſe joyfully exclaims,
in the words of the Poet,
“Bleſt be that hand divine, which gently laid
“My heart at reſt beneath this humble ſhed.
“The world’s a ſtately bark on dang'rous ſeas,
“With pleaſure ſeen, but boarded at our peril:
“Here, on a ſingle plank, thrown ſafe aſhore,
“I hear the tumult of the diſtant throng,
“As that of ſeas remote or dying ſtorms;
“And meditate on ſcenes more ſilent ſtill;
“Purſue my theme, and fight the fear of Death,
“Here, like a ſhepherd gazing from his hut,
“Touching his reed, or leaning on his ſtaff,
“Eager Ambition's fiery chace I ſee;
“I ſee the circling hunt of noiſy men
“Burſt Law's incloſure, leap the mounds of right,
“Purſuing and purſu'd, each other's prey,
“As wolves for rapine; as the fox for wiles;
“Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all.”
WHEN
302 THE ADVANTAG es of solitude
WHEN Addiſon perceived that he was given
ing, h Warwick, a young man of
very irregular lif opinions, whom he had
diligently, but vainly, endeavoured to reclaim, but
who by no means wanted reſpect for the perſon of
s: . . . . . . in. When he entered the chamber
of his dying friend, Addiſon, who was extremely
feeble, and whoſe life at that moment hungquiver-
ing on his lips, obſerved a profound filence. The
youth, after a long and awful pauſe, at length ſaid,
in low and trembling accents, “Sir, you deſired
“to ſee me: fignify your commands, and be aſſu-
“red I will execu .”
te them with religious fidelity.”
Addiſon took him by the hand, and with his ex-
piring breath replied, “Obſerve with what tran-
“quillity a Chriſtian can die.” Such is the con-
ſolation which ſprings from a due ſenſe of the prin-
~~~~a pro yer practice of the precepts of our
In deep deſertion of all H uma
To ſuccour in extremes is herd
And cheer the heart when terror ſtrikes the ſight.
We, diſbelieving our own ſenſes, gaze,
And wonder what a mortal's heart can raiſe,
To































In old AGE, &c. 303
To triumph at misfortunes, ſmile in grief,
And comfort thoſe who came to bring relief:
We gaze; and as we gaze, wealth, fame decay,
And all the world's vain glories fade away.
He who during the retirement of the day ſe-
riouſly ſtudies, and during the filence of the night
piouſly contemplates the auguſt doćtrines of the
Revelation,” will be convinced of their power
by experiencing their effect. He will review with
compoſure his paſt errors in ſociety, perceive with
ſatisfaction his preſent comfort in Solitude, and
. aſpire
* An author of great piety and good ſenſe, after deſcribing, ina
1etter on the Dignity of Man, the extraordinary benefits confer-
red by Revelation, burſts out into the following ſpirited apoſ-
trophe “O, bleſſed Revelation that opens ſuch wonders : o,
“dreadful Revelation 1 if it open them in vain. And are there
“ thoſe with whom they go for nought 2 Strange men in poſ.
“ ſeſſion of a bleſfing, the bare hopes of which ſupported the ſpi-
“rits of the wiſe for four thouſand years under all the calamities
“ of life and terrors of death; and know they not that it is
“ in their hands or, knowing, caſt it away as of no value? A. .
“bleſſing, the very ſhadow of which made the body of the Pa-
“ triarchal and Jewiſh Religion | A bleſfing, after which the
“whole earth panted as the hart for the water brooks! A bleſ.
“fing on which the heavenly hoſt were ſent to congratulate
“ mankind; and fing the glad tidings in their tranſported hearts
** A bleſſing which was more than an equivalent for Paradiſe
“ loſt And is this bleſfing declined, rejećted, exploded, de-
“ſpiſed, ridiculed O, unhappy men The frailty of man is
“ almoſt as incomprehenſible as the mercies of God.”

304 THE ADv ANTAGEs of solitude
aſpire with hope to future happineſs in heaven. He
will think with the freedom of a philoſopher, live
with the piety of a Chriſtian, and renounce with
eaſe the poiſonous pleaſures of ſociety, from a
convićtion that they weaken the energies of his
mind, and prevent his heart from raiſing itſelf to-
wards his God. Diſguſted with the vanities and
follies of public life, he will retire into privacy,
and contemplate the importance of eternity. Even
if he be ſtill obliged occaſionally to venture on the
ſtormy ſea of buſy life, he will avoid with greater
ſkill and prudence the rocks and ſands by which he
is ſurrounded, and ſteer with greater certainty and
effect from the tempeſts which moſt threaten his
deſtruction; rejoicing leſs at the pleaſant courſe
which a favourable wind and clear ſky may afford
him, than at his having happily eluded ſuch a
multitude of dangers. 33
THE hours conſecrated to God in Solitude, are
not only the moſt important, but, when we are
habituated to this holy communion, the happieſt
of our lives. Every time we ſilently elevate our
thoughts towards the great Author of our Being,
we recur to a contemplation of ourſelves; and
being rendered ſenſible of our nearer approach, not
only in idea, but in reality, to the ſeat of eternal
felicity, we retire, without regret, from the noiſy
. multitude
1N old A.G.E., &c. 305
multitude of the world. A philoſophic view and
complete knowledge of the nature of the ſpecies
creep by degrees upon the mind; we ſcrutinize
our charaćters with greater ſeverity; feel with re-
doubled force the neceſſity of a reformation; and
reflect with ſubſtantial effect on the glorious end
for which we were created. Conſcious that hu-
man actions are acceptable to the Almighty mind
only in proportion as they are prompted by mo-
tives of the pureſt virtue, men ought benevolently
to ſuppoſe that every good work ſprings from an
untainted ſource, and is performed merely for the
benefit of mankind; but human actions are ex-
poſed to the influence of a variety of ſecondary
cauſes, and cannot always be the pure produćtion
of an unbiaſed heart. Good works, however,
from whatever motive they ariſe, always convey a
certain ſatisfaction and complacency to the mind.
But when the real merit of the performer is to be
aćtually inveſtigated, the inquiry muſt always be
whether the mind was not actuated by finiſter
views, by the hope of gratifying a momentary
paſſion, by the feelings of ſelf-love, rather than by
the ſympathies of brotherly affection? And theſe
ſubtle and important queſtions are certainly diſ-
cuſſed with cloſer ſcrutiny, and the motives of the
heart explored and developed with greater finceri-
ty, during thoſe hours when we are alone before
God than in any other ſituation.
X Safety
306 the AdvantAGEs of solitude
. Safety dwells
Remote from multitude. The World’s a ſchool
of wrong; and what proficients ſwarm around !
We muſt or imitate or diſapprove ;
Muſt liſt as their accomplices or foes.
That ſtains our innocence, this wounds our peace.
From Nature’s birth hence Wiſdom has been ſmit
With ſweet receſs, and languiſh’d for the ſhade,
The ſacred ſhade of Solitude, which inſpires
The awful preſence of the Deity.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone.
Vice ſinks in her allurements; is ungilt;
And looks, like other objects, black by night.
Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend;
By night the Atheiſt half believes a God.
FIRM and untainted virtue, indeed, cannot be
ſo eaſily and efficaciouſly acquired, as by practiſing
the precepts of Chriſtianity in the bowers of
Solitude. Religion refines our moral ſentiments,
diſengages the heart from every vain deſire, ren-
ders it tranquil under misfortunes, humble in the
preſence of God, and ſteady in the ſociety of
men. A life paſſed in the practice of every vir-
tue, affords us a rich reward for all the hours
we have conſecrated to its duties, and enables us
in the filence of Solitude to raiſe our pure hands
and chaſte hearts in pious adoration to our Al-
mighty Father. -
How
IN ol D AGE, &c. 307
How “low, flat, ſtale, and unprofitable, ſeem
all the uſes of this world,” when the mind, boldly
ſoaring beyond this lower ſphere, indulges the idea
that the pleaſures which reſult from a life of inno-
cence and virtue may be faintly analagous to the
felicities of Heaven! At leaſt, I truſt we may be
permitted unoffendingly to conceive, according to
our worldly apprehenſion, that a free and un-
bounded liberty of thought and action, a high ad-
miration of the univerſal ſyſtem of Nature, a par-
ticipation of the Divine Eſſence, a perfeót com-
munion of friendſhip, and a pure interchange of
love, may be a portion of the enjoyments we hope
to experience in thoſe regions of eternal peace and
happineſs where no impure or improper ſentiment
can taint the mind. But notions like theſe, al-
though they agreeably flatter our imaginations, *
X 2 ſhed
* Men in general fondly hope to find in the next world all
that is flattering to their taſtes, inclinations, defires, and paſ-
ſions, in the preſent. I therefore entirely concur in opinion with
M. Garve, a celebrated German philoſopher, that thoſe per-
ſons who hope that God will hereafter reward them with riches
and honours, cannot poſſeſs true humility of heart. It was ſen-
timents like theſe which occaſioned an extremely beautiful young
Jady to wiſh ſhe might be permitted to carry with her, when ſhe
died, a fine garment of filver tiſſue, richly zoned with feathers,
and to walk in Heaven on carpets of roſe leaves, ſpread upon the
firmament. It was alſo from fimilar ſentiments, that, in a full
aſſembly of women of faſhion, where the queſtion was agitated,
Whether marriages were gºod to all etermity P that they unanimouſly
exclaimed, “ God fºrbid it !” . :
308 THE Adv ANTAGEs of so Lit UDE
ſhed at preſent but a glimmering light upon this
awful ſubjećt, and muſt continue, like dread and
viſions of the mind, until the clouds and thick
darkneſs which ſurround the tomb of mortality no
longer obſcure the bright glories of everlaſting
life; until the veil ſhall be rent aſunder, and the
Eternal ſhall reveal thoſe things which no eye
hath ſeen, no ear has heard, and which paſſeth all
underſtanding. For I acknowledge, with awful re-
verence, and filent ſubmiſſion, that the knowledge
of eternity is to the human intelle&t like that
which the colour of crimſon appeared to be in the
mind of a blind man, who compared it to the
ſound of a trumpet.* I cannot, however, con-
ceive, that a notion more comfortable can be en-
tertained, than that eternity promiſes a conſtant
and uninterrupted tranquillity; although I am per-
fectly conſcious that it is impoſſible to form an
adequate idea of the nature of that enjoyment
which is produced by a happineſs without end.
An everlaſting tranquillity is in my imagination
the higheſt poſſible felicity, becauſe I know of no
felicity upon earth higher than that which a
peaceful mind and contented heart afford.
SINCE, therefore, internal and external tran-
quillity is, upon earth, an inconteſtable com-
Inell Cement
* See Locke's Eſſay on the Human Underſtanding.
IN old AGE, &c. 309.
mencement of beatitude, it may be extremely uſe-
ful to believe, that a rational and qualified ſeclu-
ſion from the tumults of the world may ſo highly
rečtify the faculties of the human ſoul, as to en-
able us to acquire in “bliſsful Solitude” the
elements of that happineſs we expect to enjoy in
the world to come. *
He is the happy man whoſe life e'en now
Shows ſomewhat of that happier life to come,
Who, doom'd to an obſcure but tranquil ſtate,
Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to chooſe,
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the
fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
beſpeak him one
Prepare for happineſs 3
Content, indeed, to ſojourn while he muſt :-
Below the ſkies, but having there his home,
The world o'erlooks him in her buſy ſearch
Of objects n ore illuſtrious in her view ;
And, occupy’d as earneſtly as ſhe,
Though more ſublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She ſcorns his pleaſures, for ſhe knows them not;
He ſeeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain.
He cannot ſkim the ground like ſuch rare birds
Purſuing gilded flies, and ſuch he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
X 3 Therefore




310 THE ADv ANTAGEs of solitude, &c.
Therefore in Contemplation is his bliſs,
Whoſe power is ſuch, that whom ſhe lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a Heav'n unſeen,
And ſhows him glories yet to be reveal’d,
F I N I S.

A BSENCE, favourable to the indulgence of love,
184.
Addiſon, his calm and tranquil death, 302.
Adverſity, ſoftened by Solitude, 235.
Age, the advantages it derives from Solitude, 6.
Albano, its rural beauties and effett, 1 18.
Alexander, his fondneſs for reading, 44; a thirſt of
knowledge led him into Aſia, 66.
Anacreon, the error of his opinion reſpetting the em-
ployment of time, 35. %.
Antiſthenes, a ſaying of his, 80. -x.
Antoninus, his opinion of the beauty of univerſal nature,
1 C 1 - -
Arrogance, ſometimes the effect of Solitude, 12.
Attention, its importance, 18; only to be acquired in
Solitude, 19. -
Anthony, the conſequences of his love of diſſipation,
67.
Auguſtus offers Horace the place of private ſecretary,
94.
Auſterity, the companion of Solitude, 12.
Authors, the advantages they derive from Solitude de-
ſcribed, 2 5, 52 ; a ſervile author reprobated, 37; to
write well they muſt be inſpired, 52; the advantages
they enjoy, 60.
X 4 g Bacon,

..º- *
I N D E X.
Bacon, an extra6 from his works, 7.
Barber, the obſervation of one on the weather, 175.
Beatitude, the higheſt which man is capable of enjoying
in this world, 309. *
Beautiful, operates differently from the Sublime, 116,
119. ... . ~ :
Biel, deſcription of the beauties which adorn the borders
of its lake, 116. &
Blair, his opinion of the importance of attention, 18;
the utility of his lettures on rhetoric, 18; his opinion
of the effects of ſerious retirement, 26. .
Blockheads in power always dangerous, 149.
Boileau's lines on the advantages of retirement to a poet,
Bolingbroke, the merit of his treatiſe on exile, 282, 287.
Bonnet, an extratt from his work on the nature of the
ſoul, 22. º, . .
Boſcawen, his tranſlation of the eleventh ode of Horace,
34; of the fixth ode of book vii, 94. ×
Britiſh Charaćter deſcribed, 9. g
Brutus, his love of letters, 44; his employment during
the night preceding the battle of Pharſalia, 45; his
obſervations on viſiting Marcellus in exile, 283.
Buckebourg, the Count of, his extraordinary charaćter,
72.
c
Cardinal Colonna, the friend of Petrarch, invited to
viſit the ſolitude of Vaucluſe, 167. Cavaillon,

I N D E X.
Cavaillon, the Biſhop of, locks Petrarch out of his
library, 47. " . . . . . . 3.
Caſar, the conſequences of his virtue, 67. .
Charles the Fifth, his employments in Solitude, 66; his
ſolitude at Eſtramadura, and the manner in which he
employed his time, 138; viſits his tomb, and performs
his funeral obſequies, 3oo. 3. :
Cicero, his love of letters, 45; his avowal of it in his
oration for the poet Archias, 45; his defence of the
love of fame, 56; his mind intoxicated by the love
of it, 6o; his dejećtion on being baniſhed, 285.
Chatham, the Earl of his love of Solitude the chief
cauſe of his greatneſs, 48.
Chriſtianity, its comforts, 306.
Cincinnatus's character and love of Solitude, 169.
Clement the Sixth, the infamy of his pontificate expoſed
by Petrarch, 90. X . . . .
Colonna, the letter of Petrarch to that Cardinal, 167.
Competency, what, 163 ; competency and content the
baſis of earthly happineſs, 175.
Corregio, an anecdote of this celebrated painter, 29.
Cottagers, their happineſs deſcribed, 120, 121.
Country, its pleaſures more ſatisfactory and laſting than
thoſe of the town, 6; it is only in the country that
real happineſs can be found, 121; our native place
preferable to every other, 122.
Courage is the companion of Solitude, 50.
Courts, the abſurdity of their pleaſures, 215.
Critics, deſcribed and ridiculed, 36, 37.
Curius, deſcription of his character, 276.
... :: * * Death,
I N D. E. X,
D -
Death, the comforts of which the mind is capable on the
death of a friend, 246; advantages of Solitude on the
bed of death, 289.
Damer, the Honourable Mr. account of his life and
death, 255.
Debauchery, its conſequences deſcribed, 211.
De Luc, his charafter and good condućt, 87.
Demetrius, his behaviour to Stilpo, the philoſopher, upon
taking the city of Megara by ſtorm, 51.
Deſpair, to be conquered by reaſon, 244.
Diocleſian's amuſements in Solitude, 66.
Diogenes, a love of truth led him to his tub, 66.
Dion, deſcription of his charather, 13.
Domeſtic comforts, beſt enjoyed in Solitude, 38; as en-
joyed by the inhabitants of Lauſanne, 151; moſt
friendly to the beſt purſuits of man, 152.
E
Eclogues deſcribed, 129, 130. -
Employment, the neceſſity of it in Solitude, 138; men
of genius frequently confined to employments unfit for
them, 223. -
Empreſs of Germany, her philoſophic condućt, 299;
viſits her tomb, 3oo.
Engliſh, deſcription of their charader, 9; their good
ſenſe and love of Solitude, 171.
Enthuſiaſm, the uſe of it in the education of youth, 58.
Epaminondas, his military ſkill owing to his uſe of Soli-
tude, 89. . --
Exile,
I N D E X.
Exile, the advantages Solitude affords in exile, 279.
F
Fame, the love of it defended by Cicero, 56; likely to
be acquired by ſatiriſts, 58.
Fanaticiſm frequently engendered by Solitude, 252.
Fitzoſborne's Letters, an extract from them, 156.
Fox, the Perſian fable of the, 149.
Frederic the Great, his Solitude while at Spa, 30.
Freedom, deſcription of it, 11; the parent of opulence,
162.
Friendſhip, refined by Solitude, 175.
Freſcati, the beauties of its neighbourhood deſcribed,
117. &
G
Gardening, the true and falſe ſtate of it deſcribed,
105. z # .
Garve eludes the pain of fickneſs by ſtudying the works
of Cicero, 243; indebted to fickneſs for a knowledge
of himſelf, 253; his opinion of thoſe who hope that
God will reward them with riches and honours, 307.
Gellert baniſhes melancholy by additting himſelf to lite-
rary purſuits, 242. . .. .
Genius, its uſe and conſequences, 70. .
Geſner, his Idyll; inſpired by the romantic ſcenery
around Zürich, 117; the merits of them deſcribed,
131. . 2. .
Government, obſervations on the different ſpecies of it,
97; the notions of a rational man on it, 98. ,
Greatneſs,
I N DE x.
Greatneſs, inſtance of its effett in viewing the Alps,
1 o'7.
H
Haller refuſed admiſſion into the Schintzuach ſociety,
83. -
Happineſs not to be attained by frequenting public places,
218; to be found in true ſociety, 220. %
Heart, not to be neglected in the education of youth,
13; the influence which Solitude has on it, 1oo; to
enjoy Solitude it is neceſſary to diveſt the heart of its
emotions, 1 ot. - -
Helvetius, his opinion of indolence, 70.
Henriade, written by Voltaire during his confinement in
the Baſtille, 4.
Herder, his account of a particular caſt of people in
Aſia, 181, 182.
Horace, his ode on the ſubjećt of time, 34; his love of
Solitude, 94; his ode on the ſubjećt of retirement,
95- > * ... :. . . ; -
Hotze, the phyſician, an account of his humane and
happy charater, and of his beautiful and romantic
ſituation at Richterſwyl, 141; 147.
Humanity, a term frequently miſapplied, 265.
Humility, the firſt leſſon we learn from reflection,
249. £ i.
I
Japan, deſcription of a college of blind perſons there,
s:- - Idleneſs
I N D E x.
Idleneſs deſtroys the advantages of retirement, 19; poe-
tical deſcription of rural idleneſs, 133. :
Idylls, thoſe of Geffner deſcribed, 131.
Ill-nature, not the cauſe of ſatiriſing the vices and follies
of mankind, 20, 21 ; ſubdued by Solitude 207.
Imagination, the cauſe of thoſe pleaſures which the heart
derives from Solitude, io9, 106; excited by the ſu-
blime ſcenery of Swiſſerland, 108, 117; its power-
ful effect, 12o; happineſs more in imagination than in
reality, 126; how it may be occaſionally diverted,
167; its deluſive effects, 211 ; muſt be filenced before
reaſon can operate, 237; moderated by Solitude, 243.
Impatience ſubdued by Solitude, 207.
Indolence, a diſpoſition to it checked and ſubdued by
a rational Solitude, 62; Helvetius's opinion of its
effects, 70. x w
Johnſon fond of romances, 126; a dialogue from the
hiſtory of Raffelas, 241; a circumſtance under which
he wrote the Engliſh Dictionary, 242.
Iſenbourg, the Prince of his condućt in exile, 281.
Italians, their charaćter, and contented diſpoſition, 120.
Italy, its depopulation the cauſe which induced Marcenas
to perſuade Virgil to write the Georgics, 54.
L
Lawater gave credit to the juggles of Geffner, 56; an
invocation: o his memory and merits, 59; his national
ſongs, 83, 84. . . §
Leiſure, its uſe in retirement, 24.
Laura,
I N D E X.
Laura, deſcription of her reſidence and charaćier, 191,
192.
Lauſanne, its delightful ſolitude, and the happineſs of
its inhabitants, 151. 32 à
Library may be the ſeat of Solitude, 1; the enjoyments
it afforded to Petrarch, 47, 176.
Liberty defined, 11 ; its uſe in retirement, 24; the
love of it engenders a love of Solitude, 160; the
true ſweetener of life, 163; flies from the thraldom
of ſociety, 153.
Love, enervated the youthful mind of Petrarch, 92;
the moſt precious gift of heaven, 177; unites itſelf
voluntarily with the aſpect of beautiful nature, 177;
inſpired by the return of ſpring, 179; its ſofteſt ima-
ges revived by Solitude, 181; Wieland's ſublime con-
ception of this paſſion, 182 ; its effect on young minds,
183, 204; abſence and tranquillity favourable to the
indulgence of it, 184; frequently becomes highly ro-
mantic in Solitude, 186; Rouſſeau's deſcription of
its effects, 186, 204; its effects on the mind of Pe-
trarch, 188; Ovid's opinion of the danger of love in
Solitude, 189; Adam Smith's ſentiments on this ſub-
jett, 190; Petrarch conquers it, 195; the effect of
love in retirement, 202.
Lovers, their enjoyments in Solitude, 18o; expreſs
their paſſion with high ecſtaſy, 185; Ovid's opinion
that Solitude is dangerous to a lover, 189; their feel-
ings on the death of the object of their affections, 193;
in what manner Solitude heals their afflićtions, 204.
Luc, John Andre de, his negociation with the people of
Geneva, 87. ź. . Luxury,
I N D E X.
Luxury, a ſtory of an old curate's ignorance on this
ſubject, 164.
3&x: . M
Maintenon, that lady's opinion of the retirement of
Marſhal de Boufflers, 174.
Man of Faſhion, miſerable amidſt his pleaſures, 213,
216; his charatter contraſted with that of a philoſo-
pher, 253. 3.
Manual Labour, not to be rejected in Solitude, 227.
Marienwerder, beautiful gardens there deſcribed, 104.
Maleſherbes, Rouſſeau's letter to him on Solitude, 128:
on his love of liberty, 161. 3.
Martial, his opinion of Solitude, 17.
Maecenas's motives for inducing Virgil to write the
Georgics, 54. & .
Meiner's deſcription of the beauties of the borders of the
lake Biel, 116. .
Milton's addreſs to light, 23; deſcription of fallen vir-
tue, 273 ; delight of rural objećts, 280. ..
Mind, its influence upon the body, 240.
Miniſters of State, obſervations on their diſpoſitions and
charaćiers, 170, 174; the diſgrace of one finely il.
luſtrated by Le Sage, in the hiſtory of Vanillo Gon-
zales, 171.
Melancholy ſubdued by Solitude, 102; Thomſon's lines
on philoſophic melancholy, 103.
Mental Pleaſures are in every perſon's reach, 227. .
Metellus, his patriotic condućt, 283.
Montaigne's opinion of Solitude, 1.
. . Moorcock,
º
1 N D E x.
Moorcock, ſtory of one, 164. -
Moore's deſcription of the charader of the Italians,
125.
N
Nature, the manner in which ſhe performs her operations,
7. r
Nemi, the lake of melancholy, deſcribed, 117.
Numa, his love of Solitude, 27; a deſcription of his
character, 27. --- X;
O
Old Age, the advantage it derives from Solitude, 289.
Ovid's lines on the danger a lover experiences in Solitude,
189.
P
Paſtoral Poetry, its origin, 130; its influence on the
heart in Solitude, 133. .
Parents, the propereſt preceptors to teach their children
virtue, 15. . . $º. 3
Paſſions, in what manner concentrated and ſubdued by
Solitude, 63; their uſe in ſociety, 137.
Patriotiſm, the effects it produces, 85; a term frequent-
ly miſapplied, 265. N. .
Peace of Mind, in what it conſiſts, and how obtained,
1 OC. s . . . . . . . . ;
§ 3.3 Pericles,
I N E E X.
Perides, his love of Solitude and charader, 8.
tivating orator, 49.
Petrarch's opinion of the importance of time, and
recommendation of Solitude to employ it profitably,
35, 42; his love of letters deſcribed, 47; the con-
ſequences of excluding him from his library, 48; his
retirement at Vaucluſe deſcribed, 52, 199; the
vantages he derived from Solitude, 9o; his hap * -r
interrupted by the paſſion of love, 92; contrives and
ſupports the enterprizes of Rienzi, 92; the inconfiſt-
ency of his condua, 94; his employments at V
cluſe, 139; his notion of riches, 155; diſguſter
the mean manners of the papal court, 156; a deſcrip-
tion of his perſon and manners, 157; his progreſs in
life, 159; his enjoyments in Solitude, 163; deſcribes
the ſimplicity and frugality of his life in the country,
166; ſubdues his paſſions, 168; his books his beſt
friends, 176; compoſed his fineſt ſonnets at Vaucluſe,
185; the effects which love produced in his mind,
188, 190; his conqueſ over love, 195; his abilities
and fame, 198; his conduct in old age, 295.
Pfeffel of Colmar defeats the inconveniencies of blind-
neſs by means of Solitude, 22. :
Philip of Macedon, an anecdote reſpeaing the uſe of
time, 44.
Philanthropiſt, ſtory of one in the character of Dr.
Hotze, 141, 147. - º
Phyſicians, the character of Dr. Hotze deſcribed, 141,
147; feelings in viſiting the ſick, 249; their motives
for affording charitable aſſiſtance, 264.
Y
s: Plato,







I N D E x.
Plato, his warning againſt auſterity, 12; the effeft of
his philoſophy on the mind of Dion, 14; his obſerva-
tions on the manners of Sicily, 67. .
Pliny the Elder, his panegyric on the works of Martial,
17; his fondneſs for Solitude and the Belles Lettres,
46; and anxiety to eſcape from the buſineſs of the
world, 47. . & º:::::::
Plotinus, an anecdote relating to him, 81.
Plutarch, the advantages to be derived from his works,
15; his deſcription of the charafter of Numa Pompi-
lius, 27; opinion of the effect of praiſe, 55; his
love of hiſtory, 68; the effect his writings produced
upon a lady, 82; his anecdotes of Pericles, 88.
Pompey, his diſſimulation, 275. x
Pontanus, his epitaph, 236.
Pope, his lines on melancholy, 117; his account of the
origin of paſtoral poetry, 130; his ode on Solitude,
168; his ode on a dying Chriſtian to his ſoul, 260.
Power, the love of it in miniſters of ſtate, 173.
Prejudice, conquered by retiring into Solitude, 61.
Public Places, the folly of frequenting them, 217.
Q
º Quixotiſm, the appearance of it not always to be relied
upon, 73. .
& 3. Rapperſchwyl,
I N D Ex.
R
Rapperſchwyl, the fituation and beauties of it deſcribed
142. .
Raffelas, ſtory of a philoſopher from it, 241.
Reading, its pleaſures and utility, 15, 36, 44, 47,
242. .
Reaſon, loſt amidſt the intoxications of pleaſure, 251.
Redin, General, an anecdote relating to him, 11o; il-
luſtrating the charatter of the Swiſs, 111, 116.
Religion forbids a total retreat from the world, 5; the
idea of it inſpired by rural retirement, 1og; 235;
the ſenſe of it obliterated in the world, 251; its ad-
vantages in death, 361.
Retirement, when it moſt engages mens’ affections,
2 1 O, : .
Revelation, its advantages, 303.
Richterſwyl, its extraordinary beauties, 141.
Rienzi, his enterprizes contrived by Petrarch, 93.
Rouſſeau, hated by Haller, 83; fond of reading ro-
mances, 126; defence of Solitude, 128; always
miſerable at Paris, and happy in the country, 135;
his enjoyments in his rural retreat, 14o; aſcribes
his love of Solitude to his love of liberty, 161;
his enjoyments on the return of ſpring, 18o; the
ſuſceptibility of his heart, 181; his deſcription of
love, 186; his diſlike to viſitors, 229; compoſed
the greater part of his works in fickneſs and ſor-
row, 242; his conduct in old age, 293; his works
criticiſed, 297.
Rural ornament, its effects on the mind, 104, 195.
Y 2 Rutilius,
I N D E X.
Rutilius, his philoſophic condućt when baniſhed from
Rome, 284.
s
Sades, the beſt hiſtorian of the life of Petrarch, 90.
Saadi, the Perſian philoſopher, account of his ſayings,
149*. .
Satirift, no literary charaćier more likely to acquire
ºfane, 58. .
Saturnius, the Roman tribune, his condućt, 283.
Schautenbach, his charater deſcribed, 292.
Schaumbourg, the charatter of this extraordinary man,
Schwitz, curious proceedings of the canton reſpetting
General Redin, commander of the Swiſs corps in
France, 11o. .
Scipio, his obſervations on leiſure, 132.
Self-knowledge only to be gained in Solitude, 10, 232;
taught by the ſtudy of philoſophy, 224; Seneca's
opinion of its happy effect in death, 236, 290.
eca, his opinion of ſelf-knowledge, 236.
Senſuality, a
eſcription of its theatre, 166.
º u from his works, 78; his opinion
the effects of fear, 97; his invocation to ſleep,
'ickneſs, eaſier endured in Solitude, 225, 237 ; its
ility in bringing the mind to a ſenſe of its follies,
Social Pleaſures deſcribed, 220.










3. Spleen is ſeldom felt in rural retirement, 33, 34.
Solitary Charaćiers, frequently miſunderſtood, 78.
Solitude defined, 1 ; its importance, 4 ; is peculiar-
ly beneficial in youth and age, 6–Its influence
on the mind, 11 ; elevates to a noble indepen-
dence, 11 ; its advantages to authors, 24; engen-
ders the love of truth, 26; brings forth the fineſt
fruits of genius, 28; fires the imagination, 29;
teaches the value of time, go; deſtroys diſſipa-
tion, 35; refines the taſte, 36; excites curioſity,
38; begets a love of letters, 44; renders the
mind ſuperior to the viciſłitudes and miſeries of
life, 49; encourages a free diſcloſure of our opi-
nions, 51; a love of fame, 55; inſpires an au-
thor, 59; diminiſhes the paſſions, 63; gives great
ideas, 70; ſimplifies the manners, 88; and
ſtrengthens the power of the underſtanding, 96;-
Its influence on the heart, 1oo; through the me-
dium of the imagination, 102 ; by the effect
of rural ſcenery, 105; particularly about the
Alps, 1og, 12o ; by romantic ideas, 126; by
paſtoral poetry, 129; by the leiſure it affords,
133; by its contraſt with the diſſipation of the
world; 135; by its fimple enjoyments, 141, 150;
and tranquillity ; 153; by avoiding the vicious
manners of ſociety, 156; by the love of liberty
it inſpires, 16o ; and the ſubdućtion of inordi-
nate deſires, 164; by ſtripping objects of their
falſe ſplendor, 169; by moderating the ſelfiſh paſ.
fions, 17o; and rendering us contented, 175;
but particularly by rendering the heart ſuſcepti-
Y 3 J ble
1 N D E x.
ble of love, 177; this paſſion in all its varieties
deſcribed, 179, 209;-Its general advantages, 210;
on our love of pleaſure, 212; and ſenſual en-
joyments, 214 ; on the fondneſs for public places,
218; by reſcuing us from irkſome purſuits, 223;
by inſpiring a taſte for mental enjoyments, 227 ;
by inſtrutting us in the knowledge of ourſelves,
232; by ſoftening adverſity, 235; ſoothing miſ-
fortune, 239; and alleviating the pain of fickneſs,
241; by repreſſing the ardency of imagination,
243; ripening and preſerving the tender and hu-
mane feelings, 249 ; inſpiring religious notions, 253;
and rendering us reſigned, 26o;—Its effeči in pro-
ducing virtue, 264; by removing from the dan-
gers that aſſail it, 266; by affording a quiet con-
ſcience, 271; and by teaching the true value of
life, 275 –Its advantages in exile, 279; inſtan-
ces of ſeveral illuſtrious exiles, 281, 288 –Its
advantages in old age, and on the bed of death,
289; by bringing the mind nearer to God, 294;
by preſenting a cloſe view of the grave, 299; by
inſpiring a religious diſpoſition, 3oo; creating a
firm hope of redemption, 303; through the merits
of our Saviour, and by the proſpett of eternal hap-
pineſs, 308.
Staal could never enjoy happineſs at court, 154.
Stilpo, the philoſopher of Megara, an anecdote reſpetting
him, 51. .
Sublime, how it operates on the heart, 119.
Superſtition ſometimes produced by Solitude, 252.
Swiſerland, character of its inhabitants, 109; the
. . aſpett

I N D E X.
aſpect of nature there too ſublime to be copied by
the pencil of art, 116; inſtances of its beauties,
118. .
T
Taper, ſtory of lighting one to St. Michael and the
Devil, 155.
Taſte, refined by Solitude, 36. -
Tell, William, his patriotiſm, 84; ſhoots an apple from
the head of his ſon, 85.
Terror, how inſpired, 107. x.
Themiſtocles, his retort on the Athenians, 79.
Theocritus, a comment on his Idylls, 131.
Thomſon, his lines on philoſophic melancholy, 103.
Time, the importance of it learned in Solitude, 30;
never appears tedious when properly employed, 31;
deſcription of a young prince who underſtood the
true value of it, 31, 32; the neceſſity of not per-
mitting it to paſs uſeleſsly away, 32 ; is never
more miſpent than in declaiming againſt the want
of it, 33; Horace's notion of employing time, 34;
ought not to be employed ſenſually, but morally,
35; Dr. Johnſon's opinion of the great advantages
reſulting from the proper uſe of it, 41; Petrarch's
opinion of it, 42; well employed in reading works
of merit, 43, 47; muſt be properly regulated in
Solitude, 132; poetical deſcription of the employ-
ment of it in Solitude, 133; the manner in which
Diocleſian and Charles the Fifth employed their
time, 66, 138. .
Y 4 Tiſſot,

I N D E X.
Tiffat, one of the deareſt friends of Zimmerman.
Tomb, Empreſs of Germany viſits
points out the futility of greatneſs to her children,
3oo. 3: 3 :
Trench, Baron, his employment in priſon, 3.
Truth unfolds her charms in Solitude with ſuperior
ſplendor, 26; Solitude the only means of diſcover-
ing it, 63; the love of it beſt preſerved by Soli-
tude, 86; not diſcoverable amidſt the diffipation of
the world, 232.
, Vergennes, the Miniſter of France, employs De Luc
to reclaim the refrađory citizens of Geneva, 87.
Wexation quieted by Solitude, 207.
Virgil, the merit of his works increaſed by the leiſure
which retirement afforded him, 53; the reaſon of
his writing the Georgics deſcribed, 54; his illuſtra-
tion of the violent effects of love, 188.
Virtue more eaſily praćtiſed in retirement, 5, 21; the
:- effea of early habit, 7; its path deſcribed, 11; in-
ſpired by reading the works of Plato, 14; eaſily
inculcated by an affectionate mother into the mind
of her children, 15; the reinforcements it brings in
Solitude to ſubdue the paſſions, 64; domeſtic life
moſt friendly to virtue, 152; the fruits of Solitude,
231; whether eaſier to be followed in Solitude
in ſociety, 264 ; the danger to which it is expoſed
in the world, 266. 3.
Viſcomti,






I N D E X.
Viſcomti, archbiſhop and prince of Milan, ſolicits the
friendſhip of Petrarch, 93.
Viſits always unpleaſant to Zimmerman, 225; and to
Rouſſeau, 229; their abſurdities deſcribed in Fitz-
oſborne's Letters, 230. * . . . . . .
Voltaire wrote the Henriade while confined in the Baſ-
tille, 4.
w
Walrave, General, his employment in priſon, 4.
Warwick, Lord, admoniſhed by Addiſon on his death-
bed, 302.
Wieland, his ſublime conception of love, 182.
Women enjoy Solitude with higher reliſh than men, 178;
their company and converſation contribute eſſentially
to the pleaſures and advantages of retirement, 201;
ſooner rendered happy or miſerable than men, 208.
World, its ſociety not to be entirely renounced, 5; its
dangers deſcribed, 10, 17; fear of its opinion con-
quered by retirement, 12; it is the only ſphere
for obſervation on men and manners, 20 ; it is in-
titled to attention, 21; its dangers to the intereſts of
virtue, 266,
Youth derive particular advantages from Solitude, 6;
addreſs to youth, 7; exhorted to virtue, 9 ; and
occaſional retirement, to, 65; its levities repreſſed,
290,
. Zimmerman,





I N D E x.
Z
Zimmerman, his life, xi to xlvii; the effea of solitude
on his afflićtions, 225; laments the death of his wife,
246; his feelings on approaching the bed of fickneſs,
249; deſcribes the charatier and bewails the death
of his daughter, 257. r
Zolikofer, his doctrines deſcribed, 123.
Zurich, the beauties of its lake, 141.
Primus w?, Miln, N. × sarium-1am,
Lombard-ſtreet.

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