{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_55898/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_55898","id":"gutenberg_55898","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55898","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Solitude"],"text":"[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                                SOLITUDE:\n\n                                   BY\n                           JOHN G. ZIMMERMAN.\n\n                      With the Life of the Author.\n\n                             [Illustration]\n\n                              IN TWO PARTS.\n\n                          NEW-YORK:--C. WELLS.\n                            56, Gold-street.\n                                  1840.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    CHAP.                                                             PAGE.\n\n                                 PART I.\n\n          Life of the author                                             9\n\n       I. Introduction,                                                 15\n\n      II. Influence of solitude upon the mind,                          19\n\n     III. Influence of solitude upon the heart,                         60\n\n      IV. General advantages of retirement,                            109\n\n       V. Advantages of solitude in exile,                             134\n\n      VI. Advantages of solitude in old age and on the bed of death,   138\n\n                                PART II.\n\n       I. Introduction,                                                149\n\n      II. Of the motives to solitude,                                  157\n\n     III. Disadvantages of solitude,                                   185\n\n      IV. Influence of solitude on the imagination,                    200\n\n       V. Effects of solitude on a melancholy mind,                    216\n\n      VI. Influence of solitude on the passions,                       235\n\n     VII. Of the danger of idleness in solitude,                       274\n\n    VIII. Conclusion,                                                  279\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nWeak and delicate minds may, perhaps, be alarmed by the title of this\nwork. The word _solitude_, may possibly engender melancholy ideas; but\nthey have only to read a few pages to be undeceived. The author is not\none of those extravagant misanthropists who expect that men, formed by\nnature for the enjoyments of society, and impelled continually towards\nit by a multitude of powerful and invincible propensities, should seek\nrefuge in forests, and inhabit the dreary cave or lonely cell; he is a\nfriend to the species, a rational philosopher, and the virtuous citizen,\nwho, encouraged by the esteem of his sovereign, endeavors to enlighten\nthe minds of his fellow creatures upon a subject of infinite importance\nto them, the attainment of true felicity.\n\nNo writer appears more completely convinced than M. Zimmerman, that man\nis born for society, or feels its duties with more refined sensibility.\n\nIt is the nature of human society, and its correspondent duties, which he\nhere undertakes to examine. The important characters of father, husband,\nson, and citizen, impose on man a variety of obligations, which are\nalways dear to virtuous minds, and establish between him, his country,\nhis family, and his friends, relations too necessary and attractive to be\ndisregarded.\n\n    \u201cWhat wonder, therefore, since th\u2019 endearing ties\n    Of passion link the universal kind\n    Of man so close; what wonder if to search\n    This common nature through the various change\n    Of sex, of age, and fortune, and the frame\n    Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind\n    With unresisted charms? The spacious west,\n    And all the teeming regions of the south,\n    Hold not a quarry to the curious flight,\n    Of knowledge half so tempting or so fair,\n    As man to man.\u201d\n\nBut it is not amidst tumultuous joys and noisy pleasures; in the chimeras\nof ambition, or the illusions of self-love; in the indulgence of feeling,\nor the gratification of desire, that men must expect to feel the charms\nof those mutual ties which link them so firmly to society. It is not\nin such enjoyments that men can feel the dignity of those duties, the\nperformance of which nature has rendered productive of so many pleasures,\nor hope to taste that true felicity which results from an independent\nmind and a contented heart: a felicity seldom sought after, only because\nit is so little known, but which every individual may find within his\nown bosom. Who, alas! does not constantly experience the necessity of\nentering into that sacred asylum to search for consolation under the real\nor imaginary misfortunes of life, or to alleviate indeed more frequently\nthe fatigue of its painful pleasures? Yes, all men, from the mercenary\ntrader, who sinks under the anxiety of his daily task, to the proud\nstatesman, intoxicated by the incense of popular applause, experience the\ndesire of terminating their arduous career. Every bosom feels an anxiety\nfor repose, and fondly wishes to steal from the vortex of a busy and\nperturbed life, to enjoy the tranquillity of solitude.\n\n    \u201cHackney\u2019d in business, wearied at that oar\n    Which thousands, once chain\u2019d fast to, quit no more,\n    But which, when life at ebb, runs weak and low,\n    All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;\n    The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,\n    Pant for the refuge of a peaceful shade\n    Where all his long anxieties forgot,\n    Amidst the charms of a sequester\u2019d spot,\n    Or recollected only to gild o\u2019er\n    And add a smile to what was sweet before,\n    He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,\n    Lay his old age upon the lap of ease,\n    Improve the remnant of his wasted span,\n    And having liv\u2019d a trifler, die a man.\u201d\n\nIt is under the peaceful shades of solitude that the mind regenerates\nand acquires fresh force; it is there alone that the happy can enjoy the\nfulness of felicity, or the miserable forget their wo; it is there that\nthe bosom of sensibility experiences its most delicious emotions; it is\nthere that creative genius frees itself from the thraldom of society,\nand surrenders itself to the impetuous rays of an ardent imagination. To\nthis desired goal all our ideas and desires perpetually tend. \u201cThere\nis,\u201d says Dr. Johnson, \u201cscarcely any writer, who has not celebrated the\nhappiness of rural privacy, and delighted himself and his readers with\nthe melody of birds, the whisper of groves, and the murmurs of rivulets;\nnor any man eminent for extent of capacity, or greatness of exploits,\nthat has not left behind him some memorials of lonely wisdom and silent\ndignity.\u201d\n\nThe original work from which the following pages are selected, consists\nof four large volumes, which have acquired the universal approbation of\nthe German empire, and obtained the suffrages of an empress celebrated\nfor the superior brilliancy of her mind, and who has signified her\napprobation in the most flattering manner.\n\nOn the 26th of January, 1785, a courier, dispatched by the Russian envoy\nat Hamburg, presented M. Zimmerman with a small casket, in the name of\nher majesty the empress of Russia. The casket contained a ring set round\nwith diamonds of an extraordinary size and lustre; and a gold medal\nbearing on one side the portrait of the empress, and on the other the\ndate of the happy reformation of the Russian empire. This present the\nempress accompanied with a letter, written with her own hand, containing\nthese remarkable words:--\u201cTo M. Zimmerman, counsellor of state, and\nphysician to his Britannic majesty, to thank him for the excellent\nprecepts he has given to mankind in his treatise upon solitude.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF ZIMMERMAN.\n\n\nJohn George Zimmerman was born on the 8th day of December, 1728, at\nBrugg, a small town in the canton of Berne.\n\nHis father, John Zimmerman, was eminently distinguished as an able and\neloquent member of the provincial council. His mother, who was equally\nrespected and beloved for her good sense, easy manners, and modest\nvirtues, was the daughter of the celebrated Pache, whose extraordinary\nlearning and great abilities, had contributed to advance him to a seat in\nthe parliament of Paris.\n\nThe father of Zimmerman undertook the arduous task of superintending his\neducation, and, by the assistance of able preceptors, instructed him in\nthe rudiments of all the useful and ornamental sciences, until he had\nattained the age of fourteen years, when he sent him to the university of\nBerne, where, under Kirchberger, the historian and professor of rhetoric,\nand Altman, the celebrated Greek professor, he studied, for three\nyears, philology and the belles lettres, with unremitting assiduity and\nattention.\n\nHaving passed nearly five years at the university, he began to think\nof applying the stores of information he had acquired to the purposes\nof active life; and after mentioning the subject cursorily to a few\nrelations, he immediately resolved to follow the practice of physic. The\nextraordinary fame of Haller, who had recently been promoted by king\nGeorge II. to a professorship in the university of Gottingen, resounded\nat this time throughout Europe: and Zimmerman determined to prosecute\nhis studies in physic under the auspices of this great and celebrated\nmaster. He was admitted into the university on the 12th of September,\n1747, and obtained his degree on the 14th of August, 1751. To relax his\nmind from severer studies, he cultivated a complete knowledge of the\nEnglish language, and became so great a proficient in the polite and\nelegant literature of this country, that the British poets, particularly\nShakspeare, Pope, and Thomson, were as familiar to him as his favorite\nauthors, Homer and Virgil. Every moment, in short, of the four years he\npassed at Gottingen, was employed in the improvement of his mind; and so\nearly as the year 1751, he produced a work in which he discovered the\ndawnings of that extraordinary genius which afterwards spread abroad with\nso much effulgence.[1]\n\nDuring the early part of his residence at Berne, he published many\nexcellent essays on various subjects in the Helvetic Journal;\nparticularly a work on the talents and erudition of Haller. This grateful\ntribute, to the just merits of his friend and benefactor, he afterwards\nenlarged into a complete history of his life and writings, as a scholar,\na philosopher, a physician, and a man.\n\nThe health of Haller, which had suffered greatly by the severity of\nstudy, seemed to decline in proportion as his fame increased; and,\nobtaining permission to leave Gottingen, he repaired to Berne, to try,\nby the advice and assistance of Zimmerman, to restore, if possible, his\ndecayed constitution. The benefits he experienced in a short time were so\ngreat, that he determined to relinquish his professorship, and to pass\nthe remainder of his days in that city. In the family of Haller, lived\na young lady, nearly related to him, whose maiden name was Mely, and\nwhose husband, M. Stek, had been sometime dead. Zimmerman became deeply\nenamored of her charms: he offered her his hand in marriage; and they\nwere united at the altar in the bands of mutual affection.\n\nSoon after his union with this amiable woman, the situation of physician\nto the town of Brugg became vacant, which he was invited by the\ninhabitants to fill; and he accordingly relinquished the pleasures and\nadvantages he enjoyed at Berne and returned to the place of his nativity,\nwith a view to settle himself there for life. His time, however, was not\nso entirely engrossed by the duties of his profession, as to prevent him\nfrom indulging his mind in the pursuits of literature; and he read almost\nevery work of reputed merit, whether of physic, or moral philosophy,\nbelles lettres, history, voyages, or even novels and romances, which the\nvarious presses of Europe from time to time produced. The novels and\nromances of England, in particular, gave him great delight.\n\nBut the amusements which Brugg afforded were extremely confined: and he\nfell into a state of nervous langor, or rather into a peevish dejection\nof spirits, neglecting society, and devoting himself almost entirely to a\nretired and sedentary life.\n\nUnder these circumstances, this excellent and able man passed fourteen\nyears of an uneasy life; but neither his increasing practice, the\nsuccess of his literary pursuits,[2] the exhortations of his friends,\nnor the endeavors of his family, were able to remove the melancholy and\ndiscontent that preyed continually on his mind. After some fruitless\nefforts to please him, he was in the beginning of April, 1768, appointed\nby the interest of Dr. Tissot, and baron Hockstettin, to the post of\nprincipal physician to the king of Great Britain, at Hanover; and he\ndeparted from Brugg, to take possession of his new office, on the 4th of\nJuly, in the same year. Here he was plunged into the deepest affliction\nby the loss of his amiable wife, who after many years of lingering\nsufferance, and pious resignation, expired in his arms, on the 23d of\nJune, 1770; an event which he has described in the following work,\nwith eloquent tenderness and sensibility. His children too, were to\nhim additional causes of the keenest anguish and the deepest distress.\nHis daughter had from her earliest infancy, discovered symptoms of\nconsumption, so strong and inveterate as to defy all the powers of\nmedicine, and which, in the summer of 1781, destroyed her life. The\ncharacter of this amiable girl, and the feelings of her afflicted father\non this melancholy event, his own pen has very affectingly described in\nthe following work.\n\nBut the state and condition of his son was still more distressing to his\nfeelings than even the death of his beloved daughter. This unhappy youth,\nwho, while he was at the university, discovered the finest fancy and the\nsoundest understanding, either from a malignant and inveterate species of\nscrofula, with which he had been periodically tortured from his earliest\ninfancy, or from too close an application to study, fell very early in\nlife into a state of bodily infirmity and mental langor, which terminated\nin the month of December, 1777, in a total derangement of his faculties;\nand he has now continued, in spite of every endeavor to restore him, a\nperfect idiot for more than twenty years.\n\nThe domestic comforts of Zimmerman were now almost entirely destroyed;\ntill at length, he fixed upon the daughter of M. Berger, the king\u2019s\nphysician at Lunenbourg, and niece to baron de Berger, as a person in\nevery respect qualified to make him happy, and they were united to each\nother in marriage about the beginning of October, 1782. Zimmerman was\nnearly thirty years older than his bride: but genius and good sense are\nalways young: and the similarity of their characters obliterated all\nrecollection of disparity of age.\n\nIt was at this period that he composed his great and favorite work on\nsolitude, thirty years after the publication of his first essay on the\nsubject. It consists of four volumes in quarto: the two first of which\nwere published in 1784; and the remaining volumes in 1786. \u201cA work,\u201d\nsays Tissot, \u201cwhich will always be read with as much profit as pleasure,\nas it contains the most sublime conceptions, the greatest sagacity of\nobservation, and extreme propriety of application, much ability in the\nchoice of examples, and (what I cannot commend too highly, because I can\nsay nothing that does him so much honor, nor give him any praise that\nwould be more gratifying to his own heart) a constant anxiety for the\ninterest of religion, with the sacred and solemn truths of which his mind\nwas most devoutly impressed.\u201d\n\nThe king of Prussia, while he was reviewing his troops in Silesia, in the\nautumn of the year 1785, caught a severe cold, which settled on his lungs\nand in the course of nine months brought on symptoms of an approaching\ndropsy. Zimmerman, by two very flattering letters of the 6th and 16th of\nJune, 1786, was solicited by his majesty to attend him, and he arrived at\nPotzdam on the 23d of the same month; but he immediately discovered that\nhis royal patient had but little hopes of recovery; and, after trying\nthe effect of such medicines as he thought most likely to afford relief,\nhe returned to Hanover on the 11th of July following.[3] But it was not\nFrederick alone who discovered his abilities. When in the year 1788, the\nmelancholy state of the king of England\u2019s health alarmed the affection of\nhis subjects, and produced an anxiety throughout Europe for his recovery,\nthe government of Hanover dispatched Zimmerman to Holland, that he might\nbe nearer London, in case his presence there became necessary; and he\ncontinued at the Hague until all danger was over.\n\nZimmerman was the first who had the courage to unveil the dangerous\nprinciples of the new philosophers, and to exhibit to the eyes of the\nGerman princes the risk they ran in neglecting to oppose the progress of\nso formidable a league. He convinced many of them, and particularly the\nemperor Leopold II. that the views of these _illuminated_ conspirators\nwere the destruction of Christianity, and the subversion of all regular\ngovernment. These exertions, while they contributed to lessen the danger\nwhich threatened his adopted country, greatly impaired his health.\n\nIn the month of November, 1794, he was obliged to have recourse to\nstrong opiates to procure even a short repose: his appetite decreased;\nhis strength failed him; and he became so weak and emaciated, that,\nin January 1795, he was induced to visit a few particular patients in\nhis carriage, it was painful to him to write a prescription, and he\nfrequently fainted while ascending to the room. These symptoms were\nfollowed by a dizziness in his head, which obliged him to relinquish\nall business. At length the axis of his brain gave way, and reduced him\nto such a state of mental imbecility, that he was haunted continually\nby an idea that the enemy was plundering his house, and that he and\nhis family were reduced to a state of misery and want. His medical\nfriends, particularly Dr. Wichman, by whom he was constantly attended,\ncontributed their advice and assistance to restore him to health; and\nconceiving that a journey and a change of air were the best remedies\nthat could be applied, they sent him to Eutin, in the duchy of Holstein,\nwhere he continued three months, and about the month of June, 1795,\nreturned to Hanover greatly recovered. But the fatal dart had infixed\nitself too deeply to be entirely removed; he soon afterwards relapsed\ninto his former imbecility, and barely existed in lingering sufferance\nfor many months, refusing to take any medicines, and scarcely any food;\ncontinually harassed and distressed by the cruel allusion of poverty,\nwhich again haunted his imagination. At certain intervals his mind\nseemed to recover only for the purpose of rendering him sensible of his\napproaching dissolution; for he frequently said to his physicians, \u201cMy\ndeath I perceive will be slow and painful;\u201d and, about fourteen hours\nbefore he died, he exclaimed, \u201cLeave me to myself; I am dying.\u201d At\nlength his emaciated body and exhausted mind sunk beneath the burden of\nmortality, and he expired without a groan, on the 7th October, 1795, aged\n66 years and ten months.\n\n\n\n\nSOLITUDE; OR THE INFLUENCE OF OCCASIONAL RETIREMENT UPON THE MIND AND\nHEART.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_Introduction._\n\n\nSolitude is that intellectual state in which the mind voluntarily\nsurrenders itself to its own reflections. The philosopher, therefore, who\nwithdraws his attention from every external object to the contemplation\nof his own ideas, is not less solitary than he who abandons society, and\nresigns himself entirely to the calm enjoyments of lonely life.\n\nThe word \u201csolitude\u201d does not necessarily import a total retreat from the\nworld and its concerns: the dome of domestic society, a rural village,\nor the library of a learned friend, may respectively become the seat\nof solitude, as well as the silent shade of some sequestered spot far\nremoved from all connection with mankind.\n\nA person may be frequently solitary without being alone. The haughty\nbaron, proud of his illustrious descent, is solitary unless he is\nsurrounded by his equals: a profound reasoner is solitary at the tables\nof the witty and the gay. The mind may be as abstracted amidst a numerous\nassembly; as much withdrawn from every surrounding object; as retired\nand concentrated in itself; as solitary, in short, as a monk in his\ncloister, or a hermit in his cave. Solitude, indeed, may exist amidst the\ntumultuous intercourse of an agitated city as well as in the peaceful\nshades of rural retirement; at London and at Paris, as well as on the\nplains of Thebes and the deserts of Nitria.\n\nThe mind, when withdrawn from external objects, adopts, freely and\nextensively, the dictates of its own ideas, and implicitly follows\nthe taste, the temperament, the inclination, and the genius, of its\npossessor. Sauntering through the cloisters of the Magdalen convent at\nHidelshiem, I could not observe, without a smile, an aviary of canary\nbirds, which had been bred in the cell of a female devotee. A gentleman\nof Brabant, lived five-and-twenty years without ever going out of his\nhouse, entertaining himself during that long period with forming a\nmagnificent cabinet of pictures and paintings. Even unfortunate captives,\nwho are doomed to perpetual imprisonment, may soften the rigors of their\nfate, by resigning themselves, as far as their situation will permit, to\nthe ruling passion of their souls. Michael Ducret, the Swiss philosopher,\nwhile he was confined in the castle of Aarburg, in the canton of Berne,\nin Swisserland, measured the height of the Alps: and while the mind of\nbaron Trenck, during his imprisonment at Magdebourg, was with incessant\nanxiety, fabricating projects to effect his escape, general Walrave,\nthe companion of his captivity, contentedly passed his time in feeding\nchickens.\n\nThe human mind, in proportion as it is deprived of external resources,\nsedulously labors to find within itself the means of happiness, learns\nto rely with confidence on its own exertions, and gains with greater\ncertainty the power of being happy.\n\nA work, therefore, on the subject of solitude, appeared to me likely to\nfacilitate man in his search after true felicity.\n\nUnworthy, however, as the dissipation and pleasures of the world appear\nto me to be, of the avidity with which they are pursued, I equally\ndisapprove of the extravagant system which inculcates a total dereliction\nof society; which will be found, when seriously examined, to be equally\nromantic and impracticable. To be able to live independent of all\nassistance, except from our own power, is, I acknowledge, a noble effort\nof the human mind; but it is equally great and dignified to learn the art\nof enjoying the comforts of society with happiness to ourselves, and with\nutility to others.\n\nWhile, therefore, I exhort my readers to listen to the advantages of\n_occasional retirement_, I warn them against that dangerous excess into\nwhich some of the disciples of this philosophy have fallen; an excess\nequally repugnant to reason and religion. May I happily steer through\nall the dangers with which my subject is surrounded; sacrifice nothing\nto prejudice; offer no violation to truth; and gain the approbation\nof the judicious and reflecting! If affliction shall feel one ray of\ncomfort, or melancholy, released from a portion of its horrors, raise its\ndown cast head; if I shall convince the lover of rural life, that all\nthe finer springs of pleasure dry up and decay in the intense joys of\ncrowded cities, and that the warmest emotions of the heart become there\ncold and torpid; if I shall evince the superior pleasures of the country;\nhow many resources rural life affords against the langors of indolence;\nwhat purity of sentiment, what peaceful repose, what exalted happiness,\nis inspired by verdant meads, and the view of lively flocks quitting\ntheir rich pastures to seek, with the declining sun, their evening\nfolds: how highly the romantic scenery of a wild and striking country,\ninterspersed with cottages, the habitations of a happy, free, contented\nrace of men, elevates the soul; how far more interesting to the heart are\nthe joyful occupations of rural industry, than the dull and tasteless\nentertainments of a dissipated city; how much more easily, in short, the\nmost excruciating sorrows are pleasingly subdued on the fragrant border\nof a peaceful stream, than in the midst of those treacherous delights\nwhich occupy the courts of kings--all my wishes will be accomplished, and\nmy happiness complete.\n\nRetirement from the world may prove peculiarly beneficial at two periods\nof life: in youth, to acquire the rudiments of useful information, to lay\nthe foundation of the character intended to be pursued, and to obtain\nthat train of thought which is to guide us through life; in age, to\ncast a retrospective view on the course we have run; to reflect on the\nevents we have observed, the vicissitudes we have experienced: to enjoy\nthe flowers we have gathered on the way, and to congratulate ourselves\nupon the tempests we have survived. Lord Bolingbroke, in his \u201cIdea of a\nPatriot King,\u201d says, there is not a more profound nor a finer observation\nin all lord Bacon\u2019s works, than the following: \u201cWe must choose betimes\nsuch virtuous objects as are proportioned to the means we have of\npursuing them, and belong particularly to the stations we are in, and the\nduties of those stations. We must determine and fix our minds in such\nmanner upon them, that the pursuit of them may become the business, and\nthe attainment of them the end of our whole lives. Thus we shall imitate\nthe great operations of nature, and not the feeble, slow, and imperfect\noperations of art. We must not proceed in forming the moral character, as\na statuary proceeds in forming a statue, who works sometimes on the face,\nsometimes on one part, and sometimes on an other; but we must proceed,\nand it is in our power to proceed, as nature does in forming a flower, or\nany other of her productions; _rudimenta partium omnium simul parit et\nproducit_: she throws out altogether, and at once, the whole system of\nevery being, and the rudiments of all the parts.\u201d\n\nIt is, therefore, more especially to those youthful minds, who still\nremain susceptible of virtuous impressions, that I here pretend to point\nout the path which leads to true felicity. And if you acknowledge that\nI have enlightened your mind, corrected your manners, and tranquillized\nyour heart, I shall congratulate myself on the success of my design, and\nthink my labors richly rewarded.\n\nBelieve me, all ye amiable youths, from whose minds the artifices\nand gayeties of the world have not yet obliterated the precepts of a\nvirtuous education; who are yet uninfected with its inglorious vanities;\nwho, still ignorant of the tricks and blandishments of seduction, have\npreserved the desire to perform some glorious action, and retained the\npower to accomplish it; who, in the midst of feasting, dancing, and\nassemblies, feel an inclination to escape from their unsatisfactory\ndelights; solitude will afford you a safe asylum. Let the voice of\nexperience recommend you to cultivate a fondness for domestic pleasures,\nto incite and fortify your souls to noble deeds, to acquire that cool\njudgment and intrepid spirit which enables you to form correct estimates\nof the characters of mankind, and of the pleasures of society. But to\naccomplish this high end, you must turn your eyes from those trifling and\ninsignificant examples which a degenerated race of men affords, and study\nthe illustrious characters of the ancient Greeks, the Romans, and the\nModern English. In what nation will you find more celebrated instances of\nhuman greatness? What people possesses more valor, courage, firmness, and\nknowledge; where do the arts and sciences shine with greater splendor, or\nwith more useful effect? But do not deceive yourselves by a belief that\nyou will acquire the character of an Englishman by wearing a cropped head\nof hair; no, you must pluck the roots of vice from your mind, destroy\nthe seeds of weakness in your bosoms, and imitate the great examples of\nheroic virtue which that nation so frequently affords. It is an ardent\nlove of liberty, undaunted courage, deep penetration, elevated sentiment,\nand well cultivated understanding, that constitute the British character;\nand not their cropped heads, half-boots, and round hats. It is virtue\nalone, and not dress or titles, that can ennoble or adorn the human\ncharacter. Dress is an object too minute and trifling wholly to occupy\na rational mind; and an illustrious descent is only advantageous as it\nrenders the real merits of its immediate possessor more conspicuous.\nNever, however, lose sight of this important truth, that _no one can be\ntruly great until he has gained a knowledge of himself_: a knowledge\nwhich can only be acquired by _occasional retirement_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_The influence of solitude upon the mind._\n\n\nThe true value of liberty can only be conceived by minds that are free:\nslaves remain indolently contented in captivity. Men who have been long\ntossed upon the troubled ocean of life, and have learned by severe\nexperience to entertain just notions of the world and its concerns, to\nexamine every object with unclouded and impartial eyes, to walk erect in\nthe strict and thorny paths of virtue, and to find their happiness in the\nreflections of an honest mind, alone are _free_.\n\nThe path of virtue, indeed, is devious, dark and dreary; but though it\nleads the traveller over hills of difficulty, it at length brings him\ninto the delightful and extensive plains of permanent happiness and\nsecure repose.\n\nThe love of solitude, when cultivated in the morn of life, elevates\nthe mind to a noble independence; but to acquire the advantage which\nsolitude is capable of affording, the mind must not be impelled to it by\nmelancholy and discontent, but by a real distaste to the idle pleasures\nof the world, a rational contempt for the deceitful joys of life, and\njust apprehensions of being corrupted and seduced by its insinuating and\ndestructive gayeties.\n\nMany men have acquired and exercised in solitude that transcendent\ngreatness of mind which defies events; and, like the majestic cedar,\nwhich braves the fury of the most violent tempest, have resisted, with\nheroic courage, the severest storms of fate.\n\nSolitude, indeed, sometimes renders the mind in a slight degree arrogant\nand conceited; but these effects are easily removed by a judicious\nintercourse with mankind. Misanthropy, contempt of folly, and pride of\nspirit, are, in noble minds, changed by the maturity of age into dignity\nof character; and that fear of the opinion of the world which awed the\nweakness and inexperience of youth, is succeeded by firmness, and a high\ndisdain of those false notions by which it was dismayed: the observations\nonce so dreadful lose all their stings; the mind views objects not as\nthey are, but as they ought to be; and, feeling a contempt for vice,\nrises into a noble enthusiasm for virtue, gaining from the conflict a\nrational experience and a compassionate feeling which never decay.\n\nThe science of the heart, indeed, with which youth should be familiarized\nas early as possible, is too frequently neglected. It removes the\nasperities and polishes the rough surfaces of the mind. This science\nis founded on that noble philosophy which regulates the characters of\nmen; and operating more by love than by rigid precept, corrects the cold\ndictates of reason by the warm feelings of the heart; opens to view the\ndangers to which they are exposed; animates the dormant faculties of the\nmind, and prompts them to the practice of all the virtues.\n\nDion was educated in all the turpitude and servility of courts,\naccustomed to a life of softness and effeminacy, and, what is still\nworse, tainted by ostentation, luxury, and every species of vicious\npleasure; but no sooner did he listen to the divine Plato, and acquire\nthereby a taste for that sublime philosophy which inculcates the practice\nof virtue, than his whole soul became deeply enamored of its charms. The\nsame love of virtue with which Plato inspired the mind of Dion, may be\nsilently, and almost imperceptibly infused by every tender mother into\nthe mind of her child. Philosophy, from the lips of a wise and sensible\nwoman, glides quietly, but with strong effect, into the mind through the\nfeelings of the heart. Who is not fond of walking, even through the most\nrough and difficult paths, when conducted by the hand of love? What\nspecies of instruction can be more successful than soft lessons from a\nfemale tongue, dictated by a mind profound in understanding, and elevated\nin sentiment, where the heart feels all the affection that her precepts\ninspire? Oh! may every mother, so endowed, be blessed with a child who\ndelights to listen in private to her edifying observations; who, with a\nbook in his hand, loves to seek among the rocks some sequestered spot\nfavorable to study; who when walking with his dogs and gun, frequently\nreclines under the friendly shade of some majestic tree, and contemplates\nthe great and glorious characters which the pages of Plutarch present\nto his view, instead of toiling through the thickest of the surrounding\nwoods hunting for game.\n\nThe wishes of a mother are accomplished when the silence and solitude of\nthe forests seize and animate the mind of her loved child; when he begins\nto feel that he has seen sufficiently the pleasures of the world; when\nhe begins to perceive that there are greater and more valued characters\nthan noblemen or esquires, than ministers or kings; characters who enjoy\na more elevated sense of pleasure than gaming tables and assemblies are\ncapable of affording; who seek, at every interval of leisure, the shades\nof solitude with rapturous delight; whose minds have been inspired with\na love of literature and philosophy from their earliest infancy; whose\nbosoms have glowed with a love of science through every subsequent period\nof their lives; and who, amidst the greatest calamities, are capable of\nbanishing, by a secret charm, the deepest melancholy and most profound\ndejection.\n\nThe advantages of solitude to a mind that feels a real disgust at the\ntiresome intercourses of society, are inconceivable. Freed from the\nworld, the veil which obscured the intellect suddenly falls, the clouds\nwhich dimmed the light of reason disappear, the painful burden which\noppressed the soul is alleviated; we no longer wrestle with surrounding\nperils; the apprehension of danger vanishes; the sense of misfortune\nbecomes softened; the dispensations of Providence no longer excite the\nmurmur of discontent; and we enjoy the delightful pleasures of a calm,\nserene and happy mind. Patience and resignation follow and reside with a\ncontented heart; every corroding care flies away on the wings of gayety;\nand on every side agreeable and interesting scenes present themselves\nto our view; the brilliant sun sinking behind the lofty mountains\ntinging their snow-crowned turrets with golden rays; the feathered\nchoir hastening to seek within their mossy cells a soft, a silent, and\nsecure repose; the shrill crowing of the amorous cock; the solemn and\nstately march of oxen returning from their daily toil, and the graceful\npaces of the generous steed. But, amidst the vicious pleasures of a\ngreat metropolis, where sense and truth are constantly despised, and\nintegrity and conscience thrown aside as inconvenient and oppressive, the\nfairest forms of fancy are obscured, and the purest virtues of the heart\ncorrupted.\n\nBut the first and most incontestable advantage of solitude is, that\nit accustoms the mind to think; the imagination becomes more vivid,\nand the memory more faithful, while the sense remains undisturbed, and\nno external object agitates the soul. Removed far from the tiresome\ntumults of public society, where a multitude of heterogeneous objects\ndance before our eyes and fill the mind with incoherent notions, we\nlearn to fix our attention to a single subject, and to contemplate that\nalone. An author, whose works I could read with pleasure every hour of\nmy life, says, \u201cIt is the power of attention which, in a great measure\ndistinguishes the wise and great from the vulgar and trifling herd of\nmen. The latter are accustomed to think, or rather to dream, without\nknowing the subject of their thoughts. In their unconnected rovings\nthey pursue no end, they follow no track. Every thing floats loose and\ndisjointed on the surface of their minds, like leaves scattered and blown\nabout on the face of the waters.\u201d\n\nThe habit of thinking with steadiness and attention can only be acquired\nby avoiding the distraction which a multiplicity of objects always\ncreate; by turning our observation from external things, and seeking a\nsituation in which our daily occupations are not perpetually shifting\ntheir course, and changing their direction.\n\nIdleness and inattention soon destroy all the advantages of retirement;\nfor the most dangerous passions, when the mind is not properly employed,\nrise into fermentation, and produce a variety of eccentric ideas and\nirregular desires. It is necessary, also, to elevate our thoughts\nabove the mean consideration of sensual objects; the unincumbered mind\nthen recalls all that it has read; all that has pleased the eye or\ndelighted the ear; and reflecting on every idea which either observation,\nexperience, or discourse, has produced, gains new information by every\nreflection, and conveys the purest pleasures to the soul. The intellect\ncontemplates all the former scenes of life; views by anticipation those\nthat are yet to come, and blends all ideas of past and future in the\nactual enjoyment of the present moment. To keep, however, the mental\npowers in proper tone, it is necessary to direct our attention invariably\ntoward some noble and interesting study.\n\nIt may, perhaps, excite a smile, when I assert, that solitude is the only\nschool in which the characters of men can be properly developed; but it\nmust be recollected, that, although the materials of this study must be\namassed in society, it is in solitude alone that we can apply them to\ntheir proper use. The world is the great scene of our observations; but\nto apply them with propriety to their respective objects is exclusively\nthe work of solitude. It is admitted that a knowledge of the nature of\nman is necessary to our happiness; and therefore I cannot conceive how\nit is possible to call those characters malignant and misanthropic, who\nwhile they continue in the world, endeavor to discover even the faults,\nfoibles and imperfections of human kind. The pursuit of this species of\nknowledge, which can only be gained by observation, is surely laudable,\nand not deserving the obloquy that has been cast on it. Do I, in my\nmedical character, feel any malignity or hatred to the species, when\nI study the nature, and explore the secret causes of those weaknesses\nand disorders which are incidental to the human frame? When I examine\nthe subject with the closest inspection, and point out for the general\nbenefit, I hope, of mankind, as well as for my own satisfaction, all the\nfrail and imperfect parts in the anatomy of the human body?\n\nBut a difference is supposed to exist between the observations which\nwe are permitted to make upon the anatomy of the human body, and those\nwhich we assume respecting the philosophy of the mind. The physician,\nit is said, studies the maladies which are incidental to the human\nframe, to apply such remedies as particular occasion may require: but\nit is contended, that the moralist has a different end in view. This\ndistinction, however, is certainly without foundation. A sensible and\nfeeling philosopher views both the moral and physical defects of his\nfellow creatures with an equal degree of regret. Why do moralists shun\nmankind, by retiring into solitude, if it be not to avoid the contagion\nof those vices which they perceive so prevalent in the world, and which\nare not observed by those who are in the habit of seeing them daily\nindulged without censure or restraint? The mind, without doubt feels a\nconsiderable degree of pleasure in detecting the imperfections of human\nnature; and where that detection may prove beneficial to mankind, without\ndoing an injury to any individual, to publish them to the world, to point\nout their qualities, to place them, by a luminous description before the\neyes of men, is in my idea, a pleasure so far from being mischievous,\nthat I rather think, and I trust I shall continue to think so even in the\nhour of death, it is the only real mode of discovering the machinations\nof the devil, and destroying the effects of his work. Solitude,\ntherefore, as it tends to excite a disposition to think with effect, to\ndirect the attention to proper objects, to strengthen observation, and to\nincrease the natural sagacity of the mind, is the school in which a true\nknowledge of the human character is most likely to be acquired.\n\nBonnet, in an affecting passage of the preface to his celebrated work on\nthe Nature of the Soul, relates the manner in which solitude rendered\neven his defect of sight advantageous to him. \u201cSolitude,\u201d says he,\n\u201cnecessarily leads the mind to meditation. The circumstances in which I\nhave hitherto lived, joined to the sorrows which have attended me for\nmany years, and from which I am not yet released, induced me to seek in\nreflection those comforts which my unhappy condition rendered necessary;\nand my mind is now become my constant retreat: from the enjoyments it\naffords I derive pleasures which, like potent charms, dispel all my\nafflictions.\u201d At this period the virtuous Bonnet was almost blind.\nAnother excellent character, of a different kind, who devotes his time to\nthe education of youth, Pfeffel, at Colmar, supports himself under the\naffliction of total blindness in a manner equally noble and affecting,\nby a lifeless solitary indeed, but by the opportunities of frequent\nleisure which he employs in the study of philosophy, the recreations\nof poetry, and the exercises of humanity. There was formerly in Japan\na college of blind persons, who, in all probability, were endued with\nquicker discernment than many members of more enlightened colleges.\nThese sightless academicians devoted their time to the study of history,\npoetry, and music. The most celebrated traits in the annals of their\ncountry became the subject of their muse; and the harmony of their verses\ncould only be excelled by the melody of their music. In reflecting upon\nthe idleness and dissipation in which a number of solitary persons pass\ntheir time, we contemplate the conduct of these blind Japanese with\nthe highest pleasure. The _mind\u2019s eye_ opened and afforded them ample\ncompensation for the loss of the corporeal organ. Light, life, and joy,\nflowed into their minds through surrounding darkness, and blessed them\nwith high enjoyment of tranquil thought and innocent occupation.\n\nSolitude teaches us to think, and thoughts become the principal spring\nof human actions; for the _actions_ of men, it is truly said, are,\nnothing more than their _thoughts_ embodied, and brought into substantial\nexistence. The mind, therefore, has only to examine with candor and\nimpartiality the idea which it feels the greatest inclination to pursue,\nin order to penetrate and expound the mystery of the human character;\nand he who has not been accustomed to self-examination, will upon such\na scrutiny, frequently discover truths of extreme importance to his\nhappiness, which the mists of worldly delusion had concealed totally from\nhis view.\n\nLiberty and leisure are all that an active mind requires in solitude.\nThe moment such a character finds itself alone, all the energies of\nhis soul put themselves into motion, and rise to a height incomparably\ngreater than they could have reached under the impulse of a mind clogged\nand oppressed by the encumbrances of society. Even plodding authors,\nwho only endeavor to improve the thoughts of others, and aim not at\noriginality for themselves, derive such advantages from solitude, as to\nrender them contented with their humble labors; but to superior minds,\nhow exquisite are the pleasures they feel when solitude inspires the idea\nand facilitates the execution of works of virtue and public benefit!\nworks which constantly irritate the passions of the foolish, and confound\nthe guilty consciences of the wicked. The exuberance of a fine fertile\nimagination is chastened by the surrounding tranquility of solitude: all\nits diverging rays are concentrated to one certain point; and the mind\nexalted to such powerful energy, that whenever it is inclined to strike,\nthe blow becomes tremendous and irresistible. Conscious of the extent\nand force of his powers, a character thus collected cannot be dismayed\nby legions of adversaries; and he waits, with judicious circumspection,\nto render sooner or later, complete justice to the enemies of virtue.\nThe profligacy of the world, where vice usurps the seat of greatness,\nhypocrisy assumes the face of candor, and prejudice overpowers the voice\nof truth, must, indeed, sting his bosom with the keenest sensations\nof mortification and regret; but cast his philosophic eye over the\ndisordered scene, he will separate what _ought to be indulged_ from _what\nought not to be endured_; and by a happy, well-timed stroke of satire\nfrom his pen, will destroy the bloom of vice, disappoint machinations of\nhipocrisy, and expose the fallacies on which prejudice is founded.\n\nTruth unfolds her charms in solitude with superior splendor. A great and\ngood man; Dr. Blair, of Edinburgh, says, \u201cThe great and the worthy, the\npious and the virtuous, have ever been addicted to _serious retirement_.\nIt is the characteristic of little and frivolous minds to be wholly\noccupied with the vulgar objects of life. These fill up their desires,\nand supply all the entertainment which their coarse apprehensions can\nrelish. But a more refined and enlarged mind leaves the world behind it,\nfeels a call for higher pleasures, and seeks them in retreat. The man of\npublic spirit has recourse to it in order to reform plans for general\ngood; the man of genius in order to dwell on his favorite themes; the\nphilosopher to pursue his discoveries; and the saint to improve himself\nin grace.\u201d\n\nNuma, the legislator of Rome, while he was only a private individual,\nretired on the death of Tatia, his beloved wife, into the deep forests\nof Aricia and wandered in solitary musings through the thickest groves\nand most sequestered shades. Superstition imputed his lonely propensity,\nnot to disappointment, discontent, or hatred to mankind, but to a higher\ncause: a wish silently to communicate with some protecting deity. A rumor\nwas circulated that the goddess Egeria, captivated by his virtues, had\nunited herself to him in the sacred bonds of love, and by enlightening\nhis mind, and storing it with superior wisdom, had led him to divine\nfelicity. The Druids also, who dwelt among the rocks, in the woods,\nand in the most solitary places, are supposed to have instructed the\ninfant nobility of their respective nations in wisdom and in eloquence,\nin the phenomena of nature, in astronomy, in the precepts of religion,\nand the mysteries of eternity. The profound wisdom thus bestowed on the\ncharacters of the Druids, although it was, like the story of Numa, the\nmere effects of imagination, discovers with what enthusiasm every age and\ncountry have revered those venerable characters who in the silence of the\ngroves, and in the tranquillity of solitude, have devoted their time and\ntalents to the improvement of the human mind, and the reformation of the\nspecies.\n\nGenius frequently brings forth its finest fruit in solitude, merely by\nthe exertion of its own intrinsic powers, unaided by the patronage of the\ngreat, the adulation of the multitude, or the hope of mercenary reward.\nFlanders, amidst all the horrors of civil discord, produced painters as\nrich in fame as they were poor in circumstances. The celebrated Correggio\nhad so seldom been rewarded during his life, that the paltry payment of\nten pistoles of German coin, and which he was obliged to travel as far\nas Parma, to receive, created in his mind a joy so excessive, that it\ncaused his death. The self-approbation of conscious merit was the only\nrecompense these great artists received; they painted with the hope of\nimmortal fame; and posterity has done them justice.\n\nProfound meditation in solitude and silence frequently exalts the mind\nabove its natural tone, fires the imagination, and produces the most\nrefined and sublime conceptions. The soul then tastes the purest and\nmost refined delight, and almost loses the idea of existence in the\nintellectual pleasure it receives. The mind on every motion darts through\nspace into eternity; and raised, in his free enjoyment of its powers by\nits own enthusiasm, strengthens itself in the habitude of contemplating\nthe noblest subjects, and of adopting the most heroic pursuits. It was in\na solitary retreat, amidst the shades of a lofty mountain near Byrmont,\nthat the foundation of one of the most extraordinary achievements of\nthe present age was laid. The king of Prussia, while on a visit to Spa,\nwithdrew himself from the company, and walked in silent solitude amongst\nthe most sequestered groves of this beautiful mountain, then adorned in\nall the rude luxuriance of nature, and to this day distinguished by the\nappellation of \u201c_The Royal Mountain_\u201d.[4] On this uninhabited spot, since\nbecome the seat of dissipation, the youthful monarch, it is said first\nformed the plan of conquering Silesia.\n\nSolitude teaches with the happiest effect the important value of _time_,\nof which the indolent, having no conception, can form no estimate. A man\nwho is ardently bent on employment, who is anxious not to live entirely\nin vain, never observes the rapid movements of a stop watch, the true\nimage of transitory life, and most striking emblem of the flight of time,\nwithout alarm and apprehension. Social intercourse, when it tends to\nkeep the mind and heart in a proper tone, when it contributes to enlarge\nthe sphere of knowledge, or to banish corroding care, cannot, indeed,\nbe considered a sacrifice of time. But where social intercourse, even\nwhen attended with these happy effects engages all our attention, turns\nthe calmness of friendship into violence of love, transforms hours into\nminutes, and drives away all ideas, except those which the object of\nour affection inspires, year after year will roll unimproved away. Time\nproperly employed never appears tedious; on the contrary, to him who is\nengaged in usefully discharging the duties of his station, according to\nthe best of his ability, it is light, and pleasantly transitory.\n\nA certain young prince, by the assistance of a number of domestics,\nseldom employs above five or six minutes in dressing. Of his carriage\nit would be incorrect to say he _goes_ in it; for it _flies_. His table\nis superb and hospitable, but the pleasures of it are short and frugal.\nPrinces, indeed, seem disposed to do every thing with rapidity. This\nroyal youth who possesses extraordinary talents, and uncommon dignity of\ncharacter, attends in his own person to every application, and affords\nsatisfaction and delight in every interview. His domestic establishment\nengages his most scrupulous attention; and he employs seven hours every\nday without exception, throughout the year, in reading the best English,\nItalian, French, and German authors. It may therefore be truly said, that\nthis prince is well acquainted with the value of time.\n\nThe hours which a man of the world throws idly away, are in solitude\ndisposed of with profitable pleasure; and no pleasure can be more\nprofitable than that which results from the judicious use of time. Men\nhave many duties to perform: he, therefore, who wishes to discharge them\nhonorably, will vigilantly seize the earliest opportunity, if he does not\nwish that any part of the passing moments should be torn like a useless\npage from the book of life. Useful employment stops the career of time,\nand prolongs our existence. To think and to work, is to live. Our ideas\nnever flow with more rapidity and abundance, or with greater gayety, than\nin those hours which useful labor steals from idleness and dissipation.\nTo employ our time with economy, we should frequently reflect how many\nhours escape from us against our inclination. A celebrated English author\nsays, \u201cWhen we have deducted all that is absorbed in sleep, all that\nis inevitably appropriated to the demands of nature, or irresistably\nengrossed by the tyranny of custom; all that is passed in regulating the\nsuperficial decorations of life, or is given up in the reciprocation\nof civility to the disposal of others; all that is torn from us by the\nviolence of disease, or stolen imperceptibility away by lassitude and\nlangor; we shall find that part of our duration very small of which we\ncan truly call ourselves masters, or which we can spend wholly at our own\nchoice. Many of our hours are lost in a rotation of petty cares, in a\nconstant recurrence of the same employments, many of our provisions for\nease or happiness are always exhausted by the present day, and a great\npart of our existence serves no other purpose than that of enabling us to\nenjoy the rest.\u201d\n\nTime is never more misspent than while we declaim against the want of it;\nall our actions are then tinctured with peevishness. The yoke of life is\ncertainly the least oppressive when we carry it with good humor; and in\nthe shades of rural retirement, when we have once acquired a resolution\nto pass our hours with economy, sorrowful lamentations on the subject of\ntime misspent, and business neglected, never torture the mind.\n\nSolitude, indeed, may prove more dangerous than all the dissipation of\nthe world, if the mind be not properly employed. Every man, from the\nmonarch on the throne to the peasant in the cottage, should have a daily\ntask, which he should feel it his duty to perform without delay. \u201c_Carpe\ndiem_,\u201d says Horace; and this recommendation will extend with equal\npropriety to every hour of our lives.\n\nThe voluptuous of every description, the votaries of Bacchus and the sons\nof Anacreon, exhort us to drive away corroding care, to promote incessant\ngaiety, and to enjoy the fleeting hours as they pass; and these precepts,\nwhen rightly understood, and properly applied, are founded in strong\nsense and sound reason; but they must not be understood or applied in the\nway these sensualists advise; they must not be consumed in drinking and\ndebauchery; but employed in steadily advancing toward the accomplishment\nof the task which our respective duties require us to perform. \u201cIf,\u201d\nsays Petrarch, \u201cyou feel any inclination to serve God, in which consists\nthe highest felicities of our nature; if you are disposed to elevate the\nmind by the study of letters, which, next to religion, procures us the\ntruest pleasures; if by your sentiments and writings, you are anxious to\nleave behind you something that will memorize your name with posterity;\nstop the rapid progress of time, and prolong the course of this uncertain\nlife--fly, ah; fly, I beseech you, from the enjoyment of the _world_, and\npass the few remaining days you have to live in \u2026 _Solitude_.\u201d\n\nSolitude refines the taste, by affording the mind greater opportunities\nto call and select the beauties of those objects which engage its\nattention. There it depends entirely upon ourselves to make choice of\nthose employments which afford the highest pleasure; to read those\nwritings, and to encourage those reflections which tend mostly to purify\nthe mind, and store it with the richest variety of images. The false\nnotions which we so easily acquire in the world, by relying upon the\nsentiments of others, instead of consulting our own, are in solitude\neasily avoided. To be obliged constantly to say, \u201c_I dare not think\notherwise_,\u201d is insupportable. Why, alas! will not men strive to form\nopinions of their own, rather than submit to be guided by the arbitrary\ndictates of others? If a work please me, of what importance is it to me\nwhether the _beau monde_ approve of it or not?--What information do I\nreceive from you, ye cold and miserable critics?--Does your approbation\nmake me feel whatever is truly noble, great and good, with higher relish\nor more refined delight?--How can I submit to the judgment of men who\nalways examine hastily, and generally determine wrong?\n\nMen of enlightened minds, who are capable of correctly distinguishing\nbeauties from defects, whose bosoms feel the highest pleasure from the\nworks of genius, and the severest pain from dullness and depravity, while\nthey admire with enthusiasm, condemn with judgment and deliberation; and,\nretiring from the vulgar herd, either alone or in the society of selected\nfriends, resign themselves to the delights of a tranquil intercourse\nwith the illustrious sages of antiquity, and with those writers who have\ndistinguished and adorned succeeding times.\n\nSolitude, by enlarging the sphere of its information, by awakening a more\nlively curiosity, by relieving fatigue, and by promoting application,\nrenders the mind more active, and multiplies the number of its ideas. A\nman who is well acquainted with all these advantages, has said, that, \u201cby\nsilent, solitary reflection, we exercise and strengthen all the powers\nof the mind. The many obstacles which render it difficult to pursue our\npath disperse and retire, and we return to a busy, social life, with\nmore cheerfulness and content. The sphere of our understanding becomes\nenlarged by reflection; we have learned to survey more objects, and to\nbehold them more intellectually together; we carry a clearer sight, a\njuster judgment, and firmer principles with us into the world in which\nwe are to live and act; and are then more able, even in the midst of all\nits distractions, to preserve our attention, to think with accuracy, to\ndetermine with judgment, in a degree proportioned to the preparations we\nhave made in the hours of retirement.\u201d Alas! in the ordinary commerce\nof the world, the curiosity of a rational mind soon decays, whilst in\nsolitude it hourly augments. The researches of a finite being necessarily\nproceed by slow degrees. The mind links one proposition to another,\njoins experience with observation, and from the discovery of one truth\nproceeds in search of others. The astronomers who first observed the\ncourse of the planets, little imagined how important their discoveries\nwould prove to the future interests and happiness of mankind. Attached\nby the spangled splendor of the firmament, and observing that the stars\nnightly changed their course, curiosity induced them to explore the\ncause of this phenomenon, and led them to pursue the road of science.\nIt is thus that the soul, by silent activity, augments its powers;\nand a contemplative mind advances in knowledge in proportion as it\ninvestigates the various causes, the immediate effects, and the remote\nconsequences of an established truth. Reason, indeed, by impeding the\nwings of the imagination, renders her flight less rapid, but it makes\nthe object of attainment more sure. Drawn aside by the charms of fancy,\nthe mind may construct new worlds; but they immediately burst, like airy\nbubbles formed of soap and water; while reason examines the materials of\nits projected fabric, and uses those only which are durable and good.\n\n\u201cThe great art to learn much,\u201d says Locke, \u201cis to undertake a little at\na time.\u201d Dr. Johnson, the celebrated English writer, has very forcibly\nobserved, that \u201call the performances of human art, at which we look with\npraise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance:\nit is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant\ncountries are united by canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a\nsingle stroke with the pick-axe, or of one impression of a spade, with\nthe general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed with the\nsense of their disproportion; yet those petty operations, incessantly\ncontinued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties; and mountains are\nlevelled, and oceans bounded by the slender force of human beings. It\nis therefore of the utmost importance that those who have any intention\nof deviating from the beaten roads of life, and acquiring a reputation\nsuperior to names hourly swept away by time among the refuse of fame,\nshould add to their reason and their spirit the power of persisting in\ntheir purposes; acquire the art of sapping what they cannot batter; and\nthe habit of vanquishing obstinate resistance by obstinate attacks.\u201d\n\nIt is activity of mind that gives life to the most dreary desert,\nconverts the solitary cell into a social world, gives immortal fame\nto genius, and produces master-pieces of ingenuity to the artist. The\nmind feels a pleasure in the exercise of its powers proportioned to the\ndifficulties it meets with, and the obstacles it has to surmount. When\nApelles was reproached for having painted so few pictures, and for the\nincessant anxiety with which he retouched his works, he contented himself\nwith this observation, \u201c_I paint for posterity_.\u201d\n\nThe inactivity of monastic solitude, the sterile tranquillity of the\ncloister, are ill suited to those who, after a serious preparation in\nretirement, and an assiduous examination of their own powers, feel a\ncapacity and inclination to perform great and good actions for the\nbenefit of mankind. Princes cannot live the lives of monks; statesmen\nare no longer sought for in monasteries and convents; generals are no\nlonger chosen from the members of the church. Petrarch, therefore,\nvery pertinently observes, \u201cthat solitude must not be inactive, nor\nleisure uselessly employed. A character indolent, slothful, languid, and\ndetached from the affairs of life, must infallibly become melancholy and\nmiserable. From such a being no good can be expected; he cannot pursue\nany useful science, or possess the faculties of a great man.\u201d\n\nThe rich and luxurious may claim an exclusive right to those pleasures\nwhich are capable of being purchased by pelf, in which the mind has\nno enjoyment, and which only afford a temporary relief to langor, by\nsteeping the senses in forgetfulness; but in the precious pleasures\nof intellect, so easily accessible by all mankind, the great have no\nexclusive privilege; for such enjoyments are only to be procured by our\nown industry, by serious reflection, profound thought, and deep research;\nexertions which open hidden qualities to the mind, and lead it to the\nknowledge of truth, and to the contemplation of our physical and moral\nnature.\n\nA Swiss preacher has in a German pulpit said, \u201cThe streams of mental\npleasures, of which all men may equally partake, flow from one to the\nother; and that of which we have most frequently tasted, loses neither\nits flavor nor its virtues, but frequently acquires new charms, and\nconveys additional pleasure the oftener it is tasted. The subjects of\nthese pleasures are as unbounded as the reign of truth, as extensive as\nthe world, as unlimited as the divine perfections. Incorporeal pleasures,\ntherefore, are much more durable than all others; they neither disappear\nwith the light of the day, change with the external form of things, nor\ndescend with our bodies to the tomb; but continue with us while we exist;\naccompany us under all the vicissitudes not only of our natural life, but\nof that which is to come; secure us in the darkness of the night, and\ncompensate for all the miseries we are doomed to suffer.\u201d\n\nGreat and exalted minds, therefore, have always, even in the bustle of\ngaiety, or amidst the more agitated career of high ambition, preserved\na taste for intellectual pleasures. Engaged in affairs of the most\nimportant consequence, notwithstanding the variety of objects by which\ntheir attention was distracted, they were still faithful to the muses,\nand fondly devoted their minds to works of genius. They disregarded the\nfalse notion, that reading and knowledge are useless to great men; and\nfrequently condescended, without a blush, to become writers themselves.\n\nPhilip of Macedon, having invited Dionysius the younger to dine with him\nat Corinth, attempted to deride the father of his royal guest, because\nhe had blended the characters of prince and poet, and had employed his\nleisure in writing odes and tragedies. \u201cHow could the king find leisure,\u201d\nsaid Philip, \u201cto write those trifles?\u201d \u201cIn those hours,\u201d answered\nDionysius, \u201cwhich you and I spend in drunkenness and debauchery.\u201d\n\nAlexander who was passionately fond of reading and whilst the world\nresounded with his victories, whilst blood and carnage marked his\nprogress, whilst he dragged captive monarchs at his chariot wheels, and\nmarched with increasing ardor over smoking towns and desolated provinces\nin search of new objects of victory, felt during certain intervals,\nthe langors of unemployed time; and lamenting that Asia afforded no\nbooks to amuse his leisure, he wrote to Harpalus to send him the works\nof Philistus, the tragedies of Euripides, Sophocles, \u00c6schylus, and the\ndithyrambics of Thalestes.\n\nBrutus, the avenger of the violated liberties of Rome, while serving in\nthe army under Pompey, employed among books all the moments he could\nspare from the duties of his station; and was even thus employed during\nthe awful night which preceded the celebrated battle of Pharsalia, by\nwhich the fate of the empire was decided. Oppressed by the excessive\nheat of the day, and by the preparatory arrangement of the army, which\nwas encamped in the middle of summer on a marshy plain, he sought relief\nfrom the bath, and retired to his tent, where, whilst others were locked\nin the arms of sleep, or contemplating the event of the ensuing day, he\nemployed himself until the morning dawned, in drawing a plan from the\nHistory of Polybius.\n\nCicero, who was more sensible of mental pleasures than any other\ncharacter, says, in his oration for the poet Archias, \u201cWhy should I be\nashamed to acknowledge pleasures like these, since for so many years the\nenjoyment of them has never prevented me from relieving the wants of\nothers, or deprived me of the courage to attack vice and defend virtue?\nWho can justly blame, who can censure me, if, while others are pursuing\nthe views of interest, gazing at festal shows and idle ceremonies,\nexploring new pleasures, engaged in midnight revels, in the distraction\nof gaming, the madness of intemperance, neither reposing the body, nor\nrecreating the mind, I spend the recollective hours in a pleasing review\nof my past life, in dedicating my time to learning and the muses?\u201d\n\nPliny the elder, full of the same spirit devoted every moment of his\nlife to learning. A person read to him during his meals; and he never\ntravelled without a book and a portable writing-desk by his side. He made\nextracts from every work he read; and scarcely conceiving himself alive\nwhile his faculties were absorbed in sleep, endeavored by his diligence,\nto double the duration of his existence.\n\nPliny the younger, read upon all occasions, whether riding, walking, or\nsitting, whenever a moment\u2019s leisure afforded him the opportunity; but\nhe made it an invariable rule to prefer the discharge of the duties of\nhis station to those occupations which he followed only as amusement.\nIt was this disposition which so strongly inclined him to solitude and\nretirement. \u201cShall I never,\u201d exclaimed he in moments of vexation, \u201cbreak\nthe fetters by which I am restrained? Are they indissoluble? Alas! I have\nno hope of being gratified--every day brings new torments. No sooner is\none duty performed than another succeeds. The chains of business become\nevery hour more weighty and extensive.\u201d\n\nThe mind of Petrarch was always gloomy and dejected, except when he was\nreading, writing, or resigned to the agreeable illusions of poetry,\nupon the banks of some inspiring stream, among the romantic rocks and\nmountains, or the flower-enamelled vallies of the Alps. To avoid the\nloss of time during his travels, he constantly wrote at every inn where\nhe stopped for refreshment. One of his friends, the bishop of Cavaillon,\nbeing alarmed lest the intense application with which he studied at\nVaucluse might totally ruin a constitution already much impaired,\nrequested of him one day the key of his library. Petrarch immediately\ngave it him without asking the reason of his request; when the good\nbishop, instantly locking up his books and writing-desk, said, \u201cPetrarch,\nI hereby interdict you from the use of pen, ink, and paper, for the space\nof ten days.\u201d The sentence was severe; but the offender suppressed his\nfeelings, and submitted to his fate. The first day of his exile from his\nfavorite pursuits was tedious, the second accompanied with incessant\nheadache, and the third brought on symptoms of an approaching fever. The\nbishop, observing his indisposition, kindly returned him the key, and\nrestored him to his health.\n\nThe late earl of Chatham, on his entering into the world, was a cornet in\na troop of horse dragoons. The regiment was quartered in a small village\nin England. The duties of his station were the first objects of his\nattention; but the moment these were discharged, he retired into solitude\nduring the remainder of the day, and devoted his mind to the study of\nhistory. Subject from his infancy to an hereditary gout, he endeavored\nto eradicate it by regularity and abstinence; and perhaps it was the\nfeeble state of his health which first led him into retirement; but,\nhowever that may be, it was certainly in retirement that he had laid the\nfoundation of that glory which he afterwards acquired. Characters of this\ndescription, it may be said, are no longer to be found; but in my opinion\nboth the idea and assertion would be erroneous. Was the earl of Chatham\ninferior in greatness to a Roman? And will his son, who already, in the\nearliest stage of manhood, thunders forth his eloquence in the senate,\nlike Demosthenes, and captivates like Pericles the hearts of all who hear\nhim: who is now, even in the five-and-twentieth year of his age, dreaded\nabroad, and beloved at home, as prime minister of the British empire;\never think, or act under any circumstances with less greatness, than\nhis illustrious father? What men have been, _man_ may always be. Europe\nnow produces characters as great as ever adorned a throne or commanded\na field. Wisdom and virtue may exist, by proper cultivation, as well in\npublic as in private life; and become as perfect in a crowded palace as\nin a solitary cottage.\n\nSolitude will ultimately render the mind superior to all the vicissitudes\nand miseries of life. The man whose bosom neither riches, nor luxury,\nnor grandeur can render happy, may, with a book in his hand, forget all\nhis torments under the friendly shade of every tree, and experience\npleasures as infinite as they are varied, as pure as they are lasting,\nas lively as they are unfading, and as compatible with every public\nduty as they are contributary to private happiness. The highest public\nduty, indeed, is that of employing our faculties for the benefit of\nmankind, and can no where be so advantageously discharged as in solitude.\nTo acquire a true notion of men and things, and boldly to announce\nour opinions to the world, is an indispensible obligation on every\nindividual. The _press_ is the channel through which writers diffuse\nthe light of truth among _the people_, and display its radiance to the\neyes of _the great_. Good writers inspire the mind with courage to think\nfor itself; and the free communication of sentiments contributes to the\nimprovement and imperfection of human reason. It is this love of liberty\nthat leads men into solitude, where they may throw off the chains by\nwhich they are fettered in the world. It is this disposition to be free,\nthat makes the man who thinks in solitude, boldly speak a language which,\nin the corrupted intercourse of society, he would not have dared openly\nto hazard. Courage is the companion of solitude. The man who does not\nfear to seek his comforts in the peaceful shades of retirement, looks\nwith firmness on the pride and insolence of _the great_, and tears from\nthe face of despotism the mask by which it is concealed.\n\nHis mind, enriched by knowledge, may defy the frowns of fortune, and see\nunmoved the various vicissitudes of life. When Demetrius had captured the\ncity of Megara, and the property of the inhabitants had been entirely\npillaged by the soldiers, he recollected that Stilpo, a philosopher of\ngreat reputation, who sought only the retirement and tranquility of a\nstudious life, was among the number. Having sent for him, Demetrius\nasked him if he had lost any thing during the pillage? \u201cNo,\u201d replied the\nphilosopher, \u201c_my property is safe, for it exists only in my mind_.\u201d\n\nSolitude encourages the disclosure of those sentiments and feelings which\nthe manners of the world compel us to conceal. The mind there unburthens\nitself with ease and freedom. The pen, indeed, is not always taken up\nbecause we are alone; but if we are inclined to write, we ought to be\nalone. To cultivate philosophy, or court the muse with effect, the mind\nmust be free from all embarrassment. The incessant cries of children, or\nthe frequent intrusion of servants with messages of ceremony and cards\nof compliment, distract attention. An author, whether walking in the\nopen air, seated in his closet, reclined under the shade of a spreading\ntree, or stretched upon a sofa, must be free to follow all the impulses\nof his mind, and indulge every bent and turn of his genius. To compose\nwith success, he must feel an irresistible inclination, and be able to\nindulge his sentiments and emotions without obstacle or restraint. There\nare, indeed, minds possessed of a divine inspiration, which is capable\nof subduing every difficulty, and bearing down all opposition: and an\nauthor should suspend his work until he feels this secret call within his\nbosom, and watch for those propitious moments when the mind pours forth\nits ideas with energy, and the heart feels the subject with increasing\nwarmth; for\n\n                \u201c\u2026 Nature\u2019s kindling breath\n    Must fire the chosen genius; Nature\u2019s hand\n    Must string his nerves and imp his eagle wings\n    Impatient of the painful steep, to soar\n    High as the summit; there to breath at large\n    Ethereal air, with bards and sages old,\n    Immortal sons of praise.\u2026\u201d\n\nPetrarch felt this sacred impulse when he tore himself from Avignon,\nthe most vicious and corrupted city of the age, to which the pope had\nrecently transferred the papal chair; and although still young, noble,\nardent, honored by his holiness, respected by princes, courted by\ncardinals, he voluntarily quitted the splendid tumults of this brilliant\ncourt, and retired to the celebrated solitude of Vaucluse, at the\ndistance of six leagues from Avignon, with only one servant to attend\nhim, and no other possession than an humble cottage and its surrounding\ngarden. Charmed with the natural beauties of this rural retreat, he\nadorned it with an excellent library, and dwelt, for many years, in wise\ntranquillity and rational repose, employing his leisure in completing\nand polishing his works: and producing more original compositions during\nthis period than at any other of his life. But, although he here devoted\nmuch time and attention to his writings, it was long before he could be\npersuaded to make them public. Virgil calls the leisure he enjoyed at\nNaples, ignoble and obscure; but it was during this leisure that he wrote\nthe Georgics, the most perfect of all his works, and which evince, in\nalmost every line, that he wrote for immortality.\n\nThe suffrage of posterity, indeed, is a noble expectation, which every\nexcellent and great writer cherishes with enthusiasm. An inferior mind\ncontents itself with a more humble recompense, and sometimes obtains\nits due reward. But writers both great and good, must withdraw from the\ninterruptions of society, and seeking the silence of the groves, and\nthe shades, retire into their own minds: for every thing they perform,\nall that they produce, is the effect of solitude. To accomplish a work\ncapable of existing through future ages, or deserving the approbation\nof contemporary sages, the love of solitude must entirely occupy their\nsouls; for there the mind reviews and arranges, with the happiest effect,\nall the ideas and impressions it has gained in its observations in the\nworld: it is there alone that the dart of satire can be truly sharpened\nagainst inveterate prejudices and infatuated opinions; it is there alone\nthat the vices and follies of mankind present themselves accurately to\nthe view of the moralist, and excite his ardent endeavors to correct and\nreform them. The hope of immortality is certainly the highest with which\na great writer can possibly flatter his mind; but he must possess the\ncomprehensive genius of a Bacon: think with the acuteness of Voltaire:\ncompose with the ease and elegance of Rousseau; and, like them, produce\nmaster-pieces worthy of posterity in order to obtain it.\n\nThe love of fame, as well in the cottage as on the throne, or in the\ncamp, stimulates the mind to the performance of those actions which are\nmost likely to survive mortality and live beyond the grave, and which\nwhen achieved, render the evening of life as brilliant as its morning.\n\u201cThe praises (says Plutarch,) bestowed upon great and exalted minds, only\nspur on and rouse their emulation: like a rapid torrent, the glory which\nthey have already acquired, hurries them irresistibly on to every thing\nthat is great and noble.--They never consider themselves sufficiently\nrewarded. Their present actions are only pledges of what may be expected\nfrom them; and they would blush not to live faithful to their glory, and\nto render it still more illustrious by the noblest actions.\u201d\n\nThe ear which would be deaf to servile adulation and insipid compliment,\nwill listen with pleasure to the enthusiasm with which Cicero exclaims,\n\u201cWhy should we dissemble what it is impossible for us to conceal? Why\nshould we not be proud of confessing candidly that we all aspire to\n_fame_? The love of praise influences all mankind, and the greatest\nminds are the most susceptible of it. The philosophers who most preach\nup a contempt for fame, prefix their names to their works: and the very\nperformances in which they deny ostentation, are evident proofs of their\nvanity and love of praise. Virtue requires no other reward for all the\ntoils and dangers to which she exposes herself than that of fame and\nglory. Take away this flattering reward, and what would remain in the\nnarrow career of life to prompt her exertions? If the mind could not\nlaunch into the prospect of futurity, or the operations of the soul were\nto be limited to the space that bounds those of the body, she would not\nweaken herself by constant fatigues, nor weary herself with continual\nwatchings and anxieties; she would not think even life itself worthy of\na struggle: but there lives in the breast of every good man a principle\nwhich unceasingly prompts and inspirits him to the pursuit of a fame\nbeyond the present hour; a fame not commensurate to our mortal existence,\nbut co-extensive with the latest posterity. Can we, who every day expose\nourselves to dangers for our country, and have never passed one moment of\nour lives without anxiety or trouble, meanly think that all consciousness\nshall be buried with us in the grave? If the greatest men have been\ncareful to preserve their busts and their statues, those images, not\nof their minds, but of their bodies, ought we not rather to transmit\nto posterity the resemblance of our wisdom and virtue? For my part, at\nleast, I acknowledge, that in all my actions I conceived that I was\ndisseminating and transmitting my fame to the remotest corners and the\nlatest ages of the world. Whether, therefore, my consciousness of this\nshall cease in the grave, or, as some have thought, shall survive as a\nproperty of the soul, is of little importance. Of one thing I am certain,\nthat at this instant I feel from the reflection a flattering hope and a\ndelightful sensation.\u201d\n\nThis is the true enthusiasm with which preceptors should inspire the\nbosoms of their young pupils. Whoever shall be happy enough to light up\nthis generous flame, and increase it by constant application, will see\nthe object of his care voluntarily relinquish the pernicious pleasures of\nyouth, enter with virtuous dignity on the stage of life, and add, by the\nperformance of the noblest actions, new lustre to science, and brighter\nrays to glory. The desire of extending our fame by noble deeds, and of\nincreasing the good opinion of mankind by a dignified conduct and real\ngreatness of soul, confers advantages which neither illustrious birth,\nelevated rank, nor great fortune can bestow; and which, even on the\nthrone, are only to be acquired by a life of exemplary virtue, and an\nanxious attention to the suffrages of posterity.\n\nThere is no character, indeed, more likely to acquire future fame than\nthe satirist, who dares to point out and condemn the follies, the\nprejudices, and the growing vices of the age, in strong and nervous\nlanguage. Works of this description, however they may fail to reform the\nprevailing manners of the times, will operate on succeeding generations,\nand extend their influence and reputation to the latest posterity. True\ngreatness operates long after envy and malice have pursued the modest\nmerit which produced it to the grave. O, Lavater! those base corrupted\nsouls who only shine a moment, and are forever extinguished, will be\nforgotten, while the memory of thy name is carefully cherished, and thy\nvirtues fondly beloved: thy foibles will be no longer remembered; and the\nqualities which distinguished and adorned thy character will alone be\nreviewed. The rich variety of thy language, the judgment with which thou\nhast boldly intended and created new expressions, the nervous brevity of\nthy style, and thy striking picture of human manners, will, as the author\nof \u201cThe Characters of German Poets and Prose writers\u201d has predicted,\nextend the fame of thy \u201cFragments upon Physiognomy\u201d to the remotest\nposterity. The accusation that Lavater, who was capable of developing\nsuch sublime truths, and of creating almost a new language, gave credit\nto the juggles of Gesner, will then be forgot; and he will enjoy the life\nafter death, which Cicero seemed to hope for with so much enthusiasm.\n\nSolitude, indeed, affords a pleasure to an author of which no one can\ndeprive him, and which far exceeds all the honors of the world. He not\nonly anticipates the effect his work will produce, but while it advances\ntowards completion, feels the delicious enjoyment of those hours of\nserenity and composure which his labors procure. What continued and\ntranquil delight flows from this successive composition! Sorrows fly\nfrom this elegant occupation. O! I would not exchange one single hour\nof such tranquillity and content, for all those flattering illusions of\npublic fame with which the mind of Tully was so incessantly intoxicated.\nA difficulty surmounted, a happy moment seized, a proposition elucidated,\na sentence neatly and elegantly turned, or a thought happily expressed,\nare salutary and healing balms, counter-poisons to melancholy, and belong\nexclusively to a wise and well-formed solitude.\n\nTo enjoy himself without being dependant on the aid of others, to devote\nto employments not perhaps entirely useless, those hours which sorrow and\nchagrin would otherwise steal from the sum of life is the great advantage\nof an author; and with this advantage alone I am perfectly contented.\n\nSolitude not only elevates the mind, but adds new strength to its powers.\nThe man who has not courage to conquer the prejudices and despise\nthe manners of the world, whose greatest dread is the imputation of\nsingularity, who forms his opinion and regulates his conduct upon the\njudgment and actions of others, will certainly never possess sufficient\nstrength of mind to devote himself to voluntary solitude; which, it has\nbeen well observed, is as necessary to give a just, solid, firm, and\nforcible tone to our thoughts, as an intercourse with the world is to\ngive them richness, brilliancy, and just appropriation.\n\nThe mind, employed on noble and interesting subjects, disdains\nthe indolence that stains the vacant breast. Enjoying freedom and\ntranquillity, the soul feels the extent of its energies with greater\nsensibility, and displays powers which it was before unconscious of\npossessing: the faculties sharpen; the mind becomes more clear, luminous,\nand extensive; the perception more distinct; the whole intellectual\nsystem, in short, exacts more from itself in the leisure of solitude\nthan in the bustle of the world. But to produce these happy effects,\nsolitude must not be reduced to a state of tranquil idleness and inactive\nease, of mental numbness, or sensual stupor; it is not sufficient to\nbe continually gazing out of a window with a vacant mind, or gravely\nwalking up and down the study in a ragged _robe-de-chambre_ and worn-out\nslippers; for the mere exterior of tranquillity cannot elevate or\nincrease the activity of the soul, which must feel an eager desire to\nroam at large, before it can gain that delightful liberty and leisure,\nwhich at the same instant improves the understanding and corrects the\nimagination. The mind, indeed, is enabled, by the strength it acquires\nunder the shades of retirement, to attack prejudices, and combat\nerrors, with the unfailing prowess of the most athletic champion; for\nthe more it examines into the nature of things, the closer it brings\nthem to its view, and exposes, with unerring clearness, all the latent\nproperties they possess. An intrepid and reflecting mind, when retired\nwithin itself, seizes with rapture on truth the moment it is discovered;\nlooks round with a smile of pity and contempt on those who despise its\ncharms; hears without dismay the invectives which envy and malice let\nloose against him; and nobly disdains the hue and cry which the ignorant\nmultitude raise against him, the moment he elevates his hand to dart\nagainst them one of the strongest and invincible truths he has discovered\nin his retreat.\n\nSolitude diminishes the variety of those troublesome passions\nwhich disturb the tranquillity of the human mind, by combining and\nforming a number of them into one great desire; for although it may\ncertainly become dangerous to the passions, it may also, thanks to\nthe dispensations of Providence! produce very salutary effects. If it\ndisorder the mind, it is capable of effecting its cure. It extracts\nthe various propensities of the human heart, and unites them into one.\nBy this process we feel and learn not only the nature, but the extent,\nof all the passions which rise up against us like the angry waves of a\ndisordered ocean, to overwhelm us in the abyss; but philosophy flies\nto our aid, divides their force, and, if we do not yield to them an\neasy victory, by neglecting all opposition to their attacks, virtue and\nself-denial bring gigantic reinforcements to our assistance, and ensure\nsuccess. Virtue and resolution, in short, are equal to every conflict,\nthe instant we learn that one passion is to be conquered by another.\n\nThe mind, exalted by the high and dignified sentiments it acquires by\nlonely meditation, becomes proud of its superiority, withdraws itself\nfrom every base and ignoble object, and avoids, with heroic virtue,\nthe effect of dangerous society. A noble mind observes the sons of\nworldly pleasure mingling in scenes of riot and debauchery without being\nseduced; hears it in vain echoed from every side, that incontinence is\namong the first propensities of the human heart, and that every young\nman of fashion and spirit must as necessarily indulge his appetite for\nthe fair sex, as the calls of hunger or of sleep. Such a mind perceives\nthat libertinism and dissipation not only enervate youth, and render the\nfeelings callous to the charms of virtue, and principles of honesty,\nbut that it destroys every manly resolution, renders the heart timid,\ndecreases exertion, damps the generous warmth and fine enthusiasm of the\nsoul, and in the end, totally annihilates all its powers. The youth,\ntherefore, who seriously wishes to sustain an honorable character on\nthe theatre of life, must forever renounce the habits of indolence and\nluxury; and when he no longer impairs his intellectual faculties by\ndebauchery, or renders it necessary to attempt the renovation of his\nlanguid and debilitated constitution by excess of wine and luxurious\nliving, he will soon be relieved from the necessity of consuming whole\nmornings on horseback in a vain search of that health from change of\nscene which temperance and exercise would immediately bestow.\n\nAll men without exception, have something to learn; whatever may be the\ndistinguished rank which they hold in society, they can never be truly\ngreat but by their personal merit. The more the faculties of the mind\nare exercised in the tranquillity of retirement, the more conspicuous\nthey appear; and should the pleasures of debauchery be the ruling\npassion, learn, O young man! that nothing will so easily subdue it as an\nincreasing emulation in great and virtuous actions, a hatred of idleness\nand frivolity, the study of the sciences, a frequent communication with\nyour own heart, and that high and dignified spirit which views with\ndisdain every thing that is vile and contemptible. This generous and\nhigh disdain of vice, this fond and ardent love of virtue, discloses\nitself in retirement with dignity and greatness, where the passion of\nhigh achievement operates with greater force than in any other situation.\nThe same passion which carried Alexander into Asia, confined Diogenes to\nhis tub. Heraclius descended from his throne to devote his mind to the\nsearch of truth. He who wishes to render his knowledge useful to mankind,\nmust first study the world; not too intensely, or for any long duration,\nor with any fondness for its follies; for the follies of the world\nenervate and destroy the vigor of the mind. Cesar tore himself from the\nembraces of Cleopatra, and became the master of the world; while Antony\ntook her as a mistress to his bosom, sunk indolently into her arms, and\nby his effeminacy lost not only his life, but the government of the Roman\nempire.\n\nSolitude, indeed, inspires the mind with notions too refined and exalted\nfor the level of common life. But a fondness for high conceptions, and a\nlively, ardent disposition, discovers to the votaries of solitude, the\npossibility of supporting themselves on heights which would derange the\nintellects of ordinary men. Every object that surrounds the solitary\nman enlarges the faculties of his mind, improves the feelings of his\nheart, elevates him above the condition of the species, and inspires his\nsoul with views of immortality. Every day in the life of a man of the\nworld seems as if he expected it would be the last of his existence.\nSolitude amply compensates for every privation, while the devotee of\nworldly pleasures conceives himself lost if he is deprived of visiting a\nfashionable assembly, of attending a favorite club, of seeing a new play,\nof patronizing a celebrated boxer, or of admiring some foreign novelty\nwhich the hand-bills of the day have announced.\n\nI could never read without feeling the warmest emotions, the following\npassage of Plutarch; \u201cI live,\u201d says he, \u201centirely upon history; and\nwhile I contemplate the pictures it presents to my view, my mind enjoys\na rich repast from the representation of great and virtuous characters.\nIf the actions of men produce some instances of vice, corruption, and\ndishonesty; I endeavor, nevertheless, to remove the impression, or to\ndefeat its effect. My mind withdraws itself from the scene, and free from\nevery ignoble passion, I attach myself to those high examples of virtue\nwhich are so agreeable and satisfactory, and which accord so completely\nwith the genuine feelings of our nature.\u201d\n\nThe soul, winged by these sublime images, flies from the earth, mounts\nas it proceeds, and casts an eye of disdain on those surrounding clouds\nwhich, as they gravitate to the earth, would impede its flight. At a\ncertain height the faculties of the mind expand, and the fibres of the\nheart dilate. It is, indeed, in the power of every man to perform more\nthan he undertakes; and therefore it is both wise and praiseworthy to\nattempt every thing that is morally within our reach. How many dormant\nideas may be awakened by exertion! and then, what a variety of early\nimpressions, which were seemingly forgot, revive, and present themselves\nto our pens! We may always accomplish more than we conceive, provided\npassion fans the flame which the imagination has lighted; for life is\ninsupportable when unanimated by the soft affections of the heart.\n\nSolitude leads the mind to those sources from whence the grandest\nconceptions are most likely to flow. But alas! it is not in the power of\nevery person to seize the advantages solitude bestows. Were every noble\nmind sensible of the extensive information, of the lofty and sublime\nideas, of the exquisitely fine feelings which result from occasional\nretirement, they would frequently quit the world, even in the earliest\nperiods of youth, to taste the sweets of solitude, and lay the foundation\nfor a wise old age.\n\nIn conducting the low and petty affairs of life, common sense is\ncertainly a more useful quality than even genius itself. Genius, indeed,\nor that fine enthusiasm which carries the mind into its highest sphere,\nis clogged and impeded in its ascent by the ordinary occupations of the\nworld, and seldom regains its natural liberty and pristine vigor except\nin solitude. Minds anxious to reach the regions of philosophy and science\nhave, indeed, no other means of rescuing themselves from the burden and\nthraldom of worldly affairs. Sickened and disgusted with the ridicule\nand obloquy they experience from an ignorant and presumptuous multitude,\ntheir faculties become, as it were, extinct, and mental exertion dies\naway; for the desire of fame, that great incentive to intellectual\nachievement, cannot long exist where merit is no longer rewarded by\npraise. But, remove such minds from the oppression of ignorance, of envy,\nof hatred, of malice; let them enjoy liberty and leisure; and with the\nassistance of pen, ink, and paper, they will soon take an ample revenge,\nand their productions excite the admiration of the world. How many\nexcellent understandings remain in obscurity, merely on account of the\npossessor being condemned to follow worldly employments, in which little\nor no use of the mind is required, and which, for that reason, ought to\nbe exclusively bestowed on the ignorant and illiterate vulgar! But this\ncircumstance can seldom happen in solitude, where the mental faculties,\nenjoying their natural freedom, and roaming unconfined through all parts\nand properties of nature, fix on those pursuits most congenial to their\npowers, and most likely to carry them into their proper sphere.\n\nThe unwelcome reception which solitary men frequently meet with in the\nworld, becomes, when properly considered, a source of enviable happiness;\nfor to be universally beloved, would prove a great misfortune to him who\nis meditating in tranquillity the performance of some great and important\nwork: every one would then be anxious to visit him, to solicit his visits\nin return, and to press for his attendance on all parties. But though\nphilosophers are fortunately not in general the most favored guests in\nfashionable societies, they have the satisfaction to recollect, that\nit is not ordinary or common characters against whom the public hatred\nand disgust are excited. There is always something great in that man\nagainst whom the world exclaims, at whom every one throws a stone, and\non whose character all attempt to fix a thousand crimes, without being\nable to prove one. The fate of a man of genius, who lives retired and\nunknown, is certainly more enviable: for he will then enjoy the pleasure\nof undisturbed retirement; and naturally imagining the multitude to\nbe ignorant of his character, will not be surprised that they should\ncontinually misinterpret and pervert both his words and actions; or that\nthe efforts of his friends to undeceive the public with respect to his\nmerit should prove abortive.\n\nSuch was, in the mistaken view of the world, the fate of the celebrated\ncount Schaumbourg Lippe, better known by the appellation of count de\nBuckebourg. No character, throughout Germany, was ever more traduced,\nor so little understood; and yet he was worthy of being enrolled among\nthe highest names his age or country ever produced. When I first became\nacquainted with him, he lived in almost total privacy, quite retired\nfrom the world, on a small paternal farm, in the management of which\nconsisted all his pleasure and employment. His exterior appearance was\nI confess, rather forbidding, and prevented superficial observers from\nperceiving the extraordinary endowments of his brilliant and capacious\nmind. The count de Lacy, formerly ambassador from the court of Madrid to\nPetersburgh, related to me during his residence at Hanover, that he led\nthe Spanish army against the Portuguese at the time they were commanded\nby the count de Buckebourg; and that when the officers discovered him as\nthey were reconnoitering the enemy with their glasses, the singularity of\nhis appearance struck them so forcibly, that they immediately exclaimed,\n\u201cAre the Portuguese commanded by Don Quixote?\u201d The ambassador, however,\nwho possessed a liberal mind, did justice in the highest terms, to the\nmerit and good conduct of Buckebourg in Portugal; and praised, with\nenthusiastic admiration, the goodness of his mind, and the greatness\nof his character. Viewed at a distance, his appearance was certainly\nromantic; and his heroic countenance, his flowing hair, his tall and\nmeagre figure, and particularly the extraordinary length of his visage,\nmight, in truth, recall some idea of the celebrated knight of La Mancha:\nbut, on a closer view, both his person and his manners dispelled the\nidea; for his features, full of fire and animation, announced the\nelevation, sagacity, penetration, kindness, virtue, and serenity of his\nsoul; and the most sublime and heroic sentiments were as familiar and\nnatural to his mind, as they were to the noblest characters of Greece and\nRome.\n\nThe count was born in London, and possessed a disposition as whimsical as\nit was extraordinary. The anecdotes concerning him, which I heard from\nhis relation, a German prince, are perhaps not generally known. Fond of\ncontending with the English in every thing, he laid a wager that he would\nride a horse from London to Edinburg backwards, that is, with the horse\u2019s\nhead toward Edinburg, and the count\u2019s face toward London; and in this\nmanner he actually rode through several counties in England, he travelled\nthrough the greater part of that kingdom on foot in the disguise of a\ncommon beggar. Being informed that part of the current of the Danube,\nabove Regensberg, was so strong and rapid, that no one dared to swim\nacross it; he made the attempt, and ventured so far that he nearly lost\nhis life. A great statesman and profound philosopher at Hanover related\nto me, that during the war in which the count commanded the artillery\nin the army of prince Ferdinand of Brunswick against the French, he one\nday invited a number of Hanoverian officers to dine with him in his\ntent. While the company were in the highest state of festive mirth and\ngayety, a succession of cannon balls passed directly over the head of\nthe tent. \u201cThe French cannot be far off!\u201d exclaimed the officers. \u201cOh! I\nassure you,\u201d replied the count, \u201cthey are not near us;\u201d and he begged the\ngentlemen would make themselves perfectly easy, resume their seats, and\nfinish their dinner. Soon afterwards a cannon ball carried away the top\nof the tent, when the officers again rose precipitately from their seats,\nexclaiming, \u201cThe enemy are here!\u201d \u201cNo, no,\u201d replied the count, \u201cthe enemy\nare not here; therefore I must request, gentlemen, that you will place\nyourselves at the table, and sit still, for you may rely on my word.\u201d The\nfiring recommenced and the balls flew about in the same direction: the\nofficers, however, remained fixed to their seats; and while they ate and\ndrank in seeming tranquillity, whispered to each other their surmises\nand conjectures on this singular entertainment. At length the count,\nrising from his seat addressed the company in these words: \u201cgentlemen,\nI was willing to convince you how well I can rely upon the officers of\nmy artillery. I ordered them to fire, during the time we continued at\ndinner, at the pinnacle of the tent; and you have observed with what\npunctuality they obeyed my orders.\u201d\n\nCharacteristic traits of a man anxious to inure himself and those\nabout him to arduous and difficult exploits will not be useless or\nunentertaining to curious and speculative minds. Being one day in\ncompany with the count at fort Wilhelmstein, by the side of a magazine\nof gunpowder, which he had placed in the room immediately under that in\nwhich he slept, I observed to him, that I should not be able to sleep\nvery contentedly there during some of the hot nights of summer. The\ncount, however, convinced me, though I do not now recollect by what\nmeans, that _the greatest danger and no danger, are one and the same\nthing_. When I first saw this extraordinary man, which was in the company\nof two officers, the one English the other Portuguese, he entertained\nme for two hours upon the physiology of Haller, whose works he knew by\nheart. The ensuing morning he insisted on my accompanying him in a little\nboat, which he rowed himself, to fort Wilhelmstein, built under his\ndirection in the middle of the water, from plans, which he showed me of\nhis own drawing. One Sunday, on the great parade at Pyrmont, surrounded\nby a vast concourse of men and women occupied in music, dancing, and\ngallantries, he entertained me during the course of two hours on the\nsame spot, and with as much serenity if we had been alone, by detailing\nthe various controversies respecting the existence of God, pointing out\ntheir defective parts and convincing me that he surpassed every writer in\nhis knowledge of the subject. To prevent my escaping from this lecture,\nhe held me fast the whole time by one of the buttons of my coat. At his\ncountry seat at Buckebourg, he showed me a large folio volume, in his own\nhand-writing, upon \u201cThe Art of defending a small town against a great\nforce.\u201d The work was completely finished and intended as a present to the\nking of Portugal. There were many passages in it, which the count did me\nthe favor to read relating to Swisserland, a country and people which he\nconsidered as invincible; pointing out to me not only all the important\nplaces they might occupy against an enemy, but discovering passes before\nunknown, and through which even a cat would scarce be able to crawl. I\ndo not believe that any thing was ever written of higher importance to\nthe interests of my country than this work; for it contains satisfactory\nanswers to every objection that ever has or can be made. My friend M.\nMoyse Mendelsohm, to whom the cont read the preface to this work while\nhe resided at Pyrmont, considered it as a master-piece of fine style\nand sound reasoning; for the count, when he pleased, wrote the French\nlanguage with nearly as much elegance and purity as Voltaire: while in\nthe German he was labored, perplexed, and diffuse. I must, however,\nadd this in his praise, that, on his return from Portugal, he studied\nfor many years under two of the most acute masters in Germany: first,\nAbbt; and afterwards Herder. Many persons who, from a closer intimacy\nand deeper penetration, have had greater opportunities of observing the\nconduct and character of this truly great and extraordinary man, relate\nof him a variety of anecdotes equally instructive and entertaining. I\nshall only add one observation more respecting his character, availing\nmyself of the words of Shakspeare; the count Guilaume de Schaumbourg\nLippe\n\n                           \u201c\u2026 carries no dagger.\n    He has a lean and hungry look;\n                    \u2026 but he\u2019s not dangerous:\n                            \u2026 he reads much:\n    He is a great observer: and he looks\n    Quite thro\u2019 the deeds of men. He loves no plays\n                            \u2026 he hears no music;\n    Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort,\n    As if he mock\u2019d himself, and scorn\u2019d his spirit,\n    That could be mov\u2019d to smile at any thing.\u201d\n\nSuch was the character, always misunderstood, of this solitary man; and\nsuch a character might fairly indulge a contemptuous smile, on perceiving\nthe mistaken sneers of an ignorant multitude. But what must be the shame\nand confusion of the partial judges of mankind, when they behold the\nmonument which the great Mendelsohm has raised to his memory; and the\nfaithful history of his life and manners which a young author is about\nto publish at Hanover; the profound sentiments, the elegant style, the\ntruth, and the sincerity of which will be discovered and acknowledged by\nimpartial posterity?\n\nThe men who, as I have frequently observed, are disposed to ridicule this\nillustrious character on account of his long visage, his flowing hair,\nhis enormous hat, or his little sword, might be pardoned, if, like him,\nthey were philosophers or heroes. The mind of the count, however, was\ntoo exalted to be moved by their insulting taunts, and he never smiled\nupon the world, or upon men, either with spleen or with contempt. Feeling\nno hatred, indulging no misanthropy, his looks beamed kindness on all\naround him; and he enjoyed with dignified composure the tranquillity\nof his rural retreat in the middle of a thick forest, either alone or\nin the company of a fond and virtuous wife, whose death so sensibly\nafflicted even his firm and constant mind, that it brought him almost\nto an untimely grave. The people of Athens laughed at Themistocles, and\nopenly reviled him even in the streets, because he was ignorant of the\nmanners of the world, the _ton_ of good company, and that accomplishment\nwhich is called good breeding. He retorted, however, upon these ignorant\nrailers with the keenest asperity: \u201cIt is true,\u201d said he, \u201cI never play\nupon the lute; but I know how to raise a small and inconsiderable city to\ngreatness and to glory.\u201d\n\nSolitude and philosophy may inspire sentiments which appear ludicrous\nto the eye of worldly folly, but they banish all light and insignificant\nideas, and prepare the mind for the grandest and most sublime\nconceptions. Those who are in the habit of studying great and exalted\ncharacters, of cultivating refined and elevated sentiments, unavoidably\ncontract a singularity of manners which may furnish ample materials for\nridicule. Romantic characters always view things differently from what\nthey really are or can be; and the habit of invariably contemplating the\nsublime and beautiful, renders them, in the eyes of the weak and wicked,\ninsipid and unsupportable. Men of this disposition always acquire a high\nand dignified demeanor, which shocks the feelings of the vulgar; but it\nis not on that account the less meritorious. Certain Indian philosophers\nannually quitted their solitude to visit the palace of their sovereign,\nwhere each of them, in his turn, delivered his advice upon the government\nof the state, and upon the changes and limitations which might be made\nin the laws; but he who three successive times communicated false or\nunimportant observations, lost for one year, the privilege of appearing\nin the presence-chamber. This practice is well calculated to prevent\nthe mind from growing romantic: but there are many philosophers of a\ndifferent description, who if they had the same opportunity, would not\nmeet with better success.\n\nPlotinus requested the emperor Gallienus to confer on him a small city\nin Campania, and the territory appendant to it, promising to retire to\nit with his friends and followers, and to realise in the government of\nit the Republic of Plato. It happened then, however, as it frequently\nhappens now in many courts, to philosophers much less chimerical than\nPlotinus; the statesmen laughed at the proposal, and told the emperor\nthat the philosopher was a fool, in whose mind even experience had\nproduced no effect.\n\nThe history of the greatness and virtues of the ancients operate in\nsolitude with the happiest effect. Sparks of that bright flame which\nwarmed the bosoms of the great and good, frequently kindled unexpected\nfires. A lady in the country, whose health was impaired by nervous\naffections, was advised to read with attention the history of the Greek\nand Roman empires. At the expiration of three months she wrote to me in\nthe following terms: \u201cYou have inspired my mind with a veneration for\nthe virtues of the ancients. What are the buzzing race of the present\nday, when compared with those noble characters? History heretofore was\nnot my favorite study: but now I live only in its pages. While I read of\nthe transactions of Greece and Rome, I wish to become an actor in the\nscenes. It has not only opened to me an inexhaustible source of pleasure,\nbut it has restored me to health. I could not have believed that my\nlibrary contained so inestimable a treasure: my books will now prove\nmore valuable to me than all the fortune I possess; in the course of six\nmonths you will no longer be troubled with my complaints. Plutarch is\nmore delightful to me than the charms of dress, the triumphs of coquetry,\nor the sentimental effusions which lovers address to those mistresses\nwho are inclined to be all heart; and with whom satan plays tricks of\nlove with the same address as a dilettante plays tricks of music on the\nviolin.\u201d This lady, who is really learned, no longer fills her letters\nwith the transactions of her kitchen and poultry yard; she has recovered\nher health; and will experience hereafter, I conjecture, as much pleasure\namong her hens and chickens, as she did before from the pages of Plutarch.\n\nBut although the immediate effects of such writings cannot be constantly\nperceived, except in solitude, or in the society of select friends,\nyet they may remotely be productive of the happiest consequences. The\nmind of a man of genius, during his solitary walks, is crowded with a\nvariety of ideas, which, on being disclosed, would appear ridiculous\nto the common herd of mankind: a period, however, arrives, at which\nthey lead men to the performance of actions worthy of immortality. The\nnational songs composed by that ardent genius Lavater, appeared at a\nmoment when the republic was in a declining state, and the temper of\nthe times unfavorable to their reception. The Schintzuach society, by\nwhose persuasion they had been written, had given some offence to the\nFrench ambassador; and from that time all the measures which the members\nadopted were decried with the most factious virulence in every quarter.\nEven the great Haller, who had been refused admission, considering them\nas disciples of Rousseau, whom he hated; and as enemies to orthodoxy,\nwhich he loved; pointed his epigrams against them in every letter I\nreceived from him; and the committee for the reformation of literature\nat Zurich expressly prohibited the publication of these excellent lyric\ncompositions, on the curious pretence, that it was dangerous and improper\nto stir up a dunghill. No poet of Greece, however, ever wrote with more\nfire and force in favor of his country than Lavater did in favor of\nthe liberties of Swisserland. I have heard children chaunt these songs\nwith patriotic enthusiasm; and seen the finest eyes filled with tears\nof rapture while their ears listened to the singers. Joy glowed in the\nbreasts of the Swiss peasants to whom they were sung: their muscles\nswelled, and the blood inflamed their cheeks. Fathers have, within my own\nknowledge, carried their infant children to the chapel of the celebrated\nWilliam Tell, to join in full chorus the song which Lavater composed\nupon the merits of that great man. I have myself made the rocks re-echo\nto my voice, by singing these songs to the music which the feelings of\nmy heart composed for them while wandering over the fields, and climbing\namong the famous mountains where those heroes, the ancestors of our\nrace, signalized themselves by their immortal valor. I fancied that I\nsaw them still armed with their knotted clubs, breaking to pieces the\ncrowned helmets of Germany; and although inferior in numbers, forcing\nthe proud nobility to seek their safety by a precipitate and ignominious\nflight. These, it may be said, are romantic notions, and can only please\nsolitary and recluse men, who see things differently from the rest of\nthe world. But great ideas sometimes now make their way in spite of the\nmost obstinate opposition, and operating, particularly in republics, by\ninsensible degrees, sow the seeds of those principles and true opinions,\nwhich, as they arrive to maturity, prove so efficacious in times of\npolitical contest and public commotion.\n\nSolitude, therefore, by instilling high sentiments of human nature,\nand heroic resolutions in defence of its just privileges, unites all\nthe qualities which are necessary to raise the soul and fortify the\ncharacter, and forms an ample shield against the shafts of envy,\nhatred or malice. Resolved to think and to act, upon every occasion in\nopposition to the sentiments of narrow minds, the solitary man attends\nto all the various opinions he meets with, but is astonished at none.\nWithout being ungrateful for the just and rational esteem his intimate\nfriends bestow upon him; remembering, too, that friends, always partial,\nand inclined to judge too favorably, frequently, like enemies, suffer\ntheir feelings to carry them too far; he boldly calls upon the public\nvoice to announce his character to the world at large: displays his just\npretensions before this impartial tribunal, and demands that justice\nwhich is due.\n\nBut solitude, although it exalts the sentiments, is generally conceived\nto render the mind unfit for business: this, however, is, in my opinion,\na great mistake. To avoid tottering through the walks of public duty,\nit must be of great utility to have acquired a firm step, by exercising\nthe mind in solitude on those subjects which are likely to occur in\npublic life. The love of truth is best preserved in solitude, and virtue\nthere acquires greater consistency: but I confess truth is not always\nconvenient in business nor the rigid exercise of virtue propitious to\nworldly success.\n\nThe _great_ and the _good_ however, of every clime, revere the simplicity\nof manners, and the singleness of heart, which solitude produces. It was\nthese inestimable qualities which during the fury of the war between\nEngland and France, obtained the philosophic Jean Andre de Luc the\nreception he met with at the court of Versailles; and inspired the breast\nof the virtuous, the immortal de Vergennes with the desire to reclaim, by\nthe mild precepts of a philosopher, the refractory citizens of Geneva,\nwhich all his remonstrances, as prime minister of France, had been unable\nto effect. De Luc, at the request of Vergennes made the attempt, but\nfailed of success; and France, as it is well known, was obliged to send\nan army to subdue the Genevese. It was upon his favorite mountains that\nthis amiable philosopher acquired that simplicity of manners, which he\nstill preserves amidst all the luxuries and seductions of London; where\nhe endures with firmness all the wants, refuses all the indulgences, and\nsubdues all the desires of social life. While he resided at Hanover, I\nonly remarked one single instance of luxury in which he indulged himself;\nwhen any thing vexed his mind, he chewed a small morsel of sugar, of\nwhich he always carried a small supply in his pocket.\n\nSolitude not only creates simplicity of manners, but prepares and\nstrengthens the faculties for the toils of busy life. Fostered in the\nbosom of retirement, the mind becomes more active in the world and its\nconcerns, and retires again into tranquillity to repose itself, and\nprepare for new conflicts. Pericles, Phocion, and Epaminondas, laid\nthe foundation of all their greatness in solitude, and acquired there\nrudiments, which all the language of the schools cannot teach--the\nrudiments of their future lives and actions. Pericles, while preparing\nhis mind for any important object, never appeared in public, but\nimmediately refrained from feasting, assemblies, and every species of\nentertainment; and during the whole time that he administered the affairs\nof the republic, he only went once to sup with a friend, and left him\nat an early hour. Phocion immediately resigned himself to the study of\nphilosophy: not from the ostentatious motive of being called a _wise\nman_, but to enable himself to conduct the business of the state with\ngreater resolution and effect. Epaminondas, who had passed his whole\nlife in the delights of literature, and in the improvement of his mind,\nastonished the Thebans by the military skill and dexterity which he all\nat once displayed at the battles of Mantinea and Leuctra, in the first of\nwhich he rescued his friend Pelopidas: but it was owing to the frugal use\nhe made of his time, to the attention with which he devoted his mind to\nevery pursuit he adopted, and to that solitude which his relinquishment\nof every public employment afforded him. His countrymen, however, forced\nhim to abandon his retreat, gave him the absolute command of the army;\nand by his military skill, he saved the republic.\n\nPetrarch, also a character I never contemplate but with increasing\nsensibility, formed his mind, and rendered it capable of transacting\nthe most complicated political affairs, by the habit he acquired in\nsolitude. He was, indeed, what persons frequently become in solitude,\ncholeric, satirical, and petulant: and has been severely reproached\nwith having drawn the manners of his age with too harsh and sombrous a\npencil, particularly the scenes of infamy which were transacted at the\ncourt of Avignon, under the pontificate of Clement VI.; but he was a\nperfect master of the human heart, knew how to manage the passions with\nuncommon dexterity, and to turn them directly to his purposes. The abbe\nde Sades, the best historian of his life, says, \u201che is scarcely known,\nexcept as a tender and elegant poet, who loved with ardor, and sung, in\nall the harmony of verse, the charms of his mistress.\u201d But was this in\nreality the whole of his character?--Certainly not. Literature, long\nburied in the ruins of barbarity, owes the highest obligations to his\npen; he rescued some of the finest works of antiquity from dust and\nrottenness; and many of those precious treasures of learning, which have\nsince contributed to delight and instruct mankind, were discovered by\nhis industry, corrected by his learning and sagacity, and multiplied in\naccurate copies at his expense. He was the great restorer of elegant\nwriting and true taste; and by his own compositions, equal to any that\nancient Rome, previous to its subjugation, produced, purified the public\nmind, reformed the manners of the age, and extirpated the prejudices\nof the times. Pursuing his studies with unremitting firmness to the\nhour of his death, his last work surpassed all that had preceded it.\nBut he was not only a tender lover, an elegant poet, and a correct\nand classical historian, but an able statesman also, to whom the most\ncelebrated sovereigns of his age confided every difficult negotiation,\nand consulted in their most important concerns. He possessed, in the\nfourteenth century, a degree of fame, credit, and influence, which\nno man of the present day, however learned, has ever acquired. Three\npopes, an emperor, a sovereign of France, a king of Naples, a crowd of\ncardinals, the greatest princes, and the most illustrious nobility of\nItaly, cultivated his friendship, and solicited his correspondence. In\nthe several capacities of statesman, minister, and ambassador, he was\nemployed in transacting the greatest affairs, and by that means was\nenabled to acquire and disclose the most useful and important truths.\nThese high advantages he owed entirely to solitude, with the nature of\nwhich as he was better acquainted than any other person, so he cherished\nit with greater fondness, and resounded its praise with higher energy;\nand at length preferred his leisure and liberty to all the enjoyments of\nthe world. Love, to which he had consecrated the prime of life, appeared,\nindeed, for a long time, to enervate his mind; but suddenly abandoning\nthe soft and effeminate style in which he breathed his sighs at Laura\u2019s\nfeet, he addressed kings, emperors, and popes, with manly boldness,\nand with that confidence which splendid talents and a high reputation\nalways inspires. In an elegant oration, worthy of Demosthenes and Cicero,\nhe endeavored to compose the jarring interests of Italy; and exhorted\nthe contending powers to destroy with their confederated arms, the\nbarbarians, those common enemies of their country, who were ravaging its\nvery bosom, and preying on its vitals. The enterprises of Rienzi, who\nseemed like an agent sent from heaven to restore the decayed metropolis\nof the Roman empire to its former splendor, were suggested, encouraged,\ndirected, and supported by his abilities. A timid emperor was roused by\nhis eloquence to invade Italy, and induced to seize upon the reins of\ngovernment, as successor to the Cesars. The pope, by his advice, removed\n_the holy chair_, which had been transported to the borders of the Rhine,\nand replaced it on the banks of the Tiber; and at a moment even when\nhe confessed, in one of his letters, that his mind was distracted with\nvexation, his heart torn with love, and his whole soul disgusted with\nmen and measures. Pope Clement VI, confided to his negotiation an affair\nof great difficulty at the court of Naples, in which he succeeded to the\nhighest satisfaction of his employer. His residence at courts, indeed,\nhad rendered him ambitious, busy, and enterprising; and he candidly\nacknowledged, that he felt a pleasure on perceiving a hermit, accustomed\nto dwell only in woods, and to saunter over plains, running through the\nmagnificent palaces of cardinals with a crowd of courtiers in his suite.\nWhen John Visconti, archbishop and prince of Milan, and sovereign of\nLombardy, who united the finest talents with ambition so insatiable,\nthat it threatened to swallow up all Italy, had the happiness to fix\nPetrarch in his interests, by inducing him to accept of a seat in his\ncouncil, the friends of the philosopher whispered one among another,\n\u201cThis stern republican who breathed no sentiments but those of liberty\nand independence; this untamed bull, who roared so loud at the slightest\nshadow of the yoke; who could endure no fetters but those of love, and\nwho even felt those too heavy: who has refused the first offices at\nthe court of Rome, because he disdained to wear golden chains; has at\nlength submitted to be shackled by the tyrant of Italy; and this great\napostle of solitude, who could no longer live except in the tranquillity\nof the groves, now contentedly resides amidst the tumults of Milan.\u201d\n\u201cMy friends,\u201d replied Petrarch, \u201chave reason to arraign my conduct.\nMan has not a greater enemy than himself. I acted against my taste and\ninclination. Alas! through the whole course of our lives, we do those\nthings which we ought not to have done, and leave undone what most we\nwish to do.\u201d But Petrarch might have told his friends, \u201cI was willing to\nconvince you how much a mind, long exercised in solitude, can perform\nwhen engaged in the business of the world; how much a previous retirement\nenables a man to transact the affairs of public life with ease, firmness,\ndignity and effect.\u201d\n\nThe courage which is necessary to combat the prejudices of the multitude,\nis only to be acquired by a contempt of the frivolous transactions\nof the world, and, of course is seldom possessed, except by solitary\nmen. Worldly pursuits, so far from adding strength to the mind, only\nweaken it; in like manner as any particular enjoyment too frequently\nrepeated, dulls the edge of the appetite for every pleasure. How often\ndo the best contrived and most excellent schemes fail, merely for want\nof sufficient courage to surmount the difficulty which attend their\nexecution!--How many happy thoughts have been stifled in their birth,\nfrom an apprehension that they were too bold to be indulged!\n\nAn idea has prevailed, that truth can only be freely and boldly spoken\nunder a republican form of government; but this idea is certainly\nwithout foundation. It is true, that in aristocracies, as well as under\na more open form of government, where a single demagogue unfortunately\npossesses the sovereign power, common sense is too frequently construed\ninto public offence. Where this absurdity exists, the mind must be timid,\nand the people in consequence deprived of their liberty. In a monarchy\nevery offence is punished by the sword of justice; but in a republic,\npunishments are inflicted by prejudices, passions, and state necessity.\nThe first maxim which, under a republican form of government, parents\nendeavor to instil into the minds of their children, is, _not to make\nenemies_; and I remember, when I was very young, replying to this sage\ncounsel, \u201cMy dear mother, do you not know that he who has no enemies\nis a poor man?\u201d In a republic the citizens are under the authority and\njealous observation of a multitude of sovereigns; while in a monarchy the\nreigning prince is the only man whom his subjects are bound to obey. The\nidea of living under the control of a number of masters intimidates the\nmind; whereas love and confidence in _one_ alone, raises the spirits and\nrenders the people happy.\n\nBut in all countries, and under every form of government, the rational\nman, who renounces the useless conversation of the world, who lives a\nretired life, and who, independently of all that he sees, of all that\nhe hears, forms his notions in tranquillity, by an intercourse with\nthe heroes of Greece, of Rome, and of Great Britain, will acquire a\nsteady and uniform character, obtain a noble style of thinking, and rise\nsuperior to every vulgar prejudice.\n\nThese are the observations I had to make respecting the influence of\noccasional solitude upon the mind. They disclose my real sentiments on\nthis subject: many of them, perhaps, undigested, and many more certainly\nnot well expressed. But I shall console myself for these defects, if\nthis chapter affords only a glimpse of those advantages, which, I am\npersuaded, a rational solitude is capable of affording to the minds and\nmanners of men; and if that which follows shall excite a lively sensation\nof the true, noble, and elevated pleasures retirement is capable of\nproducing by a tranquil and feeling contemplation of nature, and by an\nexquisite sensibility for every thing that is good and fair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_Influence of Solitude upon the Heart._\n\n\nThe highest happiness which is capable of being enjoyed in this world,\nconsists in _peace of mind_. The wise mortal who renounces the tumults\nof the world, restrains his desires and inclinations, resigns himself to\nthe dispensations of his Creator, and looks with an eye of pity on the\nfrailties of his fellow creatures; whose greatest pleasure is to listen\namong the rocks to the soft murmurs of a cascade; to inhale, as he walks\nalong the plains, the refreshing breezes of the zephyrs; and to dwell in\nthe surrounding woods, on the melodious accents of the aerial choristers;\nmay, by the simple feelings of his heart, obtain this invaluable blessing.\n\nTo taste the charms of retirement, it is not necessary to divest the\nheart of its emotions. The world may be renounced without renouncing\nthe enjoyment which the tear of sensibility is capable of affording.\nBut to render the heart susceptible of this felicity, the mind must be\nable to admire with equal pleasure nature in her sublimest beauties,\nand in the modest flower that decks the vallies; to enjoy at the same\ntime that harmonious combination of parts which expands the soul, and\nthose detached portions of the whole which present the softest and most\nagreeable images to the mind. Nor are these enjoyments exclusively\nreserved for those strong and energetic bosoms whose sensations are as\nlively as they are delicate, and in which, for that reason, the good\nand the bad make the same impression: the purest happiness, the most\nenchanting tranquillity, are also granted to men of colder feelings, and\nwhose imaginations are less bold and lively; but to such characters the\nportraits must not be so highly colored, nor the tints so sharp; for as\nthe bad strikes them less, so also they are less susceptible of livelier\nimpressions.\n\nThe high enjoyments which the heart feels in solitude are derived from\nthe imagination. The touching aspect of delightful nature, the variegated\nverdure of the forests, the resounding echoes of an impetuous torrent,\nthe soft agitation of the foliage, the warblings of the tenants of the\ngroves, the beautiful scenery of a rich and extensive country, and all\nthose objects which compose an agreeable landscape, take such complete\npossession of the soul, and so entirely absorb our faculties, that the\nsentiments of the mind are by the charms of the imagination instantly\nconverted into sensations of the heart, and the softest emotions give\nbirth to the most virtuous and worthy sentiments. But to enable the\nimagination thus to render every object fascinating and delightful, it\nmust act with freedom, and dwell amidst surrounding tranquillity. Oh! how\neasy is it to renounce noisy pleasures and tumultuous assemblies for the\nenjoyment of that philosophic melancholy which solitude inspires!\n\nReligious awe and rapturous delight are alternately excited by the\ndeep gloom of forests, by the tremendous height of broken rocks, and\nby the multiplicity of majestic and sublime objects which are combined\nwithin the site of a delightful and extensive prospect. The most painful\nsensations immediately yield to the serious, soft, and solitary reveries\nto which the surrounding tranquillity invites the mind; while the\nvast and awful silence of nature exhibits the happy contrast between\nsimplicity and grandeur; and as our feelings become more exquisite, so\nour admiration becomes more intense, and our pleasures more complete.\n\nI had been for many years familiar with all that nature is capable\nof producing in her sublimest works, when I first saw a garden in\nthe vicinity of Hanover, and another upon a much larger scale at\nMarienwerder, about three miles distant, cultivated in the English\nstyle of rural ornament. I was not then apprized of the extent of that\nart which sports with the most ungrateful soil, and, by a new species\nof creation, converts barren mountains into fertile fields and smiling\nlandscapes. This magic art makes an astonishing impression on the mind,\nand captivates every heart, not insensible to the delightful charms of\ncultivated nature. I cannot recollect without shedding tears of gratitude\nand joy, a single day of this early part of my residence in Hanover,\nwhen, torn from the bosom of my country, from the embraces of my family,\nand from every thing that I held dear in life, my mind, on entering\nthe little garden of my deceased friend, M. de Hinuber, near Hanover,\nimmediately revived, and I forgot, for the moment, both my country and my\ngrief. The charm was new to me. I had no conception that it was possible,\nupon so small a plot of ground, to introduce at once the enchanting\nvariety and the noble simplicity of nature. But I was then convinced,\nthat her aspect alone is sufficient, at first view, to heal the wounded\nfeelings of the heart, to fill the bosom with the highest luxury, and to\ncreate those sentiments in the mind, which can, of all others, render\nlife desirable.\n\nThis new re-union of art and nature, which was not invented in China, but\nin England, is founded upon a rational and refined taste for the beauties\nof nature, confirmed by experience, and by the sentiments which a chaste\nfancy reflects on a feeling heart.\n\nBut in the gardens I have before mentioned, every point of view raises\nthe soul to heaven, and affords the mind sublime delight; every bank\npresents a new and varied scene, which fills the heart with joy: nor,\nwhile I feel the sensation which such scenes inspire, will I suffer my\ndelight to be diminished by discussing whether the arrangement might have\nbeen made in a better way, or permit the dull rules of cold and senseless\nmasters to destroy my pleasure. Scenes of serenity, whether created by\ntasteful art, or by the cunning hand of nature, always bestow, as a gift\nfrom the imagination, tranquillity to the heart. While a soft silence\nbreathes around me, every object is pleasant to my view; rural scenery\nfixes my attention, and dissipates the grief that lies heavy at my heart;\nthe loveliness of solitude enchants me, and, subduing every vexation,\ninspires my soul with benevolence, gratitude, and content. I return\nthanks to my Creator for endowing me with an imagination, which, though\nit has frequently caused the trouble of my life, occasionally leads me,\nin the hour of my retirement, to some friendly rock, on which I can\nclimb, and contemplate with greater composure the tempests I have escaped.\n\nThere are, indeed, many Anglicised gardens in Germany, laid out so\nwhimsically absurd, as to excite no other emotions than those of laughter\nor disgust. How extremely ridiculous is it to see a forest of poplars,\nscarcely sufficient to supply a chamber stove with fuel for a week; mere\nmolehills dignified with the name of mountains; caves and aviaries,\nin which tame and savage animals, birds and amphibious creatures, are\nattempted to be represented in their native grandeur; bridges, of various\nkinds, thrown across rivers, which a couple of ducks would drink dry; and\nwooden fishes swimming in canals, which the pump every morning supplies\nwith water! These unnatural beauties are incapable of affording any\npleasure to the imagination.\n\nA celebrated English writer has said, that \u201csolitude, on the first view\nof it, inspires the mind with terror, because every thing that brings\nwith it the idea of privation is terrific, and therefore sublime like\nspace, darkness, and silence.\u201d\n\nThe species of greatness which results from the idea of infinity, can\nonly be rendered delightful by being viewed at a proper distance. The\nAlps, in Swisserland, and particularly near the canton of Berne, appear\ninconceivably majestic; but on a near approach, they excite ideas\ncertainly sublime, yet mingled with a degree of terror. The eye, on\nbeholding those immense and enormous masses piled one upon the other,\nforming one vast and uninterrupted chain of mountains, and rearing their\nlofty summits to the skies, conveys to the heart the most rapturous\ndelight, while the succession of soft and lively shades which they\nthrow around the scene, tempers the impression, and renders the view as\nagreeable as it is sublime. On the contrary, no feeling heart can on a\nclose view, behold this prodigious wall of rocks without experiencing\ninvoluntary trembling. The mind contemplates with affright their\neternal snows, their steep ascents, their dark caverns, the torrents\nwhich precipitate themselves with deafening clamor from their summits,\nthe black forests of firs that overhang their sides, and the enormous\nfragments of rocks which time and tempests have torn away. How my heart\nthrilled when I first climbed through a steep and narrow track upon these\nsublime deserts, discovering every step I made, new mountains rising over\nmy head, while upon the least stumble, death menaced me in a thousand\nshapes below! But the imagination immediately kindles when you perceive\nyourself in the midst of this grand scene of nature, and reflect from\nthese heights on the weakness of human power, and the imbecility of the\ngreatest monarchs!\n\nThe history of Swisserland evinces, that the natives of these mountains\nare not a degenerate race of men, and that their sentiments are as\ngenerous as their feelings are warm. Bold and spirited by nature, the\nliberty they enjoy gives wings to their souls, and they trample tyrants\nand tyranny under their feet. Some of the inhabitants of Swisserland,\nindeed, are not perfectly free; though they all possess notions of\nliberty, love their country, and return thanks to the Almighty for that\nhappy tranquillity which permits each individual to live quietly under\nhis vine, and enjoy the shade of his fig-tree; but the most pure and\ngenuine liberty is always to be found among the inhabitants of these\nstupendous mountains.\n\nThe Alps in Swisserland are inhabited by a race of men sometimes\nunsocial, but always good and generous. The hardy and robust characters\ngiven to them by the severity of their climate, is softened by pastoral\nlife. It is said by an English writer, that he who has never heard a\nstorm in the Alps, can form no idea of the continuity of the lightning,\nthe rolling and the burst of the thunder which roars round the horizon of\nthese immense mountains; and the people never enjoying better habitations\nthan their own cabins, nor seeing any other country than their own\nrocks, believe the universe to be an unfinished work, and a scene of\nunceasing tempest. But the skies do not always lower; the thunder does\nnot incessantly roll, nor the lightnings continually flash; immediately\nafter the most dreadful tempests, the hemisphere clears itself by slow\ndegrees, and becomes serene. The dispositions of the Swiss follow the\nnature of their climate; kindness succeeds to violence, and generosity\nto the most brutal fury: this may be easily proved, not only from the\nrecords of history, but from recent facts.\n\nGeneral Redin, an inhabitant of the Alps, and a native of the canton of\nSchwitz, enlisted very early in life into the Swiss Guards, and attained\nthe rank of lieutenant-general in that corps. His long residence at Paris\nand Versailles, however, had not been able to change his character; he\nstill continued a true Swiss. The new regulation made by the king of\nFrance, in the year 1764, relating to this corps, gave great discontent\nto the canton of Schwitz. The citizens, considering it as an innovation\nextremely prejudicial to their ancient privileges, threw all the odium\nof the measures on the lieutenant-general, whose wife, at this period,\nresided on his estate in the canton, where she endeavored to raise a\nnumber of young recruits; but the sound of the French drum had become\nso disgusting to the ears of the citizens, that they beheld with\nindignation the white cockade placed in the hats of the deluded peasants.\nThe magistrate apprehensive that this ferment might ultimately cause\nan insurrection among the people, felt it his duty to forbid madame de\nRedin to continue her levies. The lady requested he would certify his\nprohibition in writing; but the magistrate not being disposed to carry\nmatters to this extremity against the court of France, she continued to\nbeat up for the requested number of recruits. The inhabitants of the\ncanton, irritated by this bold defiance of the prohibition, summoned a\nGeneral Diet, and madame de Redin appeared before the Assembly of Four\nThousand. \u201cThe drum,\u201d said she, \u201cshall never cease to sound, until you\ngive me such a certificate as may justify my husband to the French court\nfor not completing the number of his men.\u201d The Assembly accordingly\ngranted her the required certificate, and enjoining her to procure the\ninterest and interposition of her husband with the court in favor of her\ninjured country, waited in anxious expectation that his negotiation would\nproduce a favorable issue. Unhappily the court of Versailles rejected\nall solicitation on the subject, and by this means drove the irritated\nand impatient inhabitants beyond the bounds of restraint. The leading\nmen of the canton pretended that the new regulation endangered not only\ntheir civil liberties, but, what was dearer to them, their religion. The\ngeneral discontent was at length fomented into popular fury. A General\nDiet was again assembled, and it was publicly resolved not to furnish\nthe King of France in future with any troops. The treaty of alliance\nconcluded in the year 1713 was torn from the public register, and general\nde Redin ordered instantly to return from France with the soldiers under\nhis command, upon pain, if he refused, of being irrevocably banished\nfrom the republic. The obedient general obtained permission from the\nking to depart with his regiment from France, and entering Schwitz,\nthe metropolis of the canton, at the head of his troops, with drums\nbeating and colors flying, marched immediately to the church, where he\ndeposited his standards upon the great altar, and falling on his knees,\noffered up his thanks to God. Rising from the ground, and turning to his\naffectionate soldiers, who were dissolved in tears, he discharged their\narrears of pay, gave them their uniforms and accoutrements, and bid\nthem forever farewell. The fury of the populace, on perceiving within\ntheir power the man whom the whole country considered as the perfidious\nabettor, and traitorous adviser, of the new regulation, by which the\ncourt of Versailles had given such a mortal blow to the liberties of\nthe country, greatly increased; and he was ordered to disclose before\nthe General Assembly the origin of that measure, and the means by which\nit had been carried on, in order that they might learn their relative\nsituation with France, and ascertain the degree of punishment that\nwas due to the offender. Redin, conscious that, under the existing\ncircumstances, eloquence would make no impression on minds so prejudiced\nagainst him, contented himself with coolly declaring, in a few words,\nthat the cause of framing a new regulation was publicly known, and that\nhe was as innocent upon the subject as he was ignorant of the cause of\nhis dismission. \u201cThe traitor then will not confess!\u201d exclaimed one of the\nmost furious members: \u201cHang him on the next tree--cut him to pieces.\u201d\nThese menaces were instantly repeated throughout the Assembly; and while\nthe injured soldier continued perfectly tranquil and undismayed, a party\nof the people, more daring than the rest, jumped upon the tribune, where\nhe stood surrounded by the judges. A young man, his godson, was holding\na _parapluie_ over his head, to shelter him from the rain, which at\nthis moment poured down in incessant torrents, when one of the enraged\nmultitude immediately broke the _parapluie_ in pieces with his stick,\nexclaiming, \u201cLet the traitor be uncovered!\u201d This exclamation conveyed\na correspondent indignation into the bosom of the youth, who instantly\nreplied, \u201cMy god-father a betrayer of his country! Oh! I was ignorant,\nI assure you, of the crime alleged against him; but since it is so,\nlet him perish! Where is the rope? I will be first to put it round the\ntraitor\u2019s neck!\u201d The magistrates instantly formed a circle round the\ngeneral, and with uplifted hands exhorted him to avert the impending\ndanger, by confessing that he had not opposed the measures of France\nwith sufficient zeal, and to offer to the offended people his whole\nfortune as an atonement for his neglect; representing to him that these\nwere the only means of redeeming his liberty, and perhaps his life.\nThe undaunted soldier, with perfect tranquillity and composure, walked\nthrough the surrounding circle to the side of the tribune, and while the\nwhole Assembly anxiously expected to hear an ample confession of his\nguilt, made a sign of silence with his hand: \u201cFellow-citizens,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cyou are not ignorant that I have been two-and-forty years in the\nFrench establishment. You know, and many among you, who were with me in\nthe service, can testify its truth, how often I have faced the enemy,\nand the manner in which I conducted myself in battle. I considered every\nengagement as the last day of my life. But here I protest to you, in the\npresence of that Almighty Being who knows all our hearts, who listens\nto all our words, and who will hereafter judge all our actions, that I\nnever appeared before an enemy with a mind more pure, a conscience more\ntranquil, a heart more innocent, than at present I possess; and if it\nis your pleasure to condemn me because I refuse to confess a treachery\nof which I have not been guilty, I am now ready to resign my life into\nyour hands.\u201d The dignified demeanor with which the general made this\ndeclaration, and the air of truth which accompanied his words, calmed the\nfury of the Assembly, and saved his life. Both he and his wife, however,\nimmediately quitted the canton; she entering into a convent at Uri, and\nhe retiring to a cavern among the rocks, where he lived two years in\nsolitude. Time, at length, subdued the anger of the people, and softened\nthe general\u2019s sense of their injustice. He returned to the bosom of\nhis country, rewarded its ingratitude by the most signal services, and\nmade every individual recollect and acknowledge the integrity of their\nmagnanimous countryman. To recompense him for the injuries and injustice\nhe had suffered, they elected him bailli, or chief officer of the canton;\nand afforded him an almost singular instance of their constancy and\naffection, by successively conferring on him three times this high and\nimportant dignity. This is the characteristic disposition of the Swiss\nwho inhabit the Alps; alternately violent and mild: and experiencing, as\nthe extremes of a delighted or vexed imagination happen to prevail, the\nsame vicissitudes as their climate. The rude scenes of greatness which\nthese stupendous mountains and vast deserts afford, render the Swiss\nviolent in sentiment, and rough in manners; while the tranquillity of\ntheir fields, and the smiling beauties of their vallies, soften their\nminds, and render their hearts kind and benevolent.\n\nEnglish artists confess that the aspect of nature in Swisserland is too\nsublime and majestic for the pencil of art faithfully to reach; but how\nexquisite must be the enjoyments they feel upon those romantic hills,\nin those delightful vallies, upon the charming borders of those still\nand transparent lakes, where nature unfolds her various charms, and\nappears in the highest pomp and splendor; where the majestic oaks, the\ndeep embowering elms, and dark green firs, which cover and adorn these\nimmense forests, are pleasingly interspersed with myrtles, almond trees,\njasmines, pomegranates, and vines, which offer their humbler beauties to\nthe view, and variegate the scene! Nature is in no country of the globe\nmore rich and various than in Swisserland. It was the scenery around\nZurich, and the beauties of its adjoining lake, that first inspired the\nIdylls of the immortal Gessner.\n\nThese sublime beauties, while they elevate and inflame the heart, give\ngreater action and life to the imagination than softer scenes; in like\nmanner as a fine night affords a more august and solemn spectacle than\nthe mildest day.\n\nIn coming from Frescati, by the borders of the small lake of Nemi, which\nlies in a deep valley, so closely sheltered by mountains and forest,\nthat the winds are scarcely permitted to disturb its surface, it is\nimpossible not to exclaim with an English poet, that here--\n\n    \u201cBlack melancholy sits, and round her throws\n    A death-like silence, and a dread repose:\n    Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,\n    Shades every flower, and darkens every green;\n    Deepens the murmurs of the falling floods,\n    And breathes a browner horror on the woods.\u201d\n\nBut how the soul expands, and every thought becomes serene and free,\nwhen, from the garden of the Capuchins, near Albano, the eye suddenly\ndiscovers the little melancholy lake, with Frescati and all its rural\nvallies on one side: on the other, the handsome city of Albano, the\nvillage and castle of Riccia and Gensano, with their hills beautifully\nadorned with clusters of the richest vines: below, the extensive plains\nof Campania, in the middle of which Rome, formerly the mistress of the\nworld, raises its majestic head; and lastly, beyond all these objects,\nthe hills of Tivoli, the Appenines, and the Mediterranean sea!\n\nHow often, on the approach of spring, has the magnificent valley, where\nthe ruins of the residence of Rodolpho de Hapsburg rise upon the side\nof a hill, crowned with woods of variegated verdure, afforded me the\npurest and most ineffable delight! There the rapid Aar descends in\ntorrents from the lofty mountains; sometimes forming a vast basin in the\nvale; at others, precipitating through the narrow passages across the\nrocks, winding its course majestically through the middle of the vast\nand fertile plains: on the other side the Ruffs, and, lower down, the\nLimmat, bring their tributary streams, and peaceably unite them with\nthe waters of the Aar. In the middle of this rich and verdant scene, I\nbeheld the Royal Solitude, where the remains of the emperor Albert I.\nrepose in silence, with those of many princes of the house of Austria,\ncounts, knights, and gentlemen, killed in battle by the gallant Swiss. At\na distance I discovered the valley where lie the ruins of the celebrated\ncity of Vindonissa, upon which I have frequently sat, and reflected upon\nthe vanity of human greatness. Beyond this magnificent country, ancient\ncastles raise their lofty heads upon the hills! and the far distant\nhorizon is terminated by the sublime summits of the Alps. In the midst of\nall this grand scenery, my eyes were instinctively cast down into the\ndeep valley immediately below me, and continually fixed upon the little\nvillage where I first drew my breath. It is thus that the sublime or\nbeautiful operates differently on the heart! the one exciting fear and\nterror, the other creating only soft and agreeable sensations; but both\ntending to enlarge the sphere of the imagination, and enabling us more\ncompletely to seek enjoyment within ourselves.\n\nPleasures of this description may, indeed be enjoyed, without visiting\nthe romantic solitudes of either Swisserland or Italy. There is no\nperson who may not, while he is quietly traversing the hills and dales,\nlearn to feel how much the aspect of nature may, by the assistance of\nthe imagination, affect the heart. A fine view, the freshness of the\nair, an unclouded sky, and the joys of the chase, give sensations of\nhealth, and make every step seem too short. The privation of all ideas\nof dependance, accompanied by domestic comfort, useful employments, and\ninnocent recreations, produce a strength of thought, and fertility of\nimagination, which present to the mind the most agreeable images, and\ntouch the heart with the most delightful sensations. It is certainly\ntrue, that a person possessed of a fine imagination may be much happier\nin prison, than he could possibly be without imagination amidst the\nmost magnificent scenery. But even to a mind deprived of this happy\nfaculty, the lowest enjoyments of rural life, even the common scenery of\nharvest time, is capable of performing miracles on his heart. Alas! who\nhas not experienced, in the hours of langor and disgust, the powerful\neffects which a contemplation of the pleasures that surround the poorest\npeasant\u2019s cot is capable of affording! How fondly the heart participates\nin all his homely joys! With what freedom, cordiality, and kindness, we\ntake him by the hand, and listen to his innocent and artless tales!--How\nsuddenly do we feel an interest in all his little concerns; an interest\nwhich, while it unveils, refines and meliorates the latent inclinations\nof our hearts!\n\nThe tranquillity of retired life, and the view of rural scenes,\nfrequently produce a quietude of disposition, which, while it renders\nthe noisy pleasures of the world insipid, enables the heart to seek the\ncharms of solitude with increased delight.\n\nThe happy indolence peculiar to Italians, who, under the pleasures of\na clear, unclouded sky, are always poor but never miserable, greatly\naugments the feelings of the heart: the mildness of the climate, the\nfertility of their soil, their peaceful religion, and their contented\nnature, compensate for every thing. Dr. Moore, an English traveller,\nwhose works afford me great delight, says, that \u201cthe Italians are the\ngreatest loungers in the world; and while walking in the fields, or\nstretched in the shade, seem to enjoy the serenity and genial warmth\nof their climate with a degree of luxurious indulgence peculiar to\nthemselves. Without ever running into the daring excesses of the English,\nor displaying the frisky vivacity of the French, or the stubborn phlegm\nof the Germans, the Italian populace discover a species of sedate\nsensibility to every source of enjoyment, from which, perhaps, they\nderive a greater degree of happiness than any of the others.\u201d\n\nRelieved from every afflicting and tormenting object, it is, perhaps,\nimpossible for the mind not to resign itself to agreeable chimeras\nand romantic sentiments: but this situation notwithstanding these\ndisadvantages, has its fair side. Romantic speculations may lead the mind\ninto certain extravagancies and errors from whence base and contemptible\npassions may be engendered; may habituate it to a light and frivolous\nstyle of thinking; and, by preventing it from directing its faculties\nto rational ends, may obscure the prospect of true happiness; for the\nsoul cannot easily quit the illusion on which it dwells with such fond\ndelight; the ordinary duties of life, with its more noble and substantial\npleasures, are perhaps thereby obstructed: but it is very certain that\nromantic sentiments do not always render the mind that possesses them\nunhappy. Who, alas! is so completely happy in reality as he frequently\nhas been in imagination!\n\nRousseau, who, in the early part of his life, was extremely fond of\nromances, feeling his mind hurried away by the love of those imaginary\nobjects with which that species of composition abounds, and perceiving\nthe facility with which they may be enjoyed, withdrew his attention from\nevery thing about him, and by this circumstance laid the foundation of\nthat taste for solitude which he preserved to an advanced period of\nhis life; a taste in appearance dictated by depression and disgust,\nand attributed by him to the irresistible impulse of an affectionate,\nfond, and tender heart, which, not being able to find in the regions of\nphilosophy and truth sentiments sufficiently warm and animated, was\nconstrained to seek its enjoyments in the sphere of fiction.\n\nBut the imagination, may, in retirement, indulge its wanderings to a\ncertain degree without the risk of injuring either the sentiments of the\nmind or the sensations of the heart. Oh! if the friends of my youth in\nSwisserland knew how frequently, during the silence of the night, I pass\nwith them those hours which are allotted to sleep; if they were apprized\nthat neither time nor absence can efface the remembrance of their former\nkindness from my mind, and that this pleasing recollection tends to\ndissipate my grief, and to cast the veil of oblivion over my woes; they\nwould, perhaps, also rejoice to find that I still live among them in\nimagination, though I may be dead to them in reality.\n\nThe solitary man, whose heart is warmed with refined and noble\nsentiments, cannot be unhappy.--While the stupid and vulgar bewail his\nfate, and conceive him to be the victim of corroding care and loathed\nmelancholy, he frequently tastes the most delightful pleasure. The French\nentertained a notion that Rousseau was a man of a gloomy and dejected\ndisposition; but he was certainly not so for many years of his life,\nparticularly when he wrote to M. de Malesherbes, the chancellor\u2019s son,\nin the following terms: \u201cI cannot express to you, Sir, how sensibly I am\naffected by perceiving that you think me the most unhappy of mankind;\nfor as the public will, no doubt, entertain the same sentiment of me as\nyou do, it is to me a source of real affliction!--Oh! if my sentiments\nwere really known, every individual would endeavor to follow my example.\nPeace would then reign throughout the world; men would no longer seek to\ndestroy each other; and wickedness, by removing the great incentives to\nit, no longer exist. But it may be asked, how I could find employment\nin solitude?--I answer, in my own mind; in the whole universe; in every\nthing that dies, in every thing that can exist; in all that the eye finds\nbeautiful in the real, or the imagination in the intellectual world.\nI assembled about me every thing that is flattering to the heart, and\nregulated my pleasures by the moderation of my desires. No! The most\nvoluptuous have never experienced such refined delights; and I have\nalways enjoyed my chimeras much more than if they had been realized.\u201d\n\nThis is certainly the language of enthusiasm; but, ye stupid vulgar!\nwho would not prefer the warm fancy of this amiable philosopher to your\ncold and creeping understandings?--Who would not willingly renounce your\nvague conversation, your deceitful felicities, your boasted urbanity,\nyour noisy assemblies, puerile pastimes, and inveterate prejudices, for a\nquiet and contented life in the bosom of a happy family?--Who would not\nrather seek in the silence of the woods, or upon the daisied borders of a\npeaceful lake, those pure and simple pleasures of nature, so delicious in\nrecollection, and productive of joys so pure, so affecting, so different\nfrom your own?\n\nEclogues, which are representatives of rural happiness in its highest\nperfection, are also fictions; but they are fictions of the most pleasing\nand agreeable kind. True felicity must be sought in retirement, where\nthe soul, disengaged from the torments of the world, no longer feels\nthose artificial desires which render it unhappy both in prospect and\nfruition. Content with little, satisfied with all, surrounded by love\nand innocence, we perceive in retirement, the golden age, as described\nby the poets, revived; while in the world every one regrets its loss.\nThe regret however, is unjust; for those enjoyments were not peculiar to\nthat happy period; and each individual may, whenever he pleases, form his\nown Arcadia. The beauties of a crystal spring, a silent grove, a daisied\nmeadow, chasten the feelings of the heart, and afford at all times, to\nthose who have a taste for nature, a permanent and pure delight.\n\n\u201cThe origin of poetry,\u201d says Pope, \u201cis ascribed to that age which\nsucceeded the creation of the world: as the keeping of flocks seems to\nhave been the first employment of mankind, the most ancient sort of\npoetry was pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that the leisure of these\nancient shepherds admitting and inviting some diversion, none was so\nproper to that solitary and sedentary life as singing, and that in their\nsongs they took occasion to celebrate their own felicity. From hence a\npoem was invented, and afterward improved to a perfect image of that\nhappy time, which, by giving us an esteem for the virtues of a former\nage, might recommend them to the present.\u201d\n\nThese agreeable though fictitious descriptions of the age of innocence\nand virtue, communicate joy and gladness to our hearts; and we bless\nthe poet, who, in the ecstacy of his felicity contributes to render\nothers as happy as himself. Sicily and Zurich have produced two of these\nbenefactors to mankind. The aspect of nature never appears more charming,\nthe bosom never heaves with such sweet delight, the heart never beats\nmore pleasantly, the soul never feels more perfect happiness than is\nproduced by reading the Idylls of Theocritus and Gessner.\n\nBy these easy simple modes the beauties of nature are made, by the\nassistance of the imagination, to operate forcibly on the heart. The\nmind, indeed, drawn away by these agreeable images, often resigns itself\ntoo easily to the illusions of romance; but the ideas they create\ngenerally amend the heart without injuring the understanding, and spread\nsome of the sweetest flowers along the most thorny paths of human life.\n\nLeisure, the highest happiness upon earth, is seldom enjoyed with perfect\nsatisfaction, except in solitude. Indolence and indifference do not\nalways afford leisure: for true leisure is frequently found in that\ninterval of relaxation which divides a painful duty from the agreeable\noccupations of literature and philosophy. P. Scipio was of this opinion\nwhen he said, that _he was never less idle when he had most leisure_, and\nthat _he was never less alone than when he was alone_. Leisure is not\nto be considered a state of intellectual torpidity, but a new incentive\nto further activity; it is sought by strong and energetic minds, not\nas _an end_, but as _a means_ of restoring lost activity; for whoever\nseeks happiness in a situation merely quiescent, seeks for a phantom\nthat will elude his grasp. Leisure will never be found in mere rest; but\nwill follow those who seize the first impulse to activity; in which,\nhowever, such employments as best suit the extent and nature of different\ncapacities, must be preferred to those which promise compensation without\nlabor, and enjoyment without pain.\n\nThus rural retirement dries up those streams of discontent which flow so\nplentifully through public life; changes most frequently the bitterest\nfeeling into the sweetest pleasures; and inspires an ecstacy and content\nunknown to the votaries of the world. The tranquillity of nature buries\nin oblivion the criminal inclinations of the heart; renders it blithe,\ntender, open, and confident; and, by wisely managing the passions, and\npreventing an overheated imagination from fabricating fancied woes,\nstrengthens in it every virtuous sensation.\n\nIn towns, the solitude which is necessary to produce this advantage\ncannot be conveniently practised. It seems indeed, no very difficult task\nfor a man to retire into his chamber, and by silent contemplation, to\nraise his mind above the mean consideration of sensual objects; but few\nmen have sufficient resolution to perform it; for, within doors, matters\nof business every moment occur, and interrupt the chain of reflection;\nand without, whether alone or in company, a variety of accidents may\noccasionally happen, which will confound our vain wisdom, aggravate the\npainful feelings of the heart, and weaken the finer powers of the mind.\n\nRousseau was always miserable during his residence at Paris. This\nextraordinary genius, it is true, wrote his immortal works in that\nagitated metropolis; but the moment he quitted his study, and\nwandered through the streets, his mind was bewildered by a variety of\nheterogeneous sentiments, his recollection vanished; and this brilliant\nwriter and profound philosopher, who was so intimately acquainted with\nthe most intricate labyrinths of the human heart, was reduced to the\ncondition of a child. But in the country we issue from the house in\nperfect safety, and feel increasing cheerfulness and satisfaction. Tired\nwith meditation, the rural recluse has only to open the doors of his\nstudy, and enjoy his walk, while tranquillity attends his steps, and new\npleasures present themselves to his view on every turn. Beloved by all\naround him, he extends his hand with cordial affection to every man he\nmeets. Nothing occurs to vex and irritate his mind. He runs no risk of\nbeing tortured by the supercilious behavior of some haughty female proud\nof her descent, or of enduring the arrogant egotism of an upstart peer:\nis in no danger of being crushed beneath the rolling carriages of Indian\nnabobs: nor dares frontless vice, on the authority of mouldy parchments,\nattack his property, or presumptuous ignorance offer the least indignity\nto his modest virtue.\n\nA man, indeed, by avoiding the tumultuous intercourse of society, and\nderiving his comforts from his own breast, may, even in Paris, or any\nother metropolis, avoid these unpleasant apprehensions, if his nerves be\nfirm, and his constitution strong: for to a frame disjointed by nervous\naffections every object is irritating, and every passion tremblingly\nalive. The passions are the gales by which man must steer his course\nthrough the troubled ocean of life; they fill the sails which give motion\nto the soul; and when they become turbulent and impetuous, the vessel\nis always in danger, and generally runs aground. The petty cares and\ntrifling vexations of life, however, give but shortlived disturbance\nto a heart free from remorse. Philosophy teaches us to forget past\nuneasiness, to forbear idle speculations of approaching felicity, and to\nrest contented with present comforts, without refining away our existing\nhappiness by wishing that which is really good to be still better.\nEvery thing is much better than we imagine. A mind too anxious in the\nexpectation of happiness is seldom satisfied, and generally mixes with\nits highest fruition a certain portion of discontent. The stream of\ncontent must flow from a deliberate disposition in our minds to learn\nwhat is good, and a determined resolution to seek for and enjoy it,\nhowever small the portion may be.\n\nThe content, however, which men in general so confidently expect to find\nin rural retirement, is not to be acquired by viewing objects either with\nindiscriminate admiration or supine indifference. He who without labor,\nand without a system of conduct previously digested and arranged, hopes\nfor happiness in solitude, will yawn with equal fatigue at his cottage\nin the country and his mansion in town; while he who keeps himself\ncontinually employed, may in the deepest solitude, by the mere dint of\nlabor, attain true tranquillity and happiness.\n\nPetrarch, in his solitude at Vaucluse, would have experienced this\ntranquillity, if his bosom had not been disturbed by love; for he\nperfectly understood the art of managing his time. \u201cI rise,\u201d said he,\n\u201cbefore the sun, and on the approach of day wander contemplatively\nalong the fields, or retire to study. I read, I write, I think, I\nvanquish indolence, banish sleep, avoid luxury, and forget sensuality.\nFrom morning till night I climb the barren mountains, traverse the\nhumid vallies, seek the deepest caves, or walk, accompanied only by my\nthoughts, along the banks of my river. I have no society to distract my\nmind; and men daily become less annoying to me; for I place them either\nfar before or far behind me. I recollect what is past, and contemplate\non what is to come. I have found an excellent expedient to detach my mind\nfrom the world. I cultivate a fondness for my place of residence, and I\nam persuaded that I could be happy any where except at Avignon. In my\nretreat at Vaucluse, where I am at present, I occasionally find Athens,\nRome, or Florence, as the one or the other of those places happens\nto please the prevailing disposition of my mind. Here I enjoy all my\nfriends, as well as those who have long since entered the vale of death,\nand of whom I have no knowledge, but what their works afford.\u201d\n\nWhat character, however luxurious, ever felt the same content at any\nsplendid entertainment, as Rousseau experienced in his humble meal! \u201cI\nreturn home,\u201d says he, \u201cwith tired feet, but with a contented mind, and\nexperience the calmest repose in resigning myself to the impression of\nobjects, without exercising thought, indulging imagination, or doing any\nthing to interrupt the peaceful felicity of my station. The table is\nready spread on my lawn, and furnished with refreshments. Surrounded by\nmy small and happy family, I eat my supper with healthy appetite, and\nwithout any appearance of servitude or dependance to annoy the love and\nkindness by which we are united. My faithful dog is not a subservient\nslave, but a firm friend, from whom, as we always feel the same\ninclination, I never exact obedience. The gaiety of the mind throughout\nthe evening testifies that I live alone throughout the day; for, being\nseldom pleased with others, and never, when visiters have disturbed me,\nwith myself, I sit, during the whole evening of the day when company\nhas interrupted me, either grumbling or in silence: so at least my good\nhousekeeper has remarked; and since she mentioned it, I have from my\nown observation found it universally true. Having thus made my humble\nand cheerful meal, I take a few turns round my little garden, or play\nsome favorite air upon my spinette, and experience upon my pillow a soft\ncontent, more sweet, if possible, than even undisturbed repose.\u201d\n\nAt the village of Richterswyl, situated a few leagues from Zurich, and\nsurrounded by every object the most smiling, beautiful, and romantic\nthat Swisserland presents, dwells a celebrated physician. His soul, like\nthe scenery of nature which surrounds him, is tranquil and sublime.\nHis habitation is the temple of health, of friendship, and of every\npeaceful virtue. The village rises on the borders of the lake, at a place\nwhere two projecting points form a fine bay of nearly half a league. On\nthe opposite shores, the lake, which is not quite a league in extent,\nis enclosed from the north to the east by pleasant hills covered with\nvineyards, intermixed with fertile meadows, orchards, fields, groves, and\nthickets, with little hamlets, churches, villas, and cottages scattered\nup and down the scene. A wide and magnificent amphitheatre, which no\nartist has yet attempted to paint, except in detached scenes, opens\nitself from the east to the south. The view towards the higher part of\nthe lake, which on this side is four leagues long, presents to the eye\njutting points of land, detached aytes, the little town of Rapperschwyl,\nbuilt on the side of a hill, and a bridge which reaches from one side\nof the lake to the other. Beyond the town the inexhaustible valley\nextends itself in a half circle to the sight; and upon the foreground\nrises a peak of land which swells as it extends into beautiful hills.\nBehind them, at the distance of about half a league, is a range of\nmountains covered with trees and verdure, and interspersed with villages\nand detached houses; beyond which, at a still greater distance, are\ndiscovered the fertile and majestic Alps, twisted one among the other,\nand exhibiting, alternately, shades of the lightest and darkest azure:\nand in the back ground high rocks, covered with eternal snows, lift\ntheir towering heads, and touch the skies. On the south side of this\nrich, enchanting, and incomparable scene, the amphitheatre is extended\nby another range of mountains reaching toward the west; and at the\nfeet of these mountains, on the borders of the lake, lies the village\nof Richterswyl, surrounded by rich fallows and fertile pastures, and\noverhung by forests of firs. The streets of the village, which in itself\nis extremely clean, are nearly paved; and the houses, which are mostly\nbuilt of stone, are painted on the outside. Pleasant walks are formed\nalong the banks of the lake, and lead quite round the town, through\ngroves of fruit-trees and shady forests, up to the very summit of the\nhills. The traveller, struck with the sublime and beautiful scenery that\nevery where surrounds him, stops to contemplate with eager curiosity\nthe increasing beauties which ravish his sight; and while his bosom\nswells with excess of pleasure, his suspended breath bespeaks his fear\nof interrupting the fulness of his delight. Every acre of this charming\ncountry is in the highest state of cultivation and improvement. Every\nhand is at work; and men, women, and children, of every age and of every\ndescription, are all usefully employed.\n\nThe two houses of the physician are each of them surrounded by a garden;\nand although situated in the centre of the village, are as rurally\nsequestered as if they had been built in the bosom of the country.\nThrough the gardens, and close beneath the chamber of my valued friend,\nruns a pure and limpid stream, on the opposite of which, at an agreeable\ndistance, is the high road; where, almost daily, numbers of pilgrims\nsuccessively pass in their way to the hermitage. From the windows of\nthese houses, and from every part of the gardens, you behold, toward the\nsouth, at the distance of about a league, the majestic Ezelberg rear its\nlofty head, which is concealed in forests of deep green firs; while on\nits declivity hangs a neat little village, with a handsome church, upon\nthe steeple of which the sun suspends his departing rays, and shows its\ncareer is nearly finished. In the front is the lake of Zurich, whose\npeaceful water is secured from the violence of tempests, and whose\ntransparent surface reflects the beauties of its delightful banks.\n\nDuring the silence of the night, if you repair to the chamber windows\nof this enchanting mansion, or walk through its gardens, to taste the\nexhaling fragrance of the shrubs and flowers, while the moon, rising\nin unclouded majesty over the summit of the mountains, reflects on the\nsmooth surface of the water a broad beam of light, you hear, during this\nawful sleep of nature, the sound of the village clocks, echoing from the\nopposite shores; and, on the Richterswyl side, the shrill proclamation\nof the watchmen, blended occasionally with the barkings of the faithful\nhouse-dog. At a distance you hear the boats gliding gently along the\nstream, dividing the water with their oars, and perceive them, as they\ncross the moon\u2019s translucent beam, playing among the sparkling waves.\n\nRiches and luxury are no where to be seen in the happy habitation of this\nwise philanthropist. His chairs are made of straw; his tables are worked\nfrom the wood of the country; and the plates and dishes on which he\nentertains his friends are all of earthen-ware. Neatness and convenience\nreign throughout. Drawings, paintings, and engravings, of which he has a\nlarge well-chosen collection, are his sole expense. The earliest beams\nof Aurora light the humble apartment where this philosophic sage sleeps\nin undisturbed repose, and awake him to new enjoyments every day. As he\nrises from his bed, the cooing of the turtle-doves, and the morning songs\nof various kinds of birds, who make their nightly nests in an adjoining\naviary, salute his ears, and welcome his approach. The first hour of the\nmorning, and the last at night, are sacred to himself; but he devotes all\nthe intermediate hours of every day to a sick and afflicted multitude,\nwho daily attend him for advice and assistance. The benevolent exercise\nof his professional skill, indeed, engrosses almost every moment of his\nlife, but it constitutes his highest happiness and joy. The inhabitants\nof the mountains of Swisserland, and of the vallies of the Alps, flock to\nhis house, and endeavor in vain to find language capable of expressing\nto him the grateful feelings of their hearts for the favors they receive\nfrom him. Convinced of his affection, satisfied of his medical skill,\nand believing that the good doctor is equally well acquainted with every\nsubject, they listen with the deepest attention to his words, answer\nall his inquiries without the least hesitation or reserve, treasure up\nhis advice and counsel with more solicitude than if they were grains\nof gold, and depart from his presence with more regret, comfort, hope,\nresignation, and virtuous feelings, than if they had quitted their\nconfessor at the hermitage. It may perhaps be conceived, that after a day\nspent in this manner, the happiness which this friend to mankind must\nfeel cannot in any degree be increased. But, when a simple, innocent,\nand ingenuous country girl, whose mind has been almost distracted by the\nfear of losing her beloved husband, enters his study, and seizing him\nwith transport by the hand, joyfully exclaims, \u201cOh! Sir, my dear husband,\nill as he was only two days since, is now quite recovered! Oh! my dear\nSir, how, how shall I thank you!\u201d this philanthropic character feels that\ntranscending felicity, which ought to fill the bosom of a monarch in\nrendering happiness to his people.\n\nOf this description is the country of Swisserland, where doctor Hotze,\nthe ablest physician of the present age, resides; a physician and\nphilosopher, whose variety of knowledge, profound judgment, and great\nexperience, have raised him to an equal eminence with Trissot and\nHirtzel, the dearest friends of my heart. It is in this manner that he\npasses the hours of his life, with uniformity and happiness. Surrounded,\nexcept during the two hours I have already mentioned, by a crowd of\nunfortunate fellow-creatures, who look up to him for relief, his mind,\nactive and full of vigor, never knows repose; but his labors are richly\nrewarded by the high and refined felicity which fills his heart. Palaces,\nalas! seldom contain such characters. Individuals, however, of every\ndescription may cultivate and enjoy an equal degree of felicity, although\nthey do not reside among scenes so delightful as those which surround my\nbeloved Hotze at Richterswyl, as those of the convent of Capuchins near\nAlbano, or as those which surround the rural retreat of my sovereign\nGeorge III. at Windsor.\n\nContent can only be found in the tranquillity of the heart; and in\nsolitude the bosom gladly opens to receive the wished-for inmate, and to\nwelcome its attendant virtues. While nature smiles around us, decorated\nin all its beauties, the heart expands to the cheering scene; every\nobject appears in the most favorable and pleasing point of view; our\nsouls overflow with kind affections; the antipathies created by the\ningratitude of the world instantly vanish; we even forget the vain, the\nwicked, the profligate characters with whom we were mixed; and being\nperfectly at peace with ourselves, we feel ourselves at peace with all\nmankind. But in society the rancorous contention which jarring interests\ndaily create, the heavy yoke which subordination is continually imposing,\n\u201cthe oppressor\u2019s wrong, the proud man\u2019s contumely,\u201d and the shocks which\nreason and good sense hourly receive from fools in power, and insolent\nsuperiors, spread torrents of misery over human life, embitter the\nhappiness of their more worthy though inferior fellow-creatures, poison\nall pleasure, break through social order, spread thorns in the paths of\nvirtue, and render the world a vale of tears.\n\nBlockheads in power are of all other characters, the most baneful and\ninjurious; they confound all just distinctions, mistake one quality\nfor another; degrade every person and thing to their own level; and\nin short, change white into black, and black into white. To escape\nfrom the persecution of such characters, men even of fine talents and\ningenious dispositions must act like the fox of Saadi, of the Persian\npoet. A person one day observing a fox running with uncommon speed to\nearth, called out to him, \u201cReynard, where are you running in so great a\nhurry! Have you been doing any mischief, for which you are apprehensive\nof punishment?\u201d--\u201cNo, Sir,\u201d replied the fox, \u201cmy conscience is perfectly\nclear, and does not reproach me with any thing; but I have just overheard\nthe hunters wish that they had _a camel_ to hunt this morning.\u201d--\u201cWell,\nbut how does that concern you? you are not _a camel_.\u201d--\u201cOh, my good\nSir,\u201d replied the fox, \u201care you not aware that sagacious heads have\nalways enemies at their heels? and if any one should point me out to\nthose sportsmen, and cry, _there runs a camel_, they would immediately\nseize me without examining whether I was really the kind of animal the\ninformer had described me to be.\u201d Reynard was certainly right in his\nconclusion; for men are in general wicked in proportion as they are\nignorant or envious, and the only means of eluding their mischievous\nintentions is to keep out of their way.\n\nThe simplicity, regularity, and serenity which accompany retirement,\nmoderate the warmest tempers, guard the heart against the intrusion of\ninordinate desires, and at length render it invulnerable to the shafts of\nmalice and detraction; while the self-examination it necessarily imposes,\nteaches us, by exhibiting to our view our own defects, to do justice\nto the superior merit of others. The delightful solitudes of Lausanne\nexhibit every where captivating examples of domestic felicity. The\nindustrious citizen, after having faithfully performed his daily task, is\nsure of experiencing, on his return at evening to his wife and children,\nreal comfort and unalloyed content. The voice of slander, the neglect\nof ingratitude, the contempt of superiors, and all the mortifications\nattendant upon worldly intercourse, are forgot the moment he beholds his\nhappy family ready with open arms to receive him, and to bestow upon\ntheir friend and benefactor the fond caresses he so justly merits. With\nwhat exquisite delight his beating bosom feels their rapturous affection.\nIf his mind has been vexed by the crosses of life, the ostentation of\ncourts, the insolence of riches, the arrogance of power, or his temper\nirritated and soured by the base practices of fraud, falsehood, or\nhypocrisy, he no sooner mixes with those whom he cherishes and supports,\nthan a genial warmth reanimates his dejected heart, the tenderest\nsentiments inspire his soul, and the truth, the freedom, the probity,\nand the innocence by which he is surrounded, tranquillize his mind, and\nreconcile him to his humble lot. Oh! observe him, all ye who are placed\nin more elevated stations, whether ye enjoy the confidence of statesmen,\nare the beloved companions of the great, the admired favorites of the\nfair, the envied leaders of the public taste, of high birth, or of ample\nfortunes; for if your rich and splendid homes be the seats of jealousy\nand discord, and the bosoms of your families strangers to that content\nwhich the wise and virtuous feel within walls of clay, and under roofs of\nhumble thatch, you are, in comparison, poor indeed.\n\nCharacters enervated by prosperity feel the smallest inconvenience as\na serious calamity, and, unable to bear the touch of rude and violent\nhands, require to be treated, like young and tender flowers, with\ndelicacy, and attention; while those who have been educated in the\nrough school of adversity, walk over the thorns of life with a firm\nand intrepid step, and kick them from the path with indifference and\ncontempt. Superior to the false opinions and prejudices of the world,\nthey bear with patient fortitude the blow of misfortune, disregard all\ntrifling injuries, and look down with proud contempt on the malice of\ntheir enemies, and the infidelity of their friends.\n\nThe lofty zephyr, the transparent spring, the well-stored river,\nthe umbrageous forest, the cooling grotto, and the daisied field,\nhowever, are not always necessary to enable us to despise or forget the\nconsequences of adversity. The man who firmly keeps his course, and has\ncourage to live according to his own taste and inclinations, cannot be\naffected by the little crosses of life, or by the obloquy or injustice\nof mankind. What we do voluntarily always affords us more pleasure than\nthat which we do by compulsion. The restraints of the world and the\nobligations of society, disgust liberal minds, and deprive them, even in\nthe midst of all their splendor and fortune, of that content they seek so\nanxiously to obtain.\n\nSolitude, indeed, not only tranquillizes the heart, renders it kind and\nvirtuous, and raises it above the malevolence of envy, wickedness,\nand conceited ignorance, but affords advantages still more valuable.\nLiberty, true liberty, flies from the tumultuous crowd, and the forced\nconnexions of the world. It has been truly observed, that in solitude man\nrecovers from the distraction which had torn him from himself; feels a\nclear conception of what he once was, and may yet become; explores the\nnature, and discovers the extent, of his freeborn character: rejects\nevery thing artificial; is guided by his own sentiments; no longer dreads\na severe master or imperious tyrant; and neither suffers the constraints\nof business or the blandishments of pleasure, to disturb his repose;\nbut, breaking boldly through the shackles of servile habit and arbitrary\ncustom, thinks for himself with confidence and courage, and improves the\nsensibility of his heart by the sentiments of his mind.\n\nMadame de Stael considered it a great error, to imagine that freedom and\nliberty could be indulged at court, where the mind, even on the most\ntrifling occasions, is obliged to observe a multitude of ceremonies,\nwhere it is impossible to speak one\u2019s thoughts, where our sentiments must\nbe adapted to those around us, where every person assumes a control over\nus, and where we never have the smallest enjoyment of ourselves. \u201cTo\nenjoy ourselves,\u201d says she, \u201cwe must seek solitude. It was in the Bastile\nthat I first became acquainted with myself.\u201d\n\nA courtier, fearful of every person around him, is continually upon the\nwatch, and tormented incessantly by suspicion; but while his heart is\nthus a prey to corroding anxiety, he is obliged to appear contented and\nserene, and, like the old lady, is always lighting one taper to Michael\nthe archangel, and another to the devil, because he does not know for\nwhich of them he may have most occasion. A man of a liberal, enlightened\nmind, is as little calculated to perform the office of master of the\nceremonies, or to conduct the etiquette of a court, as a woman is to be\n_a religieuse_.\n\nLiberty and leisure render a rational and active mind indifferent to\nevery other kind of happiness. It was the love of liberty and solitude\nwhich rendered the riches and honors of the world so odious to Petrarch.\nSolicited at an advanced period of his life, to act as secretary to\nseveral popes, under the tempting offer of great emolument, he replied,\n\u201cRiches when acquired at the expense of liberty, become the source of\nreal misery. A yoke formed of gold and silver is not less galling and\nrestrictive than one made of wood or iron.\u201d And he frankly told his\nfriends and patrons, that to him there was no quantity of wealth equal in\nvalue to his ease and liberty: that, as he had despised riches at a time\nwhen he was most in need of them, it would be shameful in him to seek\nthem now, when he could more conveniently live without them: that every\nman ought to apportion the provision for his journey according to the\ndistance he had to travel; and that, having almost reached the end of his\ncourse, he ought to think more of his _reception at the inn_, than of his\n_expenses on the road_.\n\nPetrarch, disgusted by the vicious manners which surrounded the papal\nchair, retired into solitude when he was only three-and-twenty years of\nage, and in possession of that exterior, both with respect to person\nand dress, which forms so essential a part in the character of an\naccomplished courtier. Nature had decorated him with every pleasing\nattribute. His fine form struck observers so forcibly, that they stopped\nas he passed along to admire and point out his symmetry. His eyes were\nbright and full of fire; his lively countenance proclaimed the vivacity\nof the mind; the freshest color glowed on his cheeks; his features were\nuncommonly expressive; and his whole appearance was manly, elegant,\nand noble. The natural disposition of his heart, increased by the warm\nclimate of Italy, the fire of youth, the seductive charms of the various\nbeauties who resorted to the papal court, from every nation of Europe,\nand especially the prevailing dissipation of the age, attached him,\nvery early in life, to the society of women. The decoration of dress\ndeeply engaged his attention; and the least spot or improper fold on\nhis garments, which were always of the lightest color, seemed to give\nhim real uneasiness. Every form which appeared inelegant was carefully\navoided, even in the fashion of his shoes; which were so extremely tight,\nand cramped him to such a degree, that he would soon have been deprived\nof the use of his feet, if he had not wisely recollected, that it was\nmuch better to displease the eyes of the ladies than to make himself a\ncripple. To prevent the dress of his hair from being discomposed, he\nprotected it with anxiety from the rudeness of the winds as he passed\nalong the streets. Devoted, however, as he was to the service of the\nsex, he maintained a rival fondness for literature, and an inviolable\nattachment to moral sentiment; and while he celebrated the charms of\nhis fair favorites in choice Italian, he reserved his knowledge of the\nlearned languages for subjects more serious and important. Nor did\nhe permit the warmth of his constitution, or the sensibility of his\nheart, great and exquisite as they were, to debauch his mind, or betray\nhim into the most trifling indiscretion, without feeling the keenest\ncompunction and repentance. \u201cI wish,\u201d said he, \u201cthat I had a heart as\nhard as adamant, rather than be so continually tormented by such seducing\npassions.\u201d The heart of this amiable young man, was, indeed, continually\nassailed by the crowd of beauties that adorned the papal court; and the\npower of their charms, and the facility with which his situation enabled\nthem to enjoy his company, rendered him in some degree their captive;\nbut, alarmed by the approaching torments and disquietudes of love, he\ncautiously avoided their pleasing snares, and continued, previous to the\nsight of his beloved Laura, to roam \u201cfree and unconquered through the\nwilds of love.\u201d\n\nThe practice of the civil law was at this period the only road to\neminence at Avignon; but Petrarch detested the venality of the\nprofession; and though he practised at the bar, and gained many causes\nby his eloquence, he afterwards reproached himself with it. \u201cIn my\nyouth,\u201d says he, \u201cI devoted myself to the trade of selling words, or\nrather fabricating falsehoods; but that which we do against our own\ninclinations, is seldom attended with success; my fondness was for\nsolitude, and therefore I attended the practice of the bar with aversion\nand disgust.\u201d The secret consciousness however, which he entertained\nof his own merit, gave him all the confidence natural to youth; and,\nfilling his mind with that lofty spirit which begets the presumption\nof being equal to the highest achievements, he relinquished the _bar_\nfor the _church_; but his inveterate hatred of the manners of the\nEpiscopal court prevented his exertions, and retarded his promotion. \u201cI\nhave no hope,\u201d said he, in the thirty-fifth year of his age, \u201cof making\nmy fortune in the court of the vicar of Jesus Christ; to accomplish\nthat, I must assiduously attend the palaces of the great, and practise\nflattery, falsehood, and deceit.\u201d A task of this kind was too painful\nto his feelings to perform; not because he either hated the society of\nmen, or disliked advancement, but because he detested the means he must\nnecessarily have used to gratify his ambition. Glory was his warmest\nwish, and he ardently endeavored to obtain it; not, indeed, by the ways\nin which it is usually obtained, but by delighting to walk in the most\nunfrequented paths, and of course, by retiring from the world. The\nsacrifices he made to solitude were great and important; but his mind and\nhis heart were formed to enjoy the advantages it affords with a superior\ndegree of delight; a happiness which resulted to him from his hatred of a\nprofligate court, and from his love of liberty.\n\nThe love of liberty was the secret cause which gave the mind of Rousseau\nso inveterate a disgust to society, and became in solitude the spring\nof all his pleasures. His Letters to Malesherbes are as remarkable for\nthe discovery they make of his real disposition, as his Confessions,\nwhich have been as much misunderstood as his character. \u201cI mistook\nfor a great length of time,\u201d says he, in one of these letters, \u201cthe\ncause of that invincible disgust which I always felt in my intercourse\nwith the world. I attributed it to the mortification of not possessing\nthat quick and ready talent necessary to display in conversation the\nlittle knowledge I possessed; and this reflected an idea, that I did\nnot hold that reputation in the opinion of mankind which I conceived\nI merited. But although, after scribbling many ridiculous things, and\nperceiving myself sought after by all the world, and honored with much\nmore consideration than even my own ridiculous vanity would have led me\nto expect, I found that I was in no danger of being taken for a fool;\nyet, still feeling the same disgust rather augmented than diminished, I\nconcluded that it must arise from some other cause, and that these were\nnot the kind of enjoyments which I must look for. What then, in fact,\nwas the cause of it? It was no other than that invincible spirit of\nliberty which nothing can overcome, and in competition with which, honor,\nfortune, and even fame itself, are to me as nothing. It is certain that\nthis spirit of liberty is engendered less by pride than by indolence; but\nthis indolence is incredible; it is alarmed at every thing; it renders\nthe most trifling duties of civil life insupportable. To be obliged to\nspeak a word, to write a letter, or to pay a visit, are to me, from\nthe moment the obligation arises, the severest punishments. This is the\nreason why, although the ordinary commerce of men is odious to me, the\npleasures of private friendship are so dear to my heart; for in the\nindulgence of private friendships there are no duties to perform; we have\nonly to follow the feelings of the heart, and all is done. This is the\nreason also why I have so much dreaded to accept of favors; for every\nact of kindness demands an acknowledgment, and I feel that my heart is\nungrateful only because gratitude becomes a duty. The kind of happiness,\nin short, which pleases me best, does not consist so much in doing what\nI wish, as in avoiding that which is disagreeable to me. Active life\naffords no temptations to me. I would much rather do nothing at all than\nthat which I dislike; and I have frequently thought that I should not\nhave lived very unhappily even in the Bastile, provided I was free from\nany other constraint than that of merely residing within the walls.\u201d\n\nAn English author asks, \u201cWhy are the inhabitants of the rich plains of\nLombardy, where nature pours her gifts in such profusion, less opulent\nthan those of the mountains of Swisserland?--Because freedom, whose\ninfluence is more benign than sunshine and zephyrs; who covers the rugged\nrock with soil, drains the sickly swamp, and clothes the brown heath\nin verdure; who dresses the laborer\u2019s face with smiles, and makes him\nbehold his increasing family with delight and exultation--Freedom has\nabandoned the fertile fields of Lombardy, and dwells among the mountains\nof Swisserland.\u201d This observation, though dressed in such enthusiastic\nexpressions, is literally true at Uri, Schwitz, Underwalde, Zug, Glaris,\nand Appenzel; for those who have more than their wants require are\n_rich_; and those who are enabled to think, to speak, and to act as\ninclination may dictate, are _free_.\n\nCompetency and liberty, therefore, are the true sweeteners of life. That\nstate of mind, so rarely possessed, in which a man can sincerely say, _I\nhave enough_, is the highest attainment of philosophy. Happiness does\nnot consist in having much, but in having sufficient. This is the reason\nwhy kings and princes are seldom happy; for they always desire more than\nthey possess, and are urged incessantly to attempt more than it is in\ntheir power to achieve. He who wants little has always enough. \u201cI am\ncontented,\u201d says Petrarch, in a letter to his friends, the cardinals\nTalleyrand and Bologna: \u201cI desire nothing more; I enjoy every thing that\nis necessary to life. Cincinnatus, Curtius, Fabricius, and Regulus, after\nhaving conquered nations, and led kings in triumph, were not so rich as I\nam. But I should always be poor if I were to open a door to my passions.\nLuxury, ambition, avarice know no bounds, and desire is an unfathomable\nabyss. I have clothes to cover me; victuals to support me; horses to\ncarry me; lands to lie down or walk upon while I live, and to receive my\nremains when I die. What more was any Roman emperor possessed of?--My\nbody is healthy; and being engaged in toil, is less rebellious against my\nmind. I have books of every kind, which are to me inestimable treasures;\nthey fill my soul with a voluptuous delight, untinctured with remorse.\nI have friends whom I consider more precious than any thing I possess,\nprovided their counsels do not tend to abridge my liberty: and I know of\nno other enemies than those which envy has raised against me.\u201d\n\nSolitude not only restrains inordinate desires, but discovers to mankind\ntheir real wants; and where a simplicity of manners prevails, the real\nwants of men are not only few, but easily satisfied; for being ignorant\nof those desires which luxury creates, they can have no idea of indulging\nthem. An old country curate, who had all his life resided upon a lofty\nmountain near the lake of Thun, in the canton of Berne, was one day\npresented with a moor-cock. The good old man, ignorant that such a bird\nexisted, consulted with his cook-maid in what manner this rarity was to\nbe disposed of, and they both agreed to bury it in the garden. If we were\nall, alas! as ignorant of the delicious flavor of moor-cocks, we might be\nall as happy and contented as the simple pastor of the mountain near the\nlake of Thun.\n\nThe man who confines his desires to his real wants, is more wise, more\nrich, and more contented, than any other mortal existing. The system\nupon which he acts is, like his soul, replete with simplicity and true\ngreatness; and seeking his felicity in innocent obscurity and peaceful\nretirement, he devotes his mind to the love of truth, and finds his\nhighest happiness in a contented heart.\n\nA calm and tranquil life renders the indulgence of sensual pleasures\nless dangerous. The theatre of sensuality exhibits scenes of waste and\nbrutality, of noisy mirth and tumultuous riot; presents to observation\npernicious goblets, overloaded tables, lascivious dancing, receptacles\nfor disease, tombs with faded roses, and all the dismal haunts of pain.\nBut to him who retires in detestation from such gross delights, the joys\nof sense are of a more elevated kind; soft, sublime, pure, permanent, and\ntranquil.\n\nPetrarch one day inviting his friend, the cardinal Colonna, to visit his\nretirement at Vaucluse, wrote to him, \u201cIf you prefer the tranquillity\nof the country to the noise of the town, come here and enjoy yourself.\nDo not be alarmed by the simplicity of my table, or the hardness of my\nbeds. Kings themselves are frequently disgusted by the luxury in which\nthey live, and sigh for comforts of a more homely kind. Change of scene\nis always pleasing; and pleasures, by occasional interruption, frequently\nbecome more lively. If, however, you should not accord with these\nsentiments you may bring with you the most exquisite viands, the wines of\nVesuvius, silver dishes, and every thing else that the indulgence of your\nsenses requires. Leave the rest to me. I promise to provide you with a\nbed of the finest turf, a cooling shade, the music of the nightingales,\nfigs, raisins, water drawn from the freshest springs; and, in short,\nevery thing that the hand of Nature prepares for the lap of genuine\npleasure.\u201d\n\nAh! who would not willingly renounce those things which only produce\ndisquietude in the mind, for those which render it contented! The art of\noccasionally diverting the imagination, taste, and passions, affords new\nand unknown enjoyments to the mind and confers pleasure without pain,\nand luxury without repentance. The senses deadened by satiety, revive\nto new enjoyments. The lively twitter of the groves, and the murmur of\nthe brooks, yield a more delicious pleasure to the ear than the music of\nthe opera, or the compositions of the ablest masters. The eye reposes\nmore agreeably on the concave firmament, on an expanse of waters, on\nmountains covered with rocks, than it does on all the glare of balls and\nassemblies. In short, the mind enjoys in solitude objects which were\nbefore insupportable, and reclining on the bosom of simplicity, easily\nrenounces every vain delight. Petrarch wrote from Vaucluse to one of\nhis friends, \u201cI have made war against my corporeal powers, for I find\nthey are my enemies. My eyes, which have rendered me guilty of so many\nfollies, are now confined to the view of a single woman, old, black, and\nsunburnt. If Helen, or Lucretia had possessed such a face, Troy would\nnever have been reduced to ashes, nor Tarquin driven from the empire of\nthe world. But, to compensate these defects, she is faithful, submissive,\nand industrious. She passes whole days in the fields, her shrivelled\nskin defying the hottest rays of the sun. My wardrobe still contains\nfine clothes, but I never wear them; and you would take me for a common\nlaborer or a simple shepherd; I, who formerly was so anxious about my\ndress. But the reasons which then prevailed, no longer exist: the fetters\nby which I was enslaved are broken: the eyes which I was anxious to\nplease are shut; and if they were still open, they would not perhaps, now\nbe able to maintain the same empire over my heart.\u201d\n\nSolitude, by stripping worldly objects of the false splendor in which\nfancy arrays them, dispels all vain ambition from the mind. Accustomed to\nrural delights and indifferent to every other kind of pleasure, a wise\nman no longer thinks high offices and worldly advancement worthy of his\ndesires. A noble Roman was overwhelmed with tears on being obliged to\naccept of the consulship, because it would deprive him for one year of\nthe opportunity of cultivating his fields. Cincinnatus, who was called\nfrom the plough to the supreme command of the Roman legions, defeated the\nenemies of his country, added to it new provinces, made his triumphal\nentry into Rome, and at the expiration of sixteen days returned to his\nplough. It is true, that the inmate of an humble cottage, who is forced\nto earn his daily bread by labor, and the owner of a spacious mansion,\nfor whom every luxury is provided, are not held in equal estimation by\nmankind. But let the man who has experienced both these situations,\nbe asked under which of them he felt the most content. The cares and\ninquietudes of the palace are innumerably greater than those of the\ncottage. In the former, discontent poisons every enjoyment; and its\nsuperfluity is only misery in disguise. The princes of Germany do not\ndigest all the palatable poison which their cooks prepare, so well as a\npeasant upon the heaths of Limbourg digests his buck-wheat pie. And those\nwho may differ from me in this opinion, will be forced to acknowledge,\nthat there is great truth in the reply which a pretty French country\ngirl, made to a young nobleman, who solicited her to abandon her rustic\ntaste, and retire with him to Paris: \u201cAh! my lord, the further we remove\nfrom ourselves, the greater is our distance from happiness.\u201d\n\nSolitude, by moderating the selfish desires of the heart, and expelling\nambition from the breast, becomes a real asylum to the disappointed\nstatesman or discarded minister; for it is not every public minister who\ncan retire, like Neckar, through the portals of everlasting fame. Every\nperson, indeed, without distinction, ought to raise his grateful hands to\nheaven, on being dismissed from the troubles of public life, to the calm\nrepose which the cultivation of his native fields, and the care of his\nflocks and herds, afford. In France, however, when a minister, who has\nincurred the displeasure of his sovereign, is ordered to _retire_, and\nthereby enabled to visit an estate which he has decorated in the highest\nstyle of rural elegance, this delightful retreat, alas! being considered\na place of exile, becomes intolerable to his mind: he no longer\nfancies himself its master; is incapable of relishing its enchanting\nbeauties; repose flies from his pillow; and turning with aversion from\nevery object, he dies at length, the victim of spleen, petulance, and\ndejection. But in England it is just the reverse. There a minister is\ncongratulated on retiring, like a man who has happily escaped from a\ndangerous malady. He feels himself still surrounded by many friends much\nmore worthy than his adherents while in power; for while those were\nbound to him by temporary considerations of interest, these are attached\nto him by real and permanent esteem. Thanks, generous Britons! for the\nexamples you have given to us of men sufficiently bold and independent\nto weigh events in the scales of reason, and to guide themselves by the\nintrinsic and real merits of each case: for notwithstanding the freedom\nwith which many Englishmen have arraigned the dispensations of the\nSupreme Being; notwithstanding the mockery and ridicule with which they\nhave so frequently insulted virtue, good manners, and decorum; there are\nmany more among them, who, especially at an advanced period of their\nlives, perfectly understand the art of living by themselves; and in their\ntranquil and delightful villas think with more dignity, and live with\nmore real happiness, than the haughtiest noble in the zenith of his power.\n\nOf the ministers who retire from the administration of public affairs,\nthe majority finish their days in cultivating their gardens, in improving\ntheir estates, and, like the excellent de la Roche, at Spire, certainly\npossess more content with the shovel and the rake, than they enjoyed in\nthe most prosperous hours in their administration.\n\nIt has, indeed, been said, that observations like these are common to\npersons who, ignorant of the manners of the world, and the characters of\nmen, love to moralize on, and recommend a contempt of, human greatness;\nbut that rural innocence, the pure and simple pleasures of nature, and\nan uninterrupted repose, are very seldom the companions of this boasted\nsolitude. Those who maintain this opinion, assert, that man, though\nsurrounded with difficulties, and obliged to employ every art and cunning\nto attain his ends, feels with his success the pleasing power which\nattaches to the character of master, and fondly indulges in the exercise\nof sovereignty. Enabled to create and to destroy, to plant and to root\nup, to make alterations when and where he pleases, he may grub up a\nvineyard, and plant an English grove on its site; erect hills where hills\nnever were seen; level eminences to the ground; compel the stream to flow\nas his inclination shall direct; force woods and shrubberies to grow\nwhere he pleases; graft or lop as it shall strike his fancy; open views\nand shut out boundaries; construct ruins where buildings never existed;\nerect temples of which he alone is the high priest; and build hermitages\nin which he may seclude himself at pleasure. It is said, however, that\nthis is not a reward for the restraints he formerly experienced, but a\nnatural inclination; for that a minister must be, from the habits of his\nlife, fond of command and sovereignty, whether he continues at the head\nof an extensive empire, or directs the management of a poultry yard.\n\nIt would most undoubtedly discover a great ignorance of the world, and\nof the nature of man, to contend that it is necessary to renounce all\nthe inclinations of the human heart, in order to enjoy the advantages of\nsolitude. That which nature has implanted in the human breast must there\nremain. If, therefore a minister, in his retirement, is not satiated\nwith the exercise of power and authority, but still fondly wishes for\ncommand, let him require obedience from his chickens, provided such a\ngratification is essential to his happiness and tends to suppress the\ndesire of again exposing himself to those tempests and shipwrecks which\nhe can only avoid in the safe harbor of rural life. An ex-minister must\nsooner or later, learn to despise the appearances of human greatness,\nwhen he discovers that true greatness frequently begins at that period of\nlife which statesmen are apt to consider a dreary void; that the regret\nof being no longer able to do more good, is only ambition in disguise;\nand that the inhabitants of the country, in cultivating their cabbages\nand potatoes, are a hundred times happier than the greatest minister.\n\nNothing contributes more to the advancement of earthly felicity, than a\nreliance on those maxims which teach us to _do as much good as possible_,\nand _to take things just as we find them_; for it is certainly true\nthat no characters are so unhappy as those who are continually finding\nfault with every thing they see. My barber at Hanover, while he was\npreparing to shave me, exclaimed, with a deep sigh, \u201c_It is terribly hot\nto day_,\u201d \u201cYou place heaven,\u201d said I to him, \u201cin great difficulties.\nFor these nine months last past, you have regularly told me every other\nday, _It is terribly cold to day_.\u201d Cannot the Almighty, then any longer\ngovern the universe, without these gentlemen barbers finding something\nto be discontented with? \u201cIs it not,\u201d I asked him, \u201cmuch better to take\nthe seasons as they change, and to receive with equal gratitude, from\nthe hand of God, the winter\u2019s cold, and the summer\u2019s warmth?\u201d \u201cOh!\ncertainly,\u201d replied the barber.\n\nCompetency, and content, therefore, may in general, be considered as the\nbasis of earthly happiness; and solitude, in many instances, favors both\nthe one and the other.\n\nSolitude not only refines the enjoyments of friendship, but enables us to\nacquire friends from whom nothing can alienate our souls, and to whose\narms we never fly in vain.\n\nThe friends of Petrarch sometimes apologized to him for their long\nabsence. \u201cIt is impossible for us,\u201d said they, \u201cto follow your example;\nthe life you lead at Vaucluse is contrary to human nature. In winter\nyou sit like an owl in the chimney corner. In summer you are running\nincessantly about the fields.\u201d Petrarch smiled at these observations.\n\u201cThese people,\u201d said he, \u201cconsider the pleasures of the world as the\nsupreme good; and cannot bear the idea of renouncing them. I have friends\nwhose society is extremely agreeable to me: they are of all ages, and of\nevery country. They have distinguished themselves both in the cabinet\nand in the field, and obtained high honors for their knowledge of the\nsciences. It is easy to gain access to them, for they are always at\nmy service; and I admit them to my company, and dismiss them from it\nwhenever I please. They are never troublesome, but immediately answer\nevery question I ask them. Some relate to me the events of past ages,\nwhile others reveal to me the secrets of nature. Some teach me how to\nlive, and others how to die. Some, by their vivacity, drive away my\ncares, and exhilarate my spirits; while others give fortitude to my\nmind, and teach me the important lesson how to restrain my desires, and\nto depend on myself. They open to me, in short, the various avenues of\nall the arts and sciences; and upon their information I safely rely in\nall emergencies. In return for all these services, they only ask me to\naccommodate them with a convenient chamber in some corner of my humble\nhabitation, where they may repose in peace: for these friends are more\ndelighted with the tranquillity of retirement, than with the tumults of\nsociety.\u201d\n\nLove! the most precious gift of heaven,\n\n    \u201cThe cordial drop Heav\u2019n in our cup has thrown,\n    To make the bitter load of life go down,\u201d\n\nappears to merit a distinguished rank among the advantages of solitude.\n\nLove voluntarily unites itself with the aspect of beautiful nature. The\nview of a pleasing landscape makes the heart beat with the tenderest\nemotions. The lonely mountain and the silent grove increase the\nsusceptibility of the female bosom, inspire the mind with rapturous\nenthusiasm, and, sooner or later, draw aside and subjugate the heart.\n\nWomen feel the pure and tranquil pleasures of rural life with a higher\nsensibility than men. They enjoy more exquisitely the beauties of a\nlonely walk, the freshness of a shady forest, and admire with higher\necstacy the charms of nature. Solitude is to them the school of true\nphilosophy. In England, at least, where the face of the country is so\nbeautiful, and where the taste of its inhabitants is hourly adding to it\nnew embellishments, the love of rural solitude is certainly stronger in\nthe women than the men. A nobleman who employs the day in riding over\nhis estates or in following the hounds, does not enjoy the pleasures\nof rural life with the same delight as his lady, who devotes her time,\nin her romantic pleasure grounds, to needle work, or to the reading of\nsome instructive, interesting work. In this happy country, indeed, where\nthe people, in general, love the enjoyments of the mind, the calm of\nrural retirement is doubly valuable, and its delights more exquisite.\nThe learning which has of late years so considerably increased among\nthe ladies of Germany, is certainly to be attributed to their love of\nretirement: for, among those who pass their time in the country, we find\nmuch more true wit and rational sentiment, than among the _beaux esprits_\nof the metropolis.\n\nMinds, indeed, apparently insensible in the atmosphere of a metropolis,\nunfold themselves with rapture in the country. This is the reason why\nthe return of spring fills every tender breast with love. \u201cWhat can more\nresemble love,\u201d says a celebrated German philosopher, \u201cthan the feeling\nwith which my soul is inspired at the sight of this magnificent valley,\nthus illuminated by the setting sun!\u201d Rousseau felt an inexpressible\ndelight on viewing the first appearances of spring: the earliest blossoms\nof that charming season gave new life and vigor to his mind; the\ntenderest dispositions of his heart were awakened and augmented by the\nsoft verdure it presented to his eyes; and the charms of his mistress\nwere assimilated with the beauties that surrounded him on every side. The\nview of an extensive and pleasing prospect softened his sorrows; and he\nbreathed his sighs with exquisite delight amidst the rising flowers of\nhis garden, and the rich fruits of his orchard.\n\nLovers constantly seek the rural grove to indulge, in the tranquillity\nof retirement, the uninterrupted contemplation of the beloved object\nwhich forms the sole happiness of their lives. Of what importance to them\nare all the transactions of the world, or, indeed, any thing that does\nnot tend to indulge the passion that fills their hearts? Silent groves,\nembowering glades, or the lonely borders of murmuring streams, where they\nmay freely resign themselves to their fond reflections, are the only\nconfidants of their souls. A lovely shepherdess, offering her fostering\nbosom to the infant she is nursing, while at her side her well-beloved\npartner sits dividing with her his morsel of hard black bread, is an\nhundred times more happy than all the fops of the town: for love inspires\nhis mind, in the highest degree, with all that is elevated, delightful\nand affecting in nature; and warms the coldest bosoms with the greatest\nsensibility and the highest rapture.\n\nLove\u2019s softest images spring up anew in solitude. The remembrance of\nthese emotions which the first blush of conscious tenderness, the first\ngentle pressure of the hand, the first dread of interruption, create,\nrecurs incessantly! Time, it is said, extinguishes the flame of love;\nbut solitude renews the fire, and calls forth those agents which lie\nlong concealed, and only wait a favorable moment to display their\npowers. The whole course of youthful feeling again beams forth; and the\nmind--delicious recollection!--fondly retracing the first affection\nof the heart, fills the bosom with an indelible sense of those high\necstacies which a connoisseur has said, with as much truth as energy,\nproclaim, for the first time, that happy discovery, that fortunate\nmoment, when two lovers first perceive their mutual fondness.\n\nHerder mentions a certain cast of people in Asia, whose mythology thus\ndivided the felicities of eternity. \u201cThat men, after death, were, in the\ncelestial regions, immediately the objects of female love during the\ncourse of a thousand years; first by tender looks, then by a balmy kiss,\nand afterwards, by immediate alliance.\u201d\n\nIt was this noble and sublime species of affection that Wieland, in the\nwarmest moments of impassioned youth felt for an amiable, sensible, and\nbeautiful lady of Zurich; for that extraordinary genius was perfectly\nsatisfied, that the metaphysical effects of love, begin with the first\nsigh, and expire, to a certain degree, with the first kiss. I one day\nasked this young lady when it was that Wieland had saluted her for the\nfirst time? \u201cWieland,\u201d replied the amiable girl, \u201cdid not kiss my hand\nfor the first time until four years after our acquaintance commenced.\u201d\n\nYoung persons, in general, however, do not, like Wieland, adopt the\nmystic refinements of love. Yielding to the sentiments which the passion\ninspires, and less acquainted with its metaphysical nature, they feel\nat an earlier age, in the tranquillity of solitude, that irresistible\nimpulse to the union of the sexes which the God of nature has so strongly\nimplanted in the human breast.\n\nA lady who resided in great retirement, at a romantic cottage upon the\nbanks of the lake of Geneva, had three innocent and lovely daughters.\nThe eldest was about fourteen years of age, the youngest was about nine,\nwhen they were presented with a tame bird, which hopped and flew about\nthe chamber the whole day, and formed the sole amusement and pleasure\nof their lives. Placing themselves on their knees, they offered, with\nunwearied delight, their little favorite, pieces of biscuit from their\nfingers, and endeavored, by every means, to induce him to fly to, and\nnestle in, their bosoms; but the bird, the moment he had got the biscuit,\nwith cunning coyness eluded their hopes, and hopped away. The little\nfavorite at length died. A year after this event, the youngest of the\nthree sisters said to her mother, \u201cOh, I remember that dear little bird!\nI wish, mamma, you could procure me such a one to play with.\u201d \u201cOh! no,\u201d\nreplied her elder sister, \u201cI should like to have a little dog to play\nwith better than any thing. I could catch a little dog, take him on my\nknee, hug him in my arms. A bird affords me no pleasure; he perches a\nlittle while on my finger, then flies away, and there is no catching him\nagain: but a little dog, oh! what pleasure.\u2026\u201d\n\nI shall never forget the poor _religieuse_ in whose apartment I found\na breeding cage of canary birds, nor forgive myself for having burst\ninto a fit of laughter at the discovery. It was, alas! the suggestion of\nnature; and who can resist what nature suggests? This mystic wandering of\nreligious minds, this celestial epilepsy of love, this premature effect\nof solitude, is only the fond application of natural inclination raised\nsuperior to all others.\n\nAbsence and tranquillity appear so favorable to the indulgence of this\npleasing passion, that lovers frequently quit the beloved object, to\nreflect in solitude on her charms. Who does not recollect to have read,\nin the Confessions of Rousseau, the story related by Madame de Luxemberg,\nof a lover who quitted the presence of his mistress, only that he might\nhave the pleasure of writing to her. Rousseau replied to Madame de\nLuxemberg, that he wished he had been that man; and his wish was founded\non a perfect knowledge of the passion: for who has ever been in love,\nand does not know that there are moments when the pen is capable of\nexpressing the fine feelings of the heart with much greater effect than\nthe voice, with its miserable organ of speech? The tongue, even in its\nhappiest elocution, is never so persuasive as the speaking eyes, when\nlovers gaze with silent ecstacy on each other\u2019s charms.\n\nLovers not only express, but feel their passion with higher ecstacy and\nhappiness in solitude than in any other situation. What fashionable\nlover ever painted his passion for a lovely mistress with such laconic\ntenderness and effect, as the village chorister of Hanover did on the\ndeath of a young and beautiful country girl with whom he was enamored,\nwhen, after erecting in the cemetery of the cathedral, a sepulchral stone\nto her memory, he carved, in an artless manner, the figure of a blooming\nrose on its front, and inscribed beneath it these words: _C\u2019est ainsi\nqu\u2019elle fut_.\n\nIt was at the feet of those rocks which overhung the celebrated retreat\nat Vaucluse, that Petrarch composed his finest sonnets to deplore the\nabsence, or to complain of the cruelty of his beloved Laura. The Italians\nare of opinion, that when love inspired his muse, his poetry soared far\nbeyond that of any poet who ever wrote before or since his time, either\nin the Greek, the Latin, or the Tuscan languages. \u201cAh! how soft and\ntender is this language of the heart!\u201d they exclaim. \u201cPetrarch alone was\nacquainted with its power: he has added to the three graces a fourth--the\ngrace of delicacy.\u201d\n\nLove, however, when indulged in rural solitude or amidst the romantic\nscenery of an ancient castle, and, assisted by the ardent imagination of\nimpetuous youth, frequently assumes a more bold and violent character.\nReligious enthusiasm, blended with a saturnine disposition, forms, in\neffervescent minds, a sublime and extraordinary compound of the feelings\nof the heart. A youthful lover of this description, when deprived of the\nsmiles of his mistress, takes his first declaration of love from the text\nof the apocalypse and thinks his passion an eternal melancholy; but when\nhe is inclined to sharpen the dart within his breast, his inspired mind\nviews in the beloved object the fairest model of divine perfection.\n\nThe lovers of this romantic cast, placed in some ancient solitary\ncastle, soar far beyond the common tribe, and, as their ideas refine,\ntheir passions become proportionably sublime. Surrounded by stupendous\nrocks, and impressed by the awful stilness of the scene, the beloved\nyouth is considered not merely as an amiable and virtuous man, but as a\ngod. The inspired mind of the fond female fancies her bosom to be the\nsanctuary of love, and conceives her affection for the youthful idol of\nher heart to be an emanation from heaven: a ray of the Divine Presence.\nOrdinary lovers, without doubt, in spite of absence, unite their souls,\nwrite by every post, seize all occasions to converse with, or hear from,\neach other; but our more sublime and exalted female introduces into her\nromance of passion every butterfly she meets with, and all the feathered\nsongsters of the groves; and, except in the object of her love, no longer\nsees any thing as it really is. Reason and sense no longer guide: the\nrefinements of love direct all her movements; she tears the world from\nits poles, and the sun from its axis; and to prove that all she does is\nright, establishes for herself and her lover a new gospel, and a new\nsystem of morality.\n\nA lover, separated, perhaps, forever, from a mistress who has made the\nmost important sacrifices to his happiness; who was his only consolation\nin affliction, his only comfort in calamity; whose kindness supported\nhis sinking fortitude; who remained his faithful and his only friend\nin dire adversity and domestic sorrow; seeks, as his sole resource, a\nslothful solitude. Nights passed in sleepless agonies; a distaste of\nlife, a desire of death, an abhorrence of all society, and a love of\ndreary seclusion, drive him, day, after day, wandering, as chance may\ndirect, though the most solitary retirements far from the hated traces\nof mankind. Were he, however, to wander from the Elbe to the lake of\nGeneva; were he to seek relief in the frozen confines of the north, or\nthe burning regions of the west, to the utmost extremities of the earth\nor seas, he would still be like the hind described by Virgil:\n\n    \u201cStung with the stroke and madding with the pain\n    She wildly flies from wood to wood in vain;\n    Shoots o\u2019er the Cretan lawn with many a bound,\n    The cleaving dart still rankling in the wound.\u201d\n\nPetrarch, on returning to Vaucluse, felt with new and increasing stings\nthe passion which perturbed his breast. Immediately on his arrival at\nthis sequestered spot, the image of his beloved Laura incessantly haunted\nhis imagination. He beheld her at all times, in every place, and under a\nthousand different forms. \u201cThree times in the middle of the night when\nevery door was closed, she appeared to me,\u201d says he, \u201cat the feet of my\nbed, with a steadfast look, as if confident of the power of her charms.\nFear spread a chilling dew over all my limbs. My blood thrilled through\nmy veins towards my heart. If any one had then entered my apartment with\na candle, they would have beheld me as pale as death, with every mark of\nterror on my face. Rising before the break of day, with trembling limbs,\nfrom my disordered bed, and hastily leaving my house, where every thing\ncreated alarm, I climbed to the summit of the rocks, and ran wildly\nthrough the woods, casting my eyes incessantly on every side, to see if\nthe form which had haunted my repose, still pursued me. Alas! I could\nfind no asylum. Places the most sequestered, where I fondly flattered\nmyself that I should be alone, presented her continually to my mind; and\nI beheld her sometimes issuing from the hollow trunk of a tree, from the\nconcealed source of a spring, or from the dark cavity of a broken rock.\nFear rendered me insensible, and I neither know what I did, or where I\nwent.\u201d\n\nThe heart of Petrarch was frequently stimulated by ideas of voluptuous\npleasure, even among the rocks of Vaucluse, where he sought an asylum\nfrom love and Laura. He soon, however, banished sensuality from his mind,\nand, by refining his passion, acquired that vivacity and heavenly purity\nwhich breathes in every line of those immortal lyrics he composed among\nthe rocks. But the city of Avignon, in which the object thus tenderly\nbeloved resided, was not sufficiently distant from the place of his\nretreat, and he visited it too frequently. A passion indeed, like that\nwhich Petrarch felt, leaves the bosom, even when uncorrupted, totally\nincapable of tranquillity. It is a violent fever of the soul, which\ninflicts upon the body a complication of painful disorders. Let lovers,\ntherefore, while they possess some control over the passion which fills\ntheir breasts, seat themselves on the borders of a river, and reflect\nthat love, like the stream, sometimes precipitates itself with violence\ndown the rocks; and sometimes flowing with soft tranquillity along the\nplain, meanders through meadows, and loses itself beneath the peaceful\nshades of solitary bowers.\n\nThe tranquillity of solitude, however, may, to a mind disposed to\nresign itself with humility to all the dispensations of heaven, be\nfound not disadvantageous to the perturbations of love. A lover whom\ndeath has bereaved of the dear object of his affection, seeks only\nthose places which his favorite inhabited; considers every other as\ndesert and forlorn; and expects that death alone is able to stop the\ntorrent of his tears. Such an indulgence of sorrow, however, cannot be\ncalled a resignation to the will of God. A lover of this description is\nattached solely to the irrecoverable object of his increasing sorrows.\nHis distracted mind fondly hopes that she may still return; he thinks\nhe hears her soft enchanting voice in every breeze; he sees her lovely\nform approaching, and opens his expecting arms to clasp her once again\nto his still throbbing breast. But he finds, alas! his hopes are vain:\nthe fancy-breathing form eludes his grasp, and convinces him that the\ndelightful vision was only the light and love-formed phantom of his\nsorrow-sickened mind. A sad remembrance of her departed spirit is the\nonly comfort of his lingering life: he flies to the tomb where her mortal\nremains were deposited, plants roses round her shrine, waters them with\nhis tears, cultivates them with the tenderest care, kisses them as\nemblems of her blushing cheeks, and tastes, with sighing transports,\ntheir balmy fragrance as the fancied odor of her ruby lips.\n\nIt must afford infinite pleasure to every philosophic mind, to reflect\non the victory which the virtuous Petrarch gained over the passion that\nassailed his heart. During his retreat into Italy from love and Laura,\nhis friends in France used every endeavor to induce him to return. One\nof them wrote to him:--\u201cWhat demon possesses you;--How could you quit\na country in which you indulged all the propensities of youth, and\nwhere the graceful figure which you formerly adorned with so much care,\nprocured you such unbounded admiration?--How can you live thus exiled\nfrom Laura, whom you love with so much tenderness, and whose heart is so\ndeeply afflicted by your absence?\u201d\n\nPetrarch replied: \u201cYour anxiety is vain: I am resolved to continue where\nI am. I ride here safely at anchor; and all the hurricanes of eloquence\nshall never drive me from it. How then can you expect to persuade me to\nchange this resolution, merely by placing before my eyes the deviations\nof my youth which I ought to forget; by describing an illicit passion\nwhich left me no other resource than a precipitate flight; and by\nextolling the meretricious advantages of a handsome person, which too\nlong occupied my attention. These are follies I must no longer think\nof. I am now rapidly approaching toward the last goal on the course\nof life. Objects more serious and important now occupy my thoughts.\nGod forbid, that, listening to your flattering observations, I should\nagain throw myself into the snares of love, again put on a yoke which\nso severely galled me!--The natural levity of youth apologizes, in some\ndegree, for the indiscretions it creates; but I should despise myself,\nif I could now be tempted to revisit either the bower of love, or the\ntheatre of ambition. Your suggestions, however, have produced a proper\neffect; for I consider them as the oblique censures of a friend upon my\npast misconduct. The solicitudes of the gay and busy world no longer\ndisturb my mind; for my heart has tenaciously rooted all its fibres in\nthis delightful solitude, where I rove at large, free and unconstrained,\nwithout inquietude or care. In summer I repose upon the verdant turf\nbeneath the shade of some embowering tree, or saunter along the enamelled\nboarders of a cool, refreshing stream. At the approach of autumn I\nseek the woods, and join the muses\u2019 train. This mode of life is surely\npreferable to a life at court, where nothing but disgusting jealousies\nand corroding cares exist. I have now, in short, no wish, except that,\nwhen death relieves me both from pleasure and from pain, I may recline\nmy head upon the bosom of a friend, whose eyes, while he performs the\nlast office of closing mine, will drop a deploring tear upon my departing\nspirit, and convey my remains, with friendly care, to a decent tomb in my\nnative country.\u201d\n\nThese were the sentiments of _the philosopher_: but, after a short\ninterval _the man_ returned once again to the city of Avignon, and only\nvisited his retreat at Vaucluse occasionally.\n\nPetrarch, however, by these continued endeavors to subdue the violence\nof his passion, acquired a sublimity and richness of imagination, which\ndistinguished his character, and gave him an ascendency over the age in\nwhich he lived, greater than any of the literati have since attained.\nTo use the expression of the poet, he was capable of passing, with the\nhappiest facility,\n\n    \u201cFrom grave to gay, from lively to severe:\u201d\n\nand was enabled, as occasion required, to conceive the boldest\nenterprises, and to execute them with the most heroic courage. He who\nlanguished, sighed, and even wept with unmanly softness, at the feet\nof his mistress, breathing only the tender and affectionate language\nof gentle love, no sooner turned his thoughts toward the transactions\nof Rome, than he assumed a higher tone, and not only wrote, but acted\nwith all the strength and spirit of the Augustan age. Monarchs have\nrelinquished the calls of hunger, and the charms of rest, to indulge\nthe tender luxuries his love-lorn muse afforded. But at a more advanced\nage he was no longer a sighing minstrel, chaunting amorous verses to a\nrelentless fair; he was no longer an effeminate slave, that kissed the\nchains of an imperious mistress, who treated him with disdain: he became\na zealous republican, who spread by his writings the spirit of liberty\nthroughout Italy, and sounded a loud alarm against tyranny and tyrants.\nGreat as a statesman, profound and judicious as a public minister, he\nwas consulted in the most important political transactions of Europe,\nand frequently employed in the most arduous and difficult negotiations.\nZealously active in the cause of humanity, he anxiously endeavored, on\noccasions, to extinguish the torch of discord. The greatest princes,\nconscious of his extraordinary genius, solicited his company, and\nendeavored, by listening to his precepts, to learn the noble art of\nrendering their countries respectable, and their people happy.\n\nThese traits of Petrarch\u2019s character clearly evince that, oppressed as he\nwas by the passion of love, he derived great advantages from solitude.\nThe retirement at Vaucluse was not, as is commonly imagined, a pretence\nto be nearer the person of Laura, for Laura resided altogether at\nAvignon; but a means of avoiding the frown of his mistress, and of flying\nfrom the contagion of a corrupt court. Seated in his little garden,\nwhich was situated at the foot of a lofty mountain, and surrounded by\na rapid stream, his soul rose superior to the adversities of his fate.\nHis disposition, indeed, was naturally restless and unquiet; but in his\ntranquil moments, a sound judgment, joined to an exquisite sensibility,\nenabled him to enjoy the delights of solitude with singular advantage;\nand to find in his retreat at Vaucluse, the temple of peace, the\nresidence of calm repose, and a safe harbor against all the tempests of\nthe soul.\n\nThe flame of love, therefore, although it cannot be entirely\nextinguished, may be greatly purified and refined by solitude. Man\nindeed, ought not to extirpate the passions which the God of nature has\nplanted in the human heart, but to direct them to their proper ends.\n\nTo avoid such miseries as Petrarch endured, the pleasures of retirement\nshould be shared with some amiable female, who, better than the cold\nprecepts of philosophy, will beguile or banish, by the charms of\nconversation, all the cares and torments of life.\n\nIt has been said by a very sensible author, that \u201cthe presence of one\nthinking being like ourselves, whose bosom glows with sympathy, and whose\naffection we possess, so far from destroying the advantages of solitude,\nrenders them more favorable. If, like me you owe your happiness to the\nfond attention of a wife, you will soon be induced, by her kindness, by\nher tender and unreserved communication of every sentiment of her mind,\nevery feeling of her heart, to forget the society of the world; and your\nhappiness will be as pleasingly diversified, as the employments and\nvicissitudes of your lives.\u201d\n\nThe orator who speaks so eloquently must have felt with exquisite\nsensibility the pleasures he describes; \u201cHere,\u201d says he, \u201cevery kind\nexpression is remembered; the emotions of one heart correspond with\nthose of the other; every thought is treasured up; every testimony of\naffection is returned; the happy pair enjoy in each other\u2019s company\nall the pleasures of the mind; and there is no felicity which does\nnot communicate itself to their hearts. To beings thus united by the\nsincerest affection, and the closest friendship, every thing that is\nsaid or done, every wish, and every event, becomes mutually important.\nNo jealous fears, no envious stings, disturb their happiness; faults are\npointed out with cautious tenderness and good nature; looks bespeak the\ninclinations of the soul; every wish and every desire is anticipated;\nevery view and intention assimilated; and, the sentiments of one,\nconforming to those of the other, each rejoices with cordiality at the\nsmallest advantage which the other acquires.\u201d\n\nThus it is that the solitude which we share with an amiable object\nproduces tranquillity, satisfaction, and heartfelt joy; and makes the\nhumblest cottage a dwelling place of the purest pleasure.\n\nLove, in the shades of retirement, while the mind and the heart are in\nharmony with each other, inspires the noblest sentiments; raises the\nunderstanding to the highest sphere of intellect: fills the bosom with\nincreased benevolence; destroys all the seeds of vice, and meliorates\nand extends all the virtues. By its delightful influence the attack\nof ill-humor is resisted; the violence of our passions abated; the\nbitter cup of human affliction sweetened; all the injuries of the world\nalleviated; and the sweetest flowers plentifully strewed along the\nthorny paths of life. Every unhappy sufferer, whether the malady be of\nthe body or the mind, derives from this source extraordinary comfort\nand consolation. At a time, alas! when every thing displeased me, when\nevery object was disgusting, when my sufferings had destroyed all the\nenergy and vigor of my soul, when grief had shut from my streaming eyes\nthe beauties of nature, and rendered the whole universe a dreary tomb,\nthe kind attentions of a wife were capable of conveying a secret charm,\na silent consolation to my mind. Oh! nothing can render the bowers of\nretirement so serene and comfortable, or can so sweetly soften all our\nwoes, as a conviction that woman is not indifferent to our fate.\n\nSolitude, it is true, will not completely heal every wound which this\nimperious passion is capable of inflicting on the human heart; but it\nteaches us to endure our pains without wishing for relief, and enables us\nto convert them into soft sorrow and plaintive grief.\n\nBoth sexes in early youth, but particularly females from fifteen to\neighteen years of age, who possess high sensibilities, and lively\nimaginations, generally feel during the solitude of rural retirement,\na soft and pleasing melancholy, when their bosoms begin to heave with\nthe first propensities of love. They wander every where in search of a\nbeloved object, and sigh for one alone, long before the heart is fixed in\nits affection, or the mind conscious of its latent inclination. I have\nfrequently observed this disposition unaccompanied by any symptom of ill\nhealth. It is an original malady. Rousseau felt its influence at Vevay,\nupon the borders of the lake of Geneva. \u201cMy heart,\u201d says he, \u201crushed\nwith ardor from my bosom into a thousand innocent felicities; and melting\ninto tenderness, I sighed and wept like a child. How frequently, stopping\nto indulge my feelings, and seating myself on a piece of broken rock, did\nI amuse myself with seeing my tears drop into the stream!\u201d\n\nRetirement, however, is not equally favorable to every species of\naffliction. Some bosoms are so exquisitely alive to the sense of\nmisfortune, that the indelible remembrance of the object of their\naffection preys upon their minds: the reading of a single line written\nby the hand they loved, freezes their blood; the very sight of the tomb\nwhich has swallowed up the remains of all their soul held dear, is\nintolerable to their eyes. On such beings, alas! the heavens smile in\nvain: to them the new-born flowers and the twittering groves, proclaiming\nthe approach of spring and the regeneration of vegetable nature, bring\nno charms; the garden\u2019s variegated hues irritate their feelings; and the\nsilent retreats, from which they once expected consolation, only increase\ntheir pains. Such refined and exquisite feelings, the offspring of warm\nand generous passion, are real misfortunes; and the malady they engender\nrequires to be treated with the mildest attention and the tenderest care.\n\nBut to minds of softer temper solitude possesses many powerful charms,\nalthough the losses they deplore are equally great. Such characters feel,\nindeed, a sense of their misfortune in its utmost possible extent, but\nthey soften its acuteness by yielding to the natural mildness of their\ndispositions: they plant upon the fatal tomb the weeping willow and the\nephemeral rose; they erect _mausolea_; compose funeral dirges; and render\nthe very emblems of death, the means of consolation. Their hearts are\ncontinually occupied by the idea of those whom their eyes deplore; and\nthey exist under the sensations of the truest and most sincere sorrow, in\na kind of middle state between earth and heaven. This species of sorrow\nis of the happiest kind. Far be it from me to suppose it in the least\ndegree affected. But I call such characters happy mourners; because, from\nthe very frame and texture of their constitutions, grief does not destroy\nthe energy of their minds, but permits them to find consolation in those\nthings which, to minds differently constructed, would create aversion.\nThey feel a heavenly joy in pursuing employments which preserve the\nmemory of those who are the subjects of their sorrow.\n\nSolitude will enable the heart to vanquish the most painful sense of\nadversity, provided the mind will generously lend its aid, and fix its\nattention to a different object. If men think there is any misfortune\nfrom which they have no other resource than despair or death they deceive\nthemselves; for despair is no resource. Let such men retire to their\nstudies, and there seriously trace out a series of important and settled\ntruths, and their tears will no longer fall; but the weight of their\nmisfortunes will grow light, and sorrow fly from their breasts.\n\nSolitude, by encouraging the enjoyments of the heart, by promoting\ndomestic felicity, and by creating a taste for rural scenery, subdues\nimpatience, and drives away ill-humor. Impatience is a stifled anger,\nwhich men silently manifest by looks and gestures, and weak minds\nordinarily reveal by a shower of complaints. A grumbler is never further\nfrom his proper sphere than when he is in company; solitude is his\nonly asylum. Ill-humor is an uneasy and insupportable condition, which\nthe soul frequently falls into when soured by a number of those petty\nvexations which we daily experience in every step of our progress through\nlife; but we need only to shut the door against improper and disagreeable\nintrusions, to avoid this scourge of happiness.\n\nVexations, indeed, of every kind, are much sooner quieted in the silence\nof retirement than in the noise of the world. A cheerful disposition,\na placid temper, and well-regulated passions, will prevent worldly\nvexations from interrupting our happiness. By these attainments, the\ndeepest melancholy, and most settled uneasiness of life, have been\nfrequently banished from the heart. It is true, that the progress in this\ncase is much more rapid in women than in men. The mind of a lively female\nflies immediately to happiness, while that of a melancholy man still\ncreeps on with pain: the yielding bosoms of the fair are easily elevated\nor depressed. These effects, it is true, may be produced by means less\nabstracted than solitude; by any thing that strikes the senses, and\npenetrates the heart. Men, on the contrary, augment the disease, and fix\nit more firmly in the bosom, by brooding over its cause and consequences,\nand are obliged to apply the most efficacious remedies, with unshaken\nconstancy, to effect a cure; for feeble prescriptions are, in such\ncases, of no avail. The only chance, indeed, of success, is by exerting\nevery endeavor to place the body under the regimen of the mind. Vigorous\nminds frequently banish the most inveterate evils, or form a powerful\nshield against all the darts of fate, and, by braving every danger, drive\naway those feelings by which others are irritated and destroyed; they\nboldly turn their eyes from what things are, to what they ought to be;\nand with determined resolution support the bodies they are designed to\nanimate; while weak minds surrender every thing committed to their care.\n\nThe soul, however, always follows what is most agreeable to its\nruling passion. Worldly men generally delight in gaming, feasting,\nand debauchery; while those who are fond of solitude feel, from a\nconsciousness of its advantages, no enjoyments equal to those its\npeaceful shades afford.\n\nI now conclude my reflections upon the advantages of Solitude to\n_the Heart_. May they give greater currency to useful sentiments,\nto consolatory truths, and contribute in some degree to diffuse the\nenjoyment of a happiness which is so much within our reach!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_The General Advantages of Retirement._\n\n\nRetirement engages the affections of men whenever it holds up a picture\nof tranquillity to their view.\n\nThe doleful and monotonous sound of the clock of a sequestered monastery,\nthe silence of nature in a still night, the pure air on the summit of\na high mountain, the thick darkness of an aged forest, the sight of a\ntemple fallen into ruins, inspire the soul with a soft melancholy, and\nbanish all recollection of the world and its concerns.\n\nThe man who cannot hold a friendly correspondence with his own heart; who\nderives no comfort from the reflections of his mind; who dreads the idea\nof meditation, and is fearful of passing a single moment with himself,\nlooks with equal dread on solitude and on death. He endeavors to enjoy\nall the voluptuousness which the world affords; drains the pernicious\ncup of pleasure to its dregs; and, until the dreadful moment approaches\nwhen he beholds his nerves shattered, and all the powers of his soul\ndestroyed, has not the courage to make the delayed confession, \u201cI am\ntired of the world and all its idle follies!\u201d\n\nThe legions of fantastic fashions to which a man of pleasure is obliged\nto sacrifice his time, impair the rational faculties of his mind, and\ndestroy the native energies of his soul. Forced continually to lend\nhimself to the performance of a thousand little trifles, a thousand mean\nabsurdities, he becomes by habit frivolous and absurd. The face of things\nno longer wears its true and genuine aspect; and his depraved taste\nloses all relish for rational entertainment or substantial pleasure. The\ninfatuation seizes on his brain, and his corrupted heart teems with idle\nfancies and vain imaginations.\n\nThe inevitable consequences of this ardent pursuit of entertainments and\ndiversions are langor and dissatisfaction. He has drained the cup of\npleasure to the last drop, who is at length obliged to confess that all\nhis hopes are fled; who finds disappointment and disgust mingled with\nevery enjoyment; who feels astonished at his own insensibility, and who\nno longer possesses the magic of the enchantress, imagination, to gild\nand decorate the scene, calls in vain to his assistance the daughters of\nsensuality and intemperance: their caresses can no longer delight his\ndark and melancholy mind: the soft and syren song of luxury no longer can\ndispel the cloud of discontent that hovers round his head.\n\nBehold that debilitated weak old man running after pleasures he can no\nlonger enjoy. The airs of gayety which he affects render him ridiculous;\nhis attempts to shine expose him to derision; his endeavors to display\nthe wit and eloquence of youth betray him into the garrulity of old\nage. His conversation, filled with repetition and tiresome narrative,\ncreates disgust, and only forces the smile of pity from the lips of his\nyouthful rivals. To the eye of wisdom, however, who observed him through\nall the former periods of his life, sparkling in the noisy circles of\nextravagance and vice, his character always appeared the same.\n\nThe wise man, in the midst of the most tumultuous pleasures, frequently\nretires within himself, and silently compares what he might do with what\nhe is doing. Surrounded by, and even when accidentally engaged in, the\nexcesses of intoxication, he associates only with those warm and generous\nsouls whose highly elevated minds are drawn toward each other by the most\nvirtuous inclinations and sublime sentiments. The silent retreat of the\nmind within itself, has more than once given birth to enterprizes of the\ngreatest importance and utility; and it is not difficult to imagine, that\nsome of the most celebrated actions of mankind were first inspired among\nthe sounds of music, or conceived amidst the mazes of the dance. Sensible\nand elevated minds never commune more closely with themselves than in\nthose places of public resort in which the low and vulgar, surrendering\nthemselves to illusion and caprice, become incapable of reflection, and\nblindly suffer themselves to be overwhelmed by the surrounding torrent of\nfolly and distraction.\n\nThe unceasing pursuit of sensual enjoyment is merely a mean used by\nthe votaries of worldly pleasure, of flying from themselves; they\nseize with avidity upon any object that promises to occupy the present\nhour agreeably, and provide entertainment for the day that is passing\nover their heads. To such characters the man who can invent hour after\nhour new schemes of pleasure and open day after day fresh sources of\namusement, is a valuable companion indeed; he is their best, their only\nfriend. Are then these lazy and luxurious votaries of sensual pleasures\ndestitute of those abilities which might prevent this sacrifice of time,\nand, if properly exerted, afford them relief? Certainly not. But, having\nbeen continually led from object to object in the pursuit of pleasure,\nthe assistance of others has habitually become the first want and\ngreatest necessity of their lives: they have insensibly lost all power of\nacting for themselves, and depend, for every object they see, for every\nsensation they feel, for every sentiment they entertain, on those by\nwhom they are attended. This is the reason why the rich, who are seldom\nacquainted with any other pleasures than those of sense, are, in general,\nthe most miserable of mankind.\n\nThe nobility and courtiers of France think their enjoyments appear vain\nand ridiculous only to those who have not the opportunity of partaking in\nthem; but I am of a different opinion. Returning one Sunday from Trianon\nto Versailles, I perceived at a distance a number of people assembled\nupon the terrace of the castle; and on a nearer approach, I beheld Louis\nXV. surrounded by his court, at the windows of his palace. A man very\nrichly dressed, with a large pair of branching antlers fastened upon his\nhead, whom they called the stag, was pursued by about a dozen others who\ncomposed the pack. The pursued and the pursuers leaped into the great\ncanal, scrambled out again, and ran wildly round and round, amidst the\nacclamations of the assembly, who loudly clapped their hands to testify\ntheir delight, and to encourage the diversion. \u201cWhat can all this mean?\u201d\nsaid I to a French gentleman who stood near me. \u201cSir,\u201d he replied, with\na very serious countenance, \u201cit is for the entertainment of the court.\u201d\nThe most obscure and indigent individuals may certainly be much happier\nthan these masters of mankind with their melancholy slaves and miserable\nentertainments.\n\nDireful condition! Is there then no occupation whatsoever, no useful\nemployment, no rational recreation sufficiently high and dignified for\nsuch characters?--Are they reduced to the melancholy condition of not\nbeing able to perform one good and virtuous action during the intervals\nof suspended pleasure? Can they render no services to friendship, to\ntheir country, to themselves? Are there no poor and miserable beings to\nwhose bosom they might afford charitable comfort and relief? Is it, in\nshort, impossible for such characters in any way to improve themselves in\nwisdom or in virtue?\n\nThe powers of the human mind are of greater extent than is generally\nimagined. He who, either from taste or necessity, exercises them\nfrequently, soon finds that the highest felicities of which our nature is\ncapable, reside entirely within ourselves. The wants of life are, for the\ngreater part, merely artificial; and although sensual objects contribute\nmost efficaciously to our happiness and delight, it is not because they\nare indispensably necessary for this purpose, but because they have been\nrendered desirable by habit; and, from the pleasures they produce, we\nflatter ourselves that they are absolutely necessary to our felicity. If,\nhowever, we had fortitude to resist their charms, and courage to seek our\nhappiness in ourselves, we should frequently find in our own bosoms a\ngreater variety of resources than all the objects of sense are capable of\naffording.\n\nAmusements, indeed, may sometimes be found in those places to which the\nsexes resort merely to see and to be seen. The eye may be occasionally\ngratified by the sight of objects really agreeable; the ear may listen\nto observations truly flattering. Lively thoughts and sensible remarks\nnow and then prevail. Characters equally amiable and interesting\noccasionally mix among the group. We may form acquaintance with men of\ndistinguished merit, whom we should not otherwise have had an opportunity\nof knowing; and meet with women of amiable qualities, and irreproachable\nconduct, whose refined conversation ravishes the ear with a delight\nequal to that with which their exquisite beauty captivates the heart.\nBut by what a number of painful sensations must the chance of receiving\nthese pleasures be purchased! Those whom reason or disgust restrain from\nmixing in the idle dissipations of life, cannot see without a sigh, the\ngay conceit, the airy confidence, the blind arrogance, and the bold\nloquacity, with which these votaries of worldly pleasure proclaim a\nfelicity which is almost invariably deceitful; nor observe without a\nsigh, the extravagant joy of so many great men, and the absurd airs of so\nmany gray-headed children.\n\nHonor, fame, and pleasure are conceived to accompany an invitation to\nthe board of luxury; although disease, with leaden sceptre, is known to\npreside; and reproach and calumny are indiscriminately cast upon the\npurest characters. But he who feels the least energy of mind, turns\nwith aversion from all society which tends to weaken its effect; and\nfinds the simplest fare, enjoyed with freedom and content amidst a happy\nand affectionate family, ten thousand times more agreeable than the\nrarest dainty, and the richest wine, with a society where he must sit\nceremoniously silent in compliment to some reputed wit, from whose lips\nnothing but absurdities and nonsense proceed.\n\nThe spiritless and crowded societies of the world, where a round of low\nand trifling amusements fills the hour of entertainment, and where to\ndisplay a pomp of dress and levity of manners is the only ambition, may\nafford some pleasure to those light and empty minds who are impatient of\nthe weight of idleness; but the wise man, who occasionally resorts to\nthem in search of rational conversation or temporary amusement, and only\nfinds a dull unvaried jargon, and a tiresome round of compliments, will\nturn with aversion from these temples of false delight, and exclaim, in\nthe language of the poet,\n\n    \u201cI envy none their pageantry and show,\n    I envy none the gilding of their wo.\n    Give me, indulgent gods! with mind serene,\n    And guiltless heart, to range the sylvan scene;\n    No splendid poverty, no smiling care,\n    No well-bred hate or servile grandeur there:\n    The pleasing objects useful thoughts suggest;\n    The sense is ravish\u2019d and the soul is blest:\n    On every thorn, delightful wisdom glows,\n    In every rill a sweet instruction flows.\u201d\n\nTrue social pleasure is founded on unlimited confidence, on an\naffectionate and reciprocal interchange of sentiment and opinions. A\ntender, faithful, refined, and rational friendship, renders the pleasures\nof the world spiritless and disgusting. How joyfully do we disencumber\nourselves from the shackles of society, for that close and sublime\nintercourse in which our inclinations are free, our feelings generous,\nour sentiments unbiassed; where a mutuality of thought and action, of\npleasure and of pains uninterruptedly prevail; where the gentle hand\nof love conducts us along the paths of truth and virtue; where every\nthought is anticipated before it escapes from the lips; where advice,\nconsolation, and succor, are reciprocally given and received in all\nthe accidents and in all the misfortunes of life! The soul, touched\nby the charms of friendship, springs from its apathy and dejection,\nand views the enlivening beam of hope awakening it to activity. The\nhappy pair, casting a retrospective glance on the time passed, mutually\nexclaim with the tenderest emotions, \u201cOh the delights that we have\nalready experienced!--Oh the joys that we have already felt!\u201d If the\ntear of affliction steal down the cheek of the one, the other with\naffection wipes it tenderly away. The sorrows of one are felt with equal\nsensibility by the other: and what sorrow will not an intercourse of\nhearts so closely and affectionately united, entirely subdue!--Day after\nday they communicate to each other all they have seen, all they have\nheard, all that they feel, and every thing that they know. Time flies\nbefore them on his swiftest pinions. They are never tired of each other\u2019s\ncompany and conversation. The only misfortune they fear, the greatest\nindeed they can possibly experience, is the misfortune of being separated\nby occasional absence or untimely death.\n\nBut human happiness is continually exposed to interruption. At the very\nmoment alas; when we vainly think ourselves the most secure, fate, by\na sudden blow, strikes its unhappy victim even in our arms. All the\npleasure of life then seems forever extinguished, every object alarms\nour mind, and every place seems desert and forlorn. In vain are our\narms extended to embrace our loved, though lost companion; in vain do\nwe invoke her return. Her well known step still seems to beat upon the\nlistening ear, and promise her approach; but suspended sense returns,\nand the delusive sounds are heard no more. A death-like silence reigns\naround, and involves us in the shades of dreary solitude, unconscious of\nevery thing but our bleeding hearts. Wearied and dejected, we imagine\nourselves no longer capable of loving or of being beloved; and life\nwithout love, to the heart that has once felt its pleasures, is more\nterrible than death. So sudden a transition from the highest happiness\nto the deepest misery overpowers the mind. No kind friend appears to\nassuage our sufferings, or seems capable of forming an adequate idea\nof our distress. The pangs, indeed, which such a loss inflicts, cannot\nbe conceived, unless they have been felt. The only consolation of the\nunhappy sufferer is to live in solitude, and his only wish to die\nalone. But it is under circumstances like these that solitude enjoys\nits greatest triumph, and the afflicted sufferer receives the greatest\nbenefits; for there is no sorrow, however great, no pang, however\npowerful, that it will not, when wisely indulged, at first soften, and\nat length subdue. The remedy which solitude \u201cadministers to a mind\ndiseased,\u201d is slow and gradual; for the art of living alone requires much\nexperience, is subject to so many casualties, and depends so materially\nupon the temperament of the patient, that it is necessary we should\nattain a complete maturity before any great advantages can be derived\nfrom it. But he who is able to throw off the galling yoke of prejudice,\nand possesses a natural esteem and fondness for retirement, will not be\nembarrassed as to the choice he ought to make under such circumstances.\nIndifferent to external objects, and averse from the dissipations of the\nworld, he will rely on the powers of his mind, and will never be less\nalone than when he is in the company of himself.\n\nMen of genius are frequently condemned to employments as disagreeable\nto the turn and temper of their minds, as the most nauseous medicine\nmust be to an empty stomach. Confined to toil on a dry and disgusting\nsubject, fixed to a particular spot, and harassed by subordinate duties,\nthey relinquish all expectation of tranquillity on this side the grave.\nDeprived of enjoying the common pleasures of nature, every object\nincreases their disgust. \u201cIt is not for us,\u201d they exclaim, \u201cthat the\nyouthful zephyrs call forth the budding foliage with their caressing\nbreath; that the feathered choir chant in enlivening strains their rural\nsongs; that the verdant meadows are decked with fragrant flowers.\u201d But\nset these complainers free, give them liberty and leisure to think for\nthemselves, and the enthusiasm of their minds will soon regenerate, and\nsoar into the highest regions of intellectual happiness, with the bold\nwing and penetrating eye of the bird of Jove.\n\nIf solitude be capable of dissipating the afflictions of persons thus\ncircumstanced, what may not be expected from its influence on those who\nare enabled to retire, at pleasure, to its friendly shades, and who\nhave no other wish than to enjoy pure air and domestic felicity! When\nAntisthenes was asked what advantages philosophy had afforded him, he\nanswered, \u201c_It has taught me to subdue myself._\u201d Pope says, he never laid\nhis head upon his pillow, without acknowledging that the most important\nlesson of life is to learn the art of being happy within ourselves. And\nit seems to me that we shall all find what Pope looked for, when home\nis our content, and every thing about us, even to the dog and the cat,\npartakes of our affection.\n\nHealth is certainly essential to happiness, and yet there are\ncircumstances and situations, under which the privation of it may be\nattended with tranquillity.\n\nHow frequently have I returned thanks to God, when indisposition has\nprevented me from going abroad, and enabled me to recruit my weakened\npowers in solitude and silence! Obliged to drag through the streets\nof the metropolis day after day during a number of years, feeble in\nconstitution, weak in limbs; susceptible, on feeling the smallest cold,\nto the same sensation as if knives were separating the flesh from the\nbone; continually surrounded, in the course of my profession, with the\nmost afflicting sorrows; it is not surprising that I should thank the\nAlmighty with tears of gratitude, on experiencing even the relief which\na confinement by indisposition procured. A physician, if he possesses\nsensibility, must, in his anxiety to relieve the sufferings of others,\nfrequently forget his own. But, alas! how frequently must he feel all the\nhorrors of his situation, when he is summoned to attend patients whose\nmaladies are beyond the reach of medicine! Under such circumstances, the\nindisposition which excuses my attendance, and leaves me the powers of\nthought, affords me comparatively a sweet repose; and, provided I am not\ndisturbed by the polite interruptions of ceremonious visiters, I enjoy a\npleasing solitude. One single day passed undisturbed at home in literary\nleisure, affords to the mind more real pleasure than all the circles of\nfashionable entertainment are able to bestow.\n\nThe fear of being alone is no longer felt either by the young or old,\nwhenever the mind has acquired the power of employing itself in some\nuseful or agreeable study. Ill humor may be banished by adopting a\nregular course of reading. Books, indeed, cannot be inspected without\nproducing a beneficial effect, provided we always read with a pen or\npencil in our hand, and note down the new ideas that may occur, or the\nobservations which confirm the knowledge we before possessed; for reading\nbecomes not only useless, but fatiguing, unless we apply the information\nit affords either to our own characters, or to those of other men. This\nhabit, however, may be easily acquired; and then books become one of\nthe most safe and certain antidotes to lassitude and discontent. By\nthis means a man becomes his own companion, and finds his best and most\ncheerful friend in his own heart.\n\nPleasures of this kind certainly surpass in a great degree all those\nwhich result merely from the indulgence of the senses. The pleasures of\nthe mind, generally speaking, signify sublime meditation, the profound\ndeductions of reason, and the brilliant effusions of the imagination;\nbut there are also others, for the perfect enjoyment of which, neither\nextensive knowledge nor extraordinary talents are necessary. Such are\nthe pleasures which result from active labor; pleasures equally within\nthe reach of the ignorant and learned, and not less exquisite than\nthose which result from the mind. Manual exertions, therefore, ought\nnever to be despised. I am acquainted with gentlemen who understand the\nmechanism of their watches, who are able to work as painters, locksmiths,\ncarpenters, and who are not only possessed of the tools and implements\nof every trade, but know how to use them. Such men never feel the least\ndisquietude from the want of society, and are in general the happiest\ncharacters in existence.\n\nMental pleasures are within the reach of all persons who, free,\ntranquil, and affectionate, are contented with themselves, and at peace\nwith their fellow-creatures. The mind contemplates the pranks of school,\nthe sprightly aberrations of our boyish days, the wanton stories of\nearly youth, our plays and pastimes, and all the little hopes and fears\nof infancy, with fond delight. Oh! with what approving smiles and soft\nregret, the aged cast their eyes upon those happy times when youthful\ninclination prompted all their actions, when every enterprise was\nundertaken with lively vigor, and executed with undaunted courage; when\ndifficulties were sought merely for the purpose of surmounting them! Let\nus compare what we were formerly with what we are at present; or rather,\nby giving our thoughts a freer range, reflect on the various events we\nhave experienced or observed; upon the means that the Almighty employs\nto raise or sink the prosperity of empires; upon the rapid progress\nmade, even in our time, in every art and science; upon the diffusion of\nuseful knowledge, and the destruction of dangerous prejudices; upon the\nempire which barbarism and superstition have gained, notwithstanding the\nexertions of genius and reason to prevent them; upon the sublime power\nof the human mind and its inefficient productions; and languor will\ninstantly disappear, and tranquillity, peace, and good humor prevail.\n\nThus advantage may in solitude be attained and relished at every period\nof our lives; at the most advanced age, as well as during the vigor of\nyouth. He who to an unbroken constitution joins a free and contented\nmind, and assiduously cultivates the powers of his understanding,\nwill, if his heart be innocent, at all times enjoy the purest and most\nunalterable pleasures. Employment animates all the functions of the soul,\nand calls forth their highest energies. It is the secret consciousness\nwhich every person of a lively imagination possesses, of the powers of\nthe mind, and the dignity they are capable of attaining, that creates the\nnoble anxiety and ardor, which carries their efforts to the sublimest\nheights. But if, either by duty or situation, we maintain too close an\nintercourse with society, if we are obliged, in spite of inclination, to\nsubmit to frivolous and fatiguing dissipations, it is only by quitting\nthe tumult, and entering into silent meditation, that we feel that\neffervescence, that desire to break from bondage, to fly from past\nerrors, and avoid in future every noisy and tumultuous pleasure.\n\nThe mind never feels with more energy and satisfaction that it lives,\nthat it is rational, great, active, free, and immortal, than during those\nmoments in which it excludes idle and impertinent intruders.\n\nOf all the vexations of life, there are none so insupportable, as those\ninsipid visits, those annoying partialities, which occupy the time of\nfrivolous and fashionable characters. \u201cMy thoughts,\u201d says Rousseau, \u201cwill\nonly come when they please, and not when I choose:\u201d and therefore the\nintrusions of strangers, or of mere acquaintances, were always extremely\nodious to him. It was for this reason alone that this extraordinary\ncharacter, who seldom experienced an hour of tranquillity, felt such\nindignation against the importunate civilities and empty compliments\nof common conversation, whilst he enjoyed the rational intercourse of\nsensible and well-informed minds with the highest delight. How frequently\nare the brightest beams of intellect obscured by associating with low\nand little minds! How frequently do the soundest understandings become\nfrivolous, by keeping frivolous company! For, although these bright beams\nare immediate emanations from the Deity on the mind of man, they must be\nmatured by meditation and reflection, before they can give elevation to\ngenius, and consistency to character.\n\nVirtues to which the mind cannot rise even when assisted by the most\nadvantageous intercourse, are frequently the fruits of solitude. Deprived\nfor ever of the company and conversation of those whom we love and\nesteem, we endeavor to charm the uneasy void by every effort in our\npower; but while love and friendship lead us by the hand, and cherish us\nby their care, we lean incessantly on their bosoms, and remain inert.\nSolitude, were it for this reason alone, is indispensably necessary to\nthe human character; for when men are enabled to depend on themselves\nalone, the soul, tossed about by the tempest of life, acquires new vigor;\nlearns to bear with constancy, or avoid with address, those dangerous\nrocks on which vulgar minds are inevitably wrecked; and discovers\ncontinually new resources, by which the mind resists, with stoic courage,\nthe rigors of its fate.\n\nWeak minds always conceive it most safe to adopt the sentiments of the\nmultitude. They never venture to express an opinion upon any subject\nuntil the majority have decided; and blindly follow the sentiments of\nthe many, whether upon men or things, without troubling themselves to\ninquire who are right, or on which side truth preponderates. A love of\nequity and truth, indeed, is seldom found, except in those who have no\ndread of solitude. Men of dissipation never protect the weak, or avenge\nthe oppressed. If the various and powerful hosts of knaves and fools are\nyour enemies; if you have been injured in your property by injustice, or\ntraduced in your fame by calumny, you must not fly for protection and\nredress to men of light and dissipated characters; for they are merely\nthe organs of error, and the conduit pipes of prejudice.\n\nThe knowledge of ourselves is in solitude more easily and effectually\nacquired than in any other situation; for we there live in habits of\nthe strictest intimacy with our own bosoms. It is certainly possible\nfor men to be deliberate and wise, even amidst all the tumultuous folly\nof the world, especially if their principles be well fixed before they\nenter on the stage of life; but integrity is undoubtedly more easily\npreserved in the innocent simplicity of solitude, than in the corrupted\nintercourses of society. In the world how many men please only by their\nvices! How many profligate villains, and unprincipled adventurers of\ninsinuating manners, are well received only because they have learnt the\nart of administering to the follies, the weaknesses, and the vices of\nothers! The mind, intoxicated with the fumes of that incense which artful\nflattery is continually offering to it, is rendered incapable of justly\nappreciating the characters of men. On the contrary, we truly discover in\nthe silence of solitude, the inward complexion of the heart; and learn\nnot only what the characters of men are, but what in truth and nature\nthey ought to be.\n\nHow many new and useful discoveries may be made by occasionally forcing\nourselves from the vortex of the world, and retiring to the calm\nenjoyments of study and reflection! To accomplish this end, it is only\nnecessary to commence seriously with our hearts, and to examine our\nactions with impartiality. The worldly-minded man, indeed, has reason\nto avoid this self-examination, for the result would in all probability\nbe painful to his feelings; as he who only judges of himself by the\nflattering opinions which others may have expressed of his character,\nwill, in such a scrutiny, behold with surprise that he is the miserable\nslave of habit and public opinion; submitting himself with scrupulous\nexactness, and the best possible grace, to the tyranny of fashion and\nestablished ceremony; never venturing to oppose their influence, however\nridiculous and absurd it may be; and obsequiously following the example\nof others, without daring to resist pursuits which every one seems so\nhighly to approve. He will perceive, that almost all his thoughts and\nactions are engendered by a base fear of himself, or arise from a servile\ncomplaisance to others; that he only seeks to flatter the vanities, and\nindulge the caprices of his superiors, and becomes the contemptible\nminister of these men, without daring to offer them the smallest\ncontradiction, or hazard an opinion that is likely to give them the least\ndispleasure. Whoever, with calm consideration, views this terrifying\npicture, will feel, in the silent emotions of his heart, the necessity\nof occasionally retiring into solitude, and seeking society with men of\nnobler sentiments and purer principles.\n\nLet every one, therefore, who wishes to think with dignity, or live\nwith ease, seek the retreats of solitude, and enter into a friendly\nintercourse with his own heart. How small a portion of true philosophy,\nwith an enlightened understanding, will render it humble and compliant!\nBut in the mists of prejudice, dazzled by the intellectual glimmer of\nfalse lights, every one mistakes the true path, and seeks for happiness\nin the shades of darkness, and in the labyrinths of obscurity. The\nhabits of retirement and tranquillity can alone enable us to make\na just estimate of men and things, and it is by renouncing all the\nprepossessions which the corruptions of society have implanted in the\nmind, that we make the first advances toward the restoration of reason,\nand the attainment of felicity.\n\nWe have hitherto only pointed out one class of the general advantages\nwhich may be derived from rational solitude, but there are many others\nwhich apply still more closely to men\u2019s business and bosoms. Who, alas!\nis there that has not experienced its comforting influence in the\nkeenest adversities of life? Who is there that does not seek relief from\nits friendly shades in the langors of convalescence, in the pangs of\naffliction, and even in that distressful moment when death deprives us of\nthose whose company was the charm and solace of our lives? Happy are they\nwho know the advantages of a religious retirement, of that holy rest in\nwhich the virtues rivet themselves more closely to the soul, and in which\nevery man, when he is on the bed of death, devoutly wishes he had lived.\n\nBut these advantages become more conspicuous, when we compare the manner\nof thinking which employs the mind of a solitary philosopher with that of\na worldly sensualist; the tiresome tumultuous life of the one, with the\nease and tranquillity of the other; the horrors which disturb the death\nbed of vice, with the calm sigh which accompanies the expiring soul of\nvirtue. This is the awful moment in which we feel how important it is\nto commune morally with ourselves, and religiously with our Creator; to\nenable us to bear the sufferings of life with dignity, and the pains of\ndeath with ease.\n\nThe sick, the sorrowful, and the discontented, may find equal relief\nin solitude; it administers a balm to their tortured souls, heals the\ndeep and painful wounds they have received, and in time restores them\nto their pristine health and vigor. The deceitful shrine in which the\nintoxication of sensuality involved health and happiness disappears,\nand they behold, in the place of imaginary joys, those objects only\nwhich afford real pleasure. Prosperity arrays every object in the most\nglowing and delightful colors; but to adversity every thing appears black\nand dismal. Nor are the errors of these contrary extremes discovered\nuntil the moment when the curtain drops, and dissipates the illusion:\nthe deceitful dream continues until the imagination is silenced. The\nunhappy then perceive that the Almighty was watching over them, even when\nthey conceived themselves entirely abandoned: the happy then discover\nthe vanity of those pleasures and amusements to which they surrendered\nthemselves so implicitly during the intoxication of the world, and\nreflect seriously upon their misconduct; upon their present state and\nfuture destiny; and upon the modes most likely to conduct them to true\nfelicity. How miserable should we be, were the Divine Providence to grant\nus every thing we desire! At the very instant when we conceive all the\nhappiness of our lives annihilated, God, perhaps, is performing something\nextraordinary in our favor. Certain it is, that patience and perseverance\nwill, in solitude, convert the deepest sorrow into tranquillity and joy.\nThose objects which, at a distance, appear menacing, lose, on a nearer\napproach, their disagreeable aspect, and, in the event, frequently\nproduce the most agreeable pleasures. He who tries every expedient, who\nboldly opposes himself to every difficulty, who steadily resists every\nobstacle, who neglects no exertion within his power, and relies with\nconfidence on the assistance of God, extracts from affliction both its\npoison and its sting, and deprives misfortune of its victory.\n\nSorrow, misfortune, and sickness, soon render solitude easy and familiar\nto our minds. How willingly do we renounce the world, and become\nindifferent to all its pleasures, when the insidious eloquence of the\npassions is silenced, and our powers are debilitated by vexation or ill\nhealth! It is then we perceive the weakness of those succors which the\nworld affords. How many useful truths, alas! has the bed of sickness\nand sorrow instilled even into the minds of kings and princes! truths\nwhich, in the hour of health, they would have been unable to learn amidst\nthe deceitful counsels of their pretended friends. The time, indeed, in\nwhich a valetudinarian is capable of employing his powers with facility\nand success, in a manner conformable to his designs, is short, and runs\nrapidly away. Those only who enjoy robust health can exclaim, \u201cTime is\nmy own;\u201d for he who labors under continual sickness and suffering, and\nwhose avocations depend on the public necessity or caprice, can never\nsay that he has one moment to himself. He must watch the fleeting hours\nas they pass, and seize an interval of leisure when and where he can.\nNecessity, as well as reason, convinces him that he must, in spite of his\ndaily sufferings, his wearied body, or his harassed mind, firmly resist\nhis accumulating troubles; and, if he would save himself from becoming\nthe victim of dejection, he must manfully combat the difficulties by\nwhich he is attacked. The more we enervate ourselves, the more we become\nthe prey of ill health; but determined courage, and obstinate resistance,\nfrequently renovate our powers; and he who, in the calm of solitude,\nvigorously wrestles with misfortune, is, in the event, sure of gaining\nthe victory.\n\nThe influence of the mind upon the body is a consolatory truth to\nthose who are subject to constitutional complaints. Supported by this\nreflection, the efforts of reason continue unsubdued; the influence of\nreligion maintains its empire; and the lamentable truth, that men of\nthe finest sensibility, and most cultivated understanding, frequently\npossess less fortitude under affliction than the most vulgar of mankind,\nremains unknown. Campanella, incredible as it may seem, suffered by the\nindulgence of melancholy reflections, a species of mental torture more\npainful than any bodily torture could have produced. I can, however,\nfrom my own experience, assert, that, even in the extremity of distress,\nevery object which diverts the attention, softens the evils we endure,\nand frequently drives them entirely away. By diverting the attention,\nmany celebrated philosophers have been able not only to preserve a\ntranquil mind in the midst of the most poignant sufferings, but have\neven increased the strength of their intellectual faculties, in spite of\ntheir corporeal pains. Rousseau composed the greater part of his immortal\nworks under the continual pressure of sickness and sorrow. Gellert,\nwho, by his mild, agreeable, and instructive writings, has become the\npreceptor of Germany, certainly found, in this interesting occupation,\nthe secret remedy against melancholy. Mendelsohm, at an age far advanced\nin life, and not, in general, subject to dejection, was for a long time\noppressed by an almost inconceivable derangement of the nervous system;\nbut, by submitting with patience and docility to his sufferings, he still\nmaintains all the noble and high advantages of youth. Garve, who was\nfor several years unable to read, to write, or even to think, has since\nproduced his treatise upon Cicero, in which this profound writer, so\ncircumspect in all his expressions that he appears hurt if any improper\nword escapes his pen, thanks the Almighty, with a sort of rapture,\nfor the weakness of his constitution, because it had taught him the\nextraordinary influence which the powers of the mind have over those of\nthe body.\n\nSolitude is not merely desirable, but absolutely necessary, to those\ncharacters who possess sensibilities too quick, and imaginations too\nardent, to live quietly in the world, and who are incessantly inveighing\nagainst men and things. Those who suffer their minds to be subdued by\ncircumstances which would scarcely produce an emotion in other bosoms;\nwho complain of the severity of their misfortunes on occasions which\nothers would not feel; who are dispirited by every occurrence which does\nnot produce immediate satisfaction and pleasure; who are incessantly\ntormented by the illusion of fancy; who are unhinged and dejected the\nmoment prosperity is out of their view; who repine at what they possess,\nfrom an ignorance of what they really want; whose minds are for ever\nveering from one vain wish to another; who are alarmed at every thing,\nand enjoy nothing; are not formed for society, and, if solitude have no\npower to heal their wounded spirits, are certainly incurable.\n\nMen who in other respects possess rational minds and pious dispositions,\nfrequently fall into low spirits and despair; but it is in general almost\nentirely their own fault. If it proceed, as is generally the case, from\nunfounded fears; if they love to torment themselves and others on every\ntrivial disappointment or slight indisposition; if they constantly resort\nto medicine for that relief which reason alone can bestow; if they fondly\nindulge, instead of repressing, these idle fancies; if, after having\nendured the most excruciating pains with patience, and supported the\ngreatest misfortunes with fortitude, they neither can nor will learn to\nbear the puncture of the smallest pin, or those trifling adversities to\nwhich human life is unavoidably subject; they can only attribute their\nunhappy condition to their own misconduct; and, although they might,\nby no very irksome effort of their understandings, look with an eye of\ncomposure and tranquillity on the multiplied and fatal fires issuing from\nthe dreadful cannon\u2019s mouth, will continue shamefully subdued by the idle\napprehensions of being fired at by pop-guns.\n\nAll these qualities of the soul, fortitude, firmness, and stoic\ninflexibility, are much sooner acquired by silent meditation than\namidst the noisy intercourse of mankind, where innumerable difficulties\ncontinually oppose us; where ceremony, servility, flattery, and fear,\ncontaminate our dispositions; where every occurrence opposes our\nendeavors; and where, for this reason, men of the weakest minds, and\nthe most contracted notions, become more active and popular, gain more\nattention, and are better received, than men of feeling hearts and\nliberal understandings.\n\nThe mind, in short, fortifies itself with impregnable strength in the\nbowers of solitary retirement against every species of suffering and\naffliction. The frivolous attachments which, in the world, divert the\nsoul from its proper objects, and drive it wandering, as chance may\ndirect, into an eccentric void, die away. Contented, from experience,\nwith the little which nature requires, rejecting every superfluous\ndesire, and having acquired a complete knowledge of ourselves, the\nvisitations of the Almighty, when he chastises us with affliction,\nhumbles our presumptuous pride, disappoints our vain conceits, restrains\nthe violence of our passions, and makes us sensible of our inanity and\nweakness, are received with composure and felt without surprise. How\nmany important truths do we here learn, of which the worldly minded man\nhas no idea! Casting the eye of calm reflection on ourselves, and on\nthe objects around us, how resigned we become to the lot of humanity!\nHow different every object appears! The heart expands to every noble\nsentiment; the bloom of conscious virtue brightens on the cheek; the mind\nteems with sublime conceptions; and, boldly taking the right path, we at\nlength reach the bowers of innocence, and the plains of peace.\n\nOn the death of a beloved friend, we constantly feel a strong desire to\nwithdraw from society; but our worldly acquaintances unite in general to\ndestroy this laudable inclination. Conceiving it improper to mention the\nsubject of our grief, our companions, cold and indifferent to the event,\nsurround us, and think their duties sufficiently discharged by paying the\ntributary visit, and amusing us with the current topics of the town. Such\nidle pleasantries cannot convey a balm of comfort into the wounded heart.\n\nWhen I, alas! within two years after my arrival in Germany, lost the\nlovely idol of my heart, the amiable companion of my former days, I\nexclaimed a thousand times to my surrounding friends, _Oh! leave me\nto myself!_ Her departed spirit still hovers round me: the tender\nrecollection of her society, the afflicting remembrance of her sufferings\non my account, are always present to my mind. What mildness and\naffability! Her death was as calm and resigned as her life was pure and\nvirtuous. During five long months, the lingering pangs of dissolution\nhung continually around her. One day, as she reclined upon her pillow,\nwhile I read to her \u201c_The Death of Christ_,\u201d by Rammler, she cast her\neyes over the page, and silently pointed out to me the following passage;\n\u201cMy breath grows weak, my days are shortened, my heart is full of\naffliction, and my soul prepares to take its flight.\u201d Alas! when I recall\nall those circumstances to my mind, and recollect how impossible it was\nfor me to abandon the world at that moment of anguish and distress,\nwhen I carried the seeds of death within my bosom; when I had neither\nfortitude to bear my afflictions, nor courage to resist them, while I was\nyet pursued by malice, and traduced by calumny; I can easily conceive,\nin such a situation, that my exclamation might be, _leave me to myself_.\nTo a heart thus torn by too rigorous a destiny from the bosom that was\nopened for its reception; from a bosom in which it fondly dwelt; from an\nobject that it dearly loved, detached from every object, at a loss where\nto fix its affections or communicate its feelings, solitude alone can\nadminister comfort.\n\nSolitude, when it has ripened and preserved the tender and humane\nfeelings of the heart, and created in the mind a salutary distrust of\nour vain reason and boasted abilities, may be considered to have brought\nus nearer to God. Humility is the first lesson we learn from reflection,\nand self distrust the first proof we give of having obtained a knowledge\nof ourselves. When, in attending the duties of my profession, I behold,\non the bed of sickness, the efforts of the soul to oppose its impending\ndissolution, and discover, by the increasing torments of the patient, the\nrapid advances of death; when I see the unhappy sufferer extend his cold\nand trembling hands to thank the Almighty for the smallest mitigation of\nhis pains; when I hear his utterance choked by intermingled groans, and\nview the tender looks, the silent anguish of his attending friends; all\nmy fortitude abandons me; my heart bleeds; and I tear myself from the\nsorrowful scene, only to pour my tears more freely over the lamentable\nlot of humanity, to regret the inefficacy of those medical powers which\nI am supposed only to have sought with so much anxiety as a mean of\nprolonging my own miserable existence,\n\n    \u201cWhen in this vale of years I backward look,\n    And miss such numbers, numbers too of such,\n    Firmer in health, and greener in their age,\n    And stricter on their guard, and fitter far\n    To play life\u2019s subtle game, I scarce believe\n    I still survive: and am I fond of life\n    Who scarce can think it possible I live?\n    Alive by miracle! If I am still alive,\n    Who long have buried what gives life to live.\u201d\n\nThe wisdom that teaches us to avoid the snares of the world, is not to be\nacquired by the incessant pursuit of entertainments; by flying, without\nreflection, from one party to another; by continual conversation on low\nand trifling subjects; by undertaking every thing and doing nothing. \u201cHe\nwho would acquire true wisdom,\u201d says a celebrated philosopher, \u201cmust\nlearn to live in solitude.\u201d An uninterrupted course of dissipation\nstifles every virtuous sentiment. The dominion of reason is lost amidst\nthe intoxications of pleasure; its voice is no longer heard; its\nauthority is no longer obeyed; the mind no longer strives to surmount\ntemptations; but instead of shunning the perils which the passions\nscatter in our way, we run eagerly to find them. The idea of God, and the\nprecepts of his holy religion, are never so little remembered as in the\nordinary intercourses of society. Engaged in a multiplicity of absurd\npursuits, entranced in the delirium of gayety, inflamed by the continual\nebriety which raises the passions and stimulates the desires, every\nconnexion between God and man is dissolved; the bright and noble faculty\nof reason obscured; and even the great and important duties of religion,\nthe only source of true felicity, totally obliterated from the mind,\nor remembered only with levity and indifference. On the contrary, he\nwho, entering into a serious self-examination, elevates his thoughts in\nsilence toward his God; who consults the theatre of nature, the spangled\nfirmament of heaven, the meadows enamelled with flowers, the stupendous\nmountains, and the silent groves, as the temples of the Divinity; who\ndirects the emotions of his heart to the great Author and Conductor of\nevery thing; who has his enlightened providence continually before his\neyes, must, most assuredly, have already lived in pious solitude and\nreligious retirement.\n\nThe pious disposition which a zealous devotion to God engenders in\nsolitude, may, it is true, in certain characters, and under particular\ncircumstances, degenerate into the gloom of superstition, or rise\ninto the phrenzy of fanaticism; but these excesses soon abate; and,\ncompared with that fatal supineness which extinguishes every virtue,\nare really advantageous. The sophistry of the passions is silent during\nthe serious hours of self-examination, and the perturbations we feel on\nthe discovery of our errors and defects, is converted by the light of a\npure and rational faith, into happy ease and perfect tranquillity. The\nfanatic enthusiast presents himself before the Almighty much oftener\nthan the supercilious wit who derides an holy religion, and calls piety\na weakness. Philosophy and morality become in solitude the handmaids of\nreligion, and join their powers to conduct us into the bowers of eternal\npeace. They teach us to examine our hearts, and exhort us to guard\nagainst the dangers of fanaticism. But if virtue cannot be instilled\ninto the soul without convulsive efforts, they also admonish us not to\nbe intimidated by the apprehension of danger. It is not in the moment of\njoy, when we turn our eyes from God and our thoughts from eternity, that\nwe experience those salutary fervors of the soul, which even religion,\nwith all her powers, cannot produce so soon as a mental affliction\nor a corporeal malady. The celebrated M. Grave, one of the greatest\nphilosophers of Germany, exclaimed to Dr. Spalding and myself, \u201cI am\nindebted to my malady for having led me to make a closer scrutiny and\nmore accurate observation on my own character.\u201d\n\nIn the last moments of life, it is certain that we all wish we had passed\nour days in greater privacy and solitude, in stricter intimacy with\nourselves, and in closer communion with God. Pressed by the recollection\nof our errors, we then clearly perceive that they were occasioned by\nnot having shunned the snares of the world, and by not having watched\nwith sufficient care over the inclinations of our hearts. Oppose the\nsentiments of a solitary man, who has passed his life in pious conference\nwith God, to those which occupy a worldly mind, forgetful of its\nCreator, and sacrificing its dearest interests to the enjoyment of the\nmoment: compare the character of a wise man, who reflects in silence\non the importance of eternity, with that of a fashionable being, who\nconsumes all his time at ridottos, balls, and assemblies; and we shall\nthen perceive that solitude, dignified retirement, select friendships,\nand rational society, can alone afford true pleasure, and give us what\nall the vain enjoyments of the world will never bestow, consolation in\ndeath, and hope of everlasting life. But the bed of death discovers most\nclearly the difference between the just man, who has quietly passed his\ndays in religious contemplation, and the man of the world, whose thoughts\nhave only been employed to feed his passions and gratify his desires. A\nlife passed amidst the tumultuous dissipations of the world, even when\nunsullied by the commission of any positive crime, concludes, alas! very\ndifferently from that which has been spent in the bowers of solitude,\nadorned by innocence, and rewarded by virtue.\n\nBut, as example teaches more effectually than precept, and curiosity is\nmore alive to recent facts than remote illustrations, I shall here relate\nthe history of a man of family and fashion, who a few years since shot\nhimself in London; from which it will appear, that men possessed even of\nthe best feelings of the heart, may be rendered extremely miserable, by\nsuffering their principles to be corrupted by the practice of the world.\n\nThe honorable Mr. Damer, the eldest son of Lord Milton, was five and\nthirty years of age when he put a period to his existence by means\nperfectly correspondent to the principles in which he had lived. He was\nmarried to a rich lady, the daughter-in-law of General Conway. Nature had\nendowed him with extraordinary talents; but a most infatuated fondness\nfor excessive dissipation obscured the brightest faculties of his mind,\nand perverted many of the excellent qualities of the heart. His houses,\nhis carriages, his horses, and his liveries, surpassed in splendor\nand magnificence every thing sumptuous and costly even in the superb\nand extravagant metropolis of Great Britain. The fortune he possessed\nwas great; but the variety of lavish expenditures in which he engaged\nexceeded his income, and he was reduced at length to the necessity of\nborrowing money. He raised, in different ways, near forty thousand\npounds, the greater part of which he employed with improvident generosity\nin relieving the distresses of his less opulent companions; for his\nheart overflowed with tenderness and compassion; but this exquisite\nsensibility, which was ever alive to the misfortunes of others, was at\nlength awakened to his own embarrassed situation; and his mind driven by\nthe seeming irretrievable condition of his affairs, to the utmost verge\nof despair. Retiring to a common brothel, he sent for four women of\nthe town, and passed several hours in their company with apparent good\nspirits and unencumbered gayety; but, when the dead of night arrived, he\nrequested of them, with visible dejection, to retire; and immediately\nafterward drawing from his pocket a pistol, which he had carried about\nhim the whole afternoon, blew out his brains. It appeared that he had\npassed the evening with these women in the same manner as he had been\nused to pass many others with different women of the same description,\nwithout demanding favours which they would most willingly have granted,\nand only desiring, in return for the money he lavished on them, the\ndissipation of their discourse, or at most, the ceremony of a salute, to\ndivert the sorrow that preyed upon his tortured mind. But the gratitude\nhe felt for the temporary oblivion which these intercourses afforded,\nsometimes ripened into feelings of the warmest friendship. A celebrated\nactress of the London theatre, whose conversations had already drained\nhim of considerable sums of money, requested of him, only three days\nbefore his death, to send her five and twenty guineas. At that moment he\nhad only ten guineas about him; but he sent her, with an apology for his\ninability to comply immediately with her request, all he had, and soon\nafterward borrowed the remainder of the money, and sent it to her without\ndelay. This unhappy young man, shortly before the fatal catastrophe, had\nwritten to his father, and disclosed to him the distressed situation he\nwas in; and the very night on which he terminated his existence, his\naffectionate parent, the good Lord Milton, arrived in London, for the\npurpose of discharging all the debts, and arranging the affairs of his\nunhappy son. Thus lived and died this destitute and dissipated man! How\ndifferent from that life which the innocent live, or that death which the\nvirtuous die!\n\nI hope I may be permitted in this place to relate the story of a young\nlady whose memory I am extremely anxious to preserve; for I can with\ngreat truth say of her, as Petrarch said of his beloved Laura, \u201cthe world\nwas unacquainted with the excellence of her character: for she was only\nknown to those whom she has left behind to bewail her loss.\u201d Solitude\nwas all the world she knew; for her only pleasures were those which a\nretired and virtuous life affords. Submitting with pious resignation\nto the dispensations of heaven, her weak frame sustained, with steady\nfortitude, every affliction of mortality. Mild, good, and tender, she\nendured her sufferings without a murmur or sigh; and although naturally\ntimid and reserved, disclosed the feelings of her soul with all the\nwarmth of filial enthusiasm. Of this description was the superior\ncharacter of whom I now write; a character who convinced me, by her\nfortitude under the severest misfortunes, how much strength solitude is\ncapable of conveying to the mind even of the feeblest being. Diffident\nof her own powers, she listened to the precepts of a fond parent, and\nrelied with perfect confidence on the goodness of God. Taught by my\nexperience, submitting to my judgment, she entertained for me the most\nardent affection; and convinced me, not by professions, but by actions,\nof her sincerity. Willingly would I have sacrificed my life to have\nsaved her; and I am satisfied that she would as willingly have given up\nher own for me. I had no pleasure but in pleasing her, and my endeavors\nfor that purpose were most gratefully returned. A rose was my favorite\nflower, and she presented one to me almost daily during the season. I\nreceived it from her hand with the highest delight, and cherished it as\nthe richest treasure. A malady of almost a singular kind, a h\u00e6morrhage\nin the lungs, suddenly deprived me of the comfort of this beloved child,\nand tore her from my protecting arms. From the knowledge I had of her\nconstitution, I immediately perceived that the disorder was mortal. How\nfrequently during that fatal day did my wounded, bleeding heart, bend me\non my knees before God to supplicate for her recovery. But I concealed my\nfeelings from her observation. Although sensible of her danger, she never\ndiscovered the least apprehension of its approach. Smiles played around\nher pallid cheeks whenever I entered or quitted the room; and when worn\ndown by the fatal distemper, a prey to the most corroding grief, a victim\nto the sharpest and most intolerable pains, she made no complaint; but\nmildly answered all my questions by some short sentence, without entering\ninto any detail. Her decay and impending dissolution became obvious to\nthe eye; but to the last moment of her life, her countenance preserved a\nserenity correspondent to the purity of her mind, and the affectionate\ntenderness of her heart. Thus I beheld my dear and only daughter, at\nthe age of five and twenty, after a lingering suffering of nine long,\nlong months, expire in my arms. So long and so severe an attack was not\nnecessary to the conquest: she had been the submissive victim of ill\nhealth from her earliest infancy; her appetite was almost gone when we\nleft Swisserland: a residence which she quitted with her usual sweetness\nof temper, and without discovering the smallest regret: although a young\nman, as handsome in his person as he was amiable in the qualities of his\nmind, the object of her first, her only affection, a few weeks afterward\nput a period to his existence. During the few happy days we passed at\nHanover, where she rendered herself universally respected and beloved,\nshe amused herself by composing religious prayers, which were afterward\nfound among her papers, and in which she implores death to afford her a\nspeedy relief from her pains. During the same period she wrote also many\nletters, always affecting, and frequently sublime. They were couched\nin expressions of the same desire speedily to reunite her soul with\nthe Author of her days. The last words that my dear, my beloved child\nuttered, amidst the most painful agonies, were these--\u201cTo-day I shall\ntaste the joys of heaven!\u201d\n\nHow unworthy of this bright example should we be, if, after having seen\nthe severest sufferings sustained by a female in the earliest period\nof life, and of the weakest constitution, we permitted our minds to be\ndejected by misfortunes which courage might enable us to surmount! A\nfemale who under the anguish of inexpressible torments, never permitted\na sigh or complaint to escape from her lips, but submitted with silent\nresignation to the will of heaven, in hope of meeting with reward\nhereafter. She was ever active, invariably mild, and always compassionate\nto the miseries of others. But we, who have before our eyes the sublime\ninstructions which a character thus virtuous and noble has here given us;\nwe, who like her, aspire to a seat in the mansions of the blessed, refuse\nthe smallest sacrifice, make no endeavor to stem with courage the torrent\nof adversity, or to acquire that degree of patience and resignation,\nwhich a strict examination of our own hearts, and silent communion with\nGod, would certainly afford.\n\nSensible and unfortunate beings! The slight misfortunes by which you\nare now oppressed, and driven to despair (for slight, indeed, they\nare, when compared with mine,) will ultimately raise your minds above\nthe low considerations of the world, and give a strength to your power\nwhich you now conceive to be impossible. You now think yourselves sunk\ninto the deepest abyss of suffering and sorrow; but the time will soon\narrive when you will perceive yourselves in that happy state in which\nthe mind verges from earth and fixes its attention on heaven. You will\nthen enjoy a calm repose, be susceptible of pleasures equally substantial\nand sublime, and possess in lieu of tumultuous anxieties for life, the\nserene and comfortable hope of immortality. Blessed, supremely blessed,\nis he who knows the value of retirement and tranquillity, who is capable\nof enjoying the silence of the groves, and all the pleasures of rural\nsolitude. The soul then tastes celestial delight even under the deepest\nimpressions of sorrow and dejection; regains its strength, collects new\ncourage, and acts with perfect freedom. The eye then looks with fortitude\non the transient sufferings of disease; the mind no longer feels the\ndread of being alone; and we learn to cultivate, during the remainder of\nour lives, a bed of roses round even the tomb of death.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_Advantages of solitude in exile._\n\n\nThe advantages of solitude are not confined to rank, or fortune, or to\ncircumstances. Fragrant breezes, magnificent forests, richly tinted\nmeadows, and that endless variety of beautiful objects which the birth of\nspring spreads over the face of nature, enchant not only philosophers,\nkings, and heroes, but ravish the mind of the meanest spectator with\nexquisite delight. An English author has very justly observed, that\n\u201cit is not necessary that he who looks with pleasure on the color of a\nflower, should study the principles of vegetation; or that the Ptolemaic\nand Copernican systems should be compared, before the light of the sun\ncan gladden, or its warmth invigorate. Novelty in itself is a source\nof gratification; and Milton justly observes, that to him who has been\nlong pent up in cities, no rural object can be presented which will not\ndelight or refresh some of his senses.\u201d\n\nExiles themselves frequently experience the advantages and enjoyments of\nsolitude. Instead of the world from which they are banished, they form,\nin the tranquillity of retirement, a new world for themselves; forget the\nfalse joys and fictitious pleasures which they followed in the zenith\nof greatness, habituate their minds to others of a nobler kind, more\nworthy the attention of rational beings; and to pass their days with\ntranquillity, invent a variety of innocent felicities, which are only\nthought of at a distance from society, far removed from all consolation,\nfar from their country, their families, and their friends.\n\nBut exiles, if they wish to insure happiness in retirement, must, like\nother men, fix their minds upon some one object, and adopt the pursuit\nof it in such a way as to revive their buried hopes, or to excite the\nprospect of approaching pleasure.\n\nMaurice, prince of Isenbourg, distinguished himself by his courage\nduring a service of twenty years under Ferdinand, duke of Brunswick,\nand Marshal Broglio, and in the war between the Russians and the Turks.\nHealth and repose were sacrificed to the gratification of his ambition\nand love of glory. During his service in the Russian army, he fell under\nthe displeasure of the empress, and was sent into exile. The calamitous\ncondition to which persons exiled by this government are reduced is well\nknown; but this philosophic prince contrived to render even a Russian\nbanishment agreeable. While oppressed both in body and mind by the\npainful reflections which his situation at first created, and reduced by\nhis anxieties to a mere skeleton, he accidentally met with the little\nessay written by Lord Bolingbroke on the subject of Exile. He read it\nseveral times, and, \u201cin proportion to the number of times I read,\u201d said\nthe prince, in the preface to the elegant and nervous translation he made\nof this work, \u201cI felt all my sorrows and disquietudes vanish.\u201d\n\nThis essay by Lord Bolingbroke upon exile, is a master-piece of stoic\nphilosophy and fine writing. He there boldly examines all the adversities\nof life. \u201cLet us,\u201d says he, \u201cset all our past and present afflictions at\nonce before our eyes: let us resolve to overcome them instead of flying\nfrom them, or wearing out the sense of them with long and ignominious\npatience. Instead of palliating remedies, let us use the incision knife\nand the caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work an immediate\nand radical cure.\u201d\n\nPerpetual banishment, like uninterrupted solitude, certainly strengthens\nthe powers of the mind, and enables the sufferer to collect sufficient\nforce to support his misfortunes. Solitude, indeed, becomes an easy\nsituation to those exiles who are inclined to indulge the pleasing\nsympathies of the heart; for they then experience pleasures that were\nbefore unknown, and from that moment forget those they tasted in the more\nflourishing and prosperous conditions of life.\n\nBrutus, when he visited the banished Marcellus in his retreat at\nMitylene, found him enjoying the highest felicities of which human\nnature is susceptible, and devoting his time, as before his banishment,\nto the study of every useful science. Deeply impressed by the example\nthis unexpected scene afforded, he felt, on his return, that it was\nBrutus who was exiled, and not Marcellus whom he left behind. Quintus\nMetellus Numidicus had experienced the like fate a few years before.\nWhile the Roman people, under the guidance of Marius were laying the\nfoundation of that tyranny which Cesar afterward completed, Metellus,\nsingly, in the midst of an alarmed senate, and surrounded by an enraged\npopulace, refused to take the oath imposed by the pernicious laws of\nthe tribune Saturnius; and his intrepid conduct was converted, by the\nvoice of faction, into a high crime against the state; for which he\nwas dragged from his senatorial seat by the licentious rabble, exposed\nto the indignity of a public impeachment, and sentenced to perpetual\nexile. The more virtuous citizens, however, took arms in his defence, and\ngenerously resolved rather to perish than behold their country unjustly\ndeprived of so much merit: but this magnanimous Roman, whom no persuasion\ncould induce to do wrong, declined to increase the confusion of the\ncommonwealth by encouraging resistance, conceiving it a duty he owed\nto the laws, not to suffer any sedition to take place on his account.\nContenting himself with protesting his innocence, and sincerely lamenting\nthe public phrenzy, he exclaimed, as Plato had done before during the\ndistractions of the Athenian commonwealth, \u201cIf the times should mend,\nI shall recover my station; if not, it is a happiness to be absent\nfrom Rome;\u201d and departed without regret into exile, fully convinced of\nits advantages to a mind incapable of finding repose except on foreign\nshores, and which at Rome must have been incessantly tortured by the\nhourly sight of a sickly state and an expiring republic.\n\nRutilius also, feeling the same contempt for the sentiments and manners\nof the age, voluntarily withdrew himself from the corrupted metropolis of\nthe republic. Asia had been defended by his integrity and courage against\nthe ruinous and oppressive extortion of the publicans. These noble and\nspirited exertions, which he was prompted to make not only from his high\nsense of justice, but in the honourable discharge of the particular\nduties of his office, drew on him the indignation of the equestrian\norder, and excited the animosity of the faction which supported the\ninterests of Marius. They induced the vile and infamous Apicius to become\nthe instrument of his destruction. He was accused of corruption; and as\nthe authors and abettors of this false accusation sat as judges on his\ntrial, Rutilius, the most innocent and virtuous citizen of the republic,\nwas of course condemned: for, indeed, he scarcely condescended to\ndefend the cause. Seeking an asylum in the east, this truly respectable\nRoman, whose merits were not only overlooked, but traduced, by his\nungrateful country, was every where received with profound veneration\nand unqualified applause. He had however, before the term of his exile\nexpired, an opportunity of exhibiting the just contempt he felt for\nthe treatment he had received; for when Sylla earnestly solicited him\nto return to Rome, he not only refused to comply with his request, but\nremoved his residence to a greater distance from his infatuated country.\n\nCicero, however, who possessed in an eminent degree all the resources\nand sentiments which are necessary to render solitude pleasant and\nadvantageous, is a memorable exception to these instances of happy\nand contented exiles. This eloquent patriot, who had been publicly\nproclaimed, \u201cthe saviour of his country,\u201d who had pursued his measures\nwith undaunted perseverance, in defiance of the open menaces of a\ndesperate faction, and the concealed daggers of hired assassins, sunk\ninto dejection and dismay under a sentence of exile. The strength of his\nconstitution had long been impaired by incessant anxiety and fatigue;\nand the terrors of banishment so oppressed his mind, that he lost all\nhis powers, and became, from the deep melancholy into which it plunged\nhim, totally incapable of adopting just sentiments, or pursuing spirited\nmeasures. By this weak and unmanly conduct he disgraced an event by which\nProvidence intended to render his glory complete. Undetermined where\nto go, or what to do, he lamented, with effeminate sighs and childish\ntears, that he could now no longer enjoy the luxuries of his fortune,\nthe splendor of his rank, or the charms of his popularity. Weeping over\nthe ruins of his magnificent mansion, which Clodius levelled with the\nground, and groaning for the absence of his wife, Terentia, whom he soon\nafterward repudiated, he suffered the deepest melancholy to seize upon\nhis mind: became a prey to the most inveterate grief; complained with\nbitter anguish of wants, which, if supplied, would have afforded him no\nenjoyment; and acted, in short, so ridiculously, that both his friends\nand his enemies concluded that adversity had deranged his mind. Cesar\nbeheld with secret and malignant pleasure, the man who had refused to act\nas his lieutenant, suffering under the scourge of Clodius. Pompey hoped\nthat all sense of _his_ ingratitude would be effaced by the contempt and\nderision to which a benefactor, whom he had shamefully abandoned, thus\nmeanly exposed his character. Atticus himself, whose mind was bent on\nmagnificence and money, and who, by his temporizing talents, endeavored\nto preserve the friendship of all parties, without enlisting in any,\nblushed for the unmanly conduct of Cicero; and in the censorial style of\nCato, instead of his own plausible dialect, severely reproached him for\ncontinuing so meanly attached to his former fortunes. Solitude had no\ninfluence over a mind so weak and depressed as to turn the worst side of\nevery subject to its view. He died, however, with greater heroism than he\nlived; \u201capproach, old soldier!\u201d cried he, from his litter, to Popilius\nL\u0153nas, his former client and present murderer, \u201cand, if you have the\ncourage, take my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cThese instances,\u201d says Lord Bolingbroke, \u201cshow that as change of place,\nsimply considered, can render no man unhappy; so the other evils which\nare objected to exile, either cannot happen to wise and virtuous men, or,\nif they do happen to them, cannot render them miserable. Stones are hard,\nand cakes of ice are cold, and all who feel them feel alike; but the good\nor the bad events which fortune brings upon us, are felt according to the\nqualities that we, not they, possess. They are in themselves indifferent\nand common accidents, and they acquire strength by nothing but our vice\nor our weakness. Fortune can dispense neither felicity nor infelicity,\nunless we co-operate with her. Few men who are unhappy under the loss of\nan estate, would be happy in the possession of it; and those who deserve\nto enjoy the advantages which exile takes away, will not be unhappy when\nthey are deprived of them.\u201d\n\nAn exile, however, cannot hope to see his days glide quietly away in\nrural delights and philosophic repose, except he has conscientiously\ndischarged those duties which he owed to the world, and given that\nexample of rectitude to future ages which every character exhibits who\nis as great after his fall as he was at the most brilliant period of his\nprosperity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_Advantages of solitude in old age; and on the bed of death._\n\n\nThe decline of life, and particularly the condition of old age, derive\nfrom solitude the purest sources of uninterrupted enjoyment. Old age\nwhen considered as a period of comparative quietude and repose, as a\nserious and contemplative interval between a transitory existence and an\napproaching immortality, is, perhaps, the most agreeable condition of\nhuman life: a condition to which solitude affords a secure harbor against\nthose shattering tempests to which the frail bark of man is continually\nexposed in the short but dangerous voyage of the world; a harbor from\nwhence he may securely view the rocks and quicksands which threatened his\ndestruction, and which he has happily escaped.\n\nMen are by nature disposed to investigate the various properties of\ndistant objects before they think of contemplating their own characters;\nlike modern travellers who visit foreign countries before they are\nacquainted with their own. But prudence will exhort the young, and\nexperience teach the aged, to conduct themselves on very different\nprinciples; and both the one and the other will find that solitude and\nself-examination are the beginning and the end of true wisdom.\n\n    Oh! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought,\n    Lost to the noble sallies of the soul!\n    Who think in solitude to be alone.\n    Communion sweet; communion large and high.\n    Our reason, guardian angel, and our God:\n    The nearest these when others most remote;\n    And all, ere long, shall be remote but these.\n\nThe levity of youth, by this communion large and high, will be repressed,\nand the depression which sometimes accompanies old age entirely removed.\nAn unceasing succession of gay hopes, fond desires, ardent wishes, high\ndelights, and unfounded fancies, form the character of our early years;\nbut those which follow are marked with melancholy and increasing sorrows.\nA mind, however that is invigorated by observation and experience,\nremains dauntless and unmoved, amidst both the prosperities and\nadversities of life. He who is no longer forced to exert his powers, and\nwho at an early period of his life has well studied the manners of men,\nwill complain very little of the ingratitude with which his favors and\nanxieties have been requited. All he asks is, that the world will let him\nalone: and having a thorough knowledge not only of his own character, but\nof mankind, he is enabled to enjoy the comforts of repose.\n\nIt is finely remarked by a celebrated German, that there are political\nas well as religious Carthusians, and that both orders are sometimes\ncomposed of most excellent and pious characters. \u201cIt is,\u201d says this\nadmirable writer, \u201cin the deepest and most sequestered recesses of\nforests that we meet with the peaceful sage, the calm observer, the\nfriend of truth, and the lover of his country, who renders himself\nbeloved by his wisdom, revered for his knowledge, respected for his\nveracity, and adored for his benevolence; whose confidence and friendship\nevery one is anxious to gain; and who excites admiration by the eloquence\nof his conversation, and esteem by the virtue of his actions, while\nhe raises wonder by the obscurity of his name, and the mode of his\nexistence. The giddy multitude solicit him to relinquish his solitude,\nand seat himself on the throne: but they perceive inscribed on his\nforehead, beaming with sacred fire, _odi profanum vulgus et arceo_; and\ninstead of being his seducers, become his disciples.\u201d But, alas! this\nextraordinary character, whom I saw some years ago in Weteravia, who\ninspired me with filial reverence and affection, and whose animated\ncountenance announced the superior wisdom and happy tranquillity of his\nmind, is now no more. There did not perhaps at that time exist in any\ncourt a more profound statesman: he was intimately acquainted with all,\nand corresponded personally with some of the most celebrated sovereigns\nof Europe. I never met with an observer who penetrated with such quick\nand accurate sagacity into the minds and characters of men, who formed\nsuch true opinions of the world, or criticised with such discerning\naccuracy the actions of those who were playing important parts on its\nvarious theatres. There never was a mind more free, more enlarged, more\npowerful, or more engaging; or an eye more lively and inquisitive. He\nwas the man, of all others, in whose company I could have lived with\nthe highest pleasure, and died with the greatest comfort. The rural\nhabitation in which he lived, was simple in its structure, and modest in\nits attire; the surrounding grounds and gardens laid out in the happy\nsimplicity of nature; and his fare healthy and frugal. I never felt a\ncharm more powerful than that which filled my bosom while I contemplated\nthe happy solitude of the venerable Baron de Schautenbach at Weteravia.\n\nRousseau, feeling his end approach, also passed the few remaining years\nof an uneasy life in solitude. It was during old age that he composed\nthe best and greater part of his admirable works; but, although he\nemployed his time with judicious activity, his feelings had been too\ndeeply wounded by the persecutions of the world, to enable him to find\ncomplete tranquillity in the bowers of retirement. Unhappily he continued\nignorant of the danger of his situation, until the vexations of his mind,\nthe disorders of his body, and his unpardonable neglect of health, had\nrendered his recovery impossible. It was not until he had been many years\ntormented by physicians, and racked by a painful malady, that he took up\nhis pen; and his years increased only to increase the visible effect of\nhis mental and corporeal afflictions, which at length became so acute,\nthat he frequently raved wildly or fainted away under the excess of his\npains.\n\nIt is observed by one of our refined critics, that \u201call Rousseau wrote\nduring his old age is the effect of madness.\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d replied his fair\nfriend, with greater truth, \u201cbut he raved so pleasantly, that we are\ndelighted to run mad with him.\u201d\n\nThe mind becomes more disposed to seek its \u201cguardian angel and its God,\u201d\nthe nearer it approaches the confines of mortality. When the ardent\nfire of youth is extinguished, and the meridian heat of life\u2019s short\nday subsides into the soft tranquillity and refreshing quietude of its\nevening, we feel the important necessity of devoting some few hours to\npious meditation before we close our eyes in endless night; and the very\nidea of being able to possess this interval of holy leisure, and to hold\nthis sacred communion with God, recreates the mind, like the approach of\nspring after a dull, a dreary, and a distressing winter.\n\nPetrarch scarcely perceived the approaches of old age. By constant\nactivity he contrived to render retirement always happy, and year after\nyear rolled unperceived away in pleasures and tranquillity. Seated in\na verdant arbor in the vicinity of a Carthusian monastery, about three\nmiles from Milan, he wrote to his friend Settimo with a simplicity of\nheart unknown in modern times. \u201cLike a wearied traveller, I increase\nmy pace in proportion as I approach the end of my journey, I pass my\ndays and nights in reading and writing; these agreeable occupations\nalternately relieve each other, and are the only sources from whence I\nderive my pleasures. I lie awake and think, and divert my mind by every\nmeans in my power; and my ardor increases as new difficulties arise.\nNovelties incite, and obstacles sharpen, my resistance. The labors I\nendure are certain, for my hand is tired of holding my pen: but whether\nI shall reap the harvest of my toils I cannot tell. I am anxious to\ntransmit my name to posterity: but if I am disappointed in this wish I\nam satisfied the age in which I live, or at least my friends, will know\nme, and this fame will satisfy me. My health is so good, my constitution\nso robust, and my temperament so warm, that neither the advance of years\nnor the most serious occupation, have power to conquer the rebellious\nenemy by which I am incessantly attacked. I should certainly become its\nvictim, as I have frequently been, if Providence did not protect me. On\nthe approach of spring, I take up arms against the flesh, and am even at\nthis moment struggling for my liberty against this dangerous enemy.\u201d\n\nA rural retreat, however lonely or obscure, contributes to increase the\nfame of those great and noble characters who relinquish the world at an\nadvanced period of their lives, and pass the remainder of their days in\nsolitude: their lustre beams from their retirement with brighter rays\nthan those which shone around them in their earliest days, and on the\ntheatre of their glory. \u201cIt is in solitude, in exile, and on the bed of\ndeath,\u201d says Pope, \u201cthat the noblest characters of antiquity shone with\nthe greatest splendor; it was then they performed the greatest services;\nfor it was during those periods that they became useful examples.\u201d And\nRousseau appears to have entertained the same opinion: \u201cIt is noble,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cto exhibit to the eyes of men an example of the life they\nought to lead. The man who, when age or ill health has deprived him of\nactivity, dares to resound from his retreat the voice of truth, and\nto announce to mankind the folly of those opinions which render them\nmiserable, is a public benefactor. I should be of much less use to my\ncountrymen, were I to live among them, than I can possibly be in my\nretreat. Of what importance can it be, whether I live in one place or in\nanother, provided I discharge my duties properly?\u201d\n\nA certain young lady of Germany, however, was of opinion that Rousseau\nwas not entitled to praise. She maintained that he was a dangerous\ncorrupter of the youthful mind, and that he had very improperly\ndischarged his duties, by discovering in his Confessions the moral\ndefects and vicious inclinations of his heart. \u201cSuch a work written by\na man of virtue,\u201d said she, \u201cwould render him an object of abhorrence:\nbut Rousseau, whose writings are circulated to captivate the wicked,\nproves, by his story of the Ruban Vole, that he possesses a heart of the\nblackest dye. It is evident, from many passages in that publication, that\nit was vanity alone which guided his pen; and from many others, that he\nfelt himself conscious he was disclosing falsehoods. There is nothing,\nin short, throughout the work that bears the stamp of truth; and all\nit informs us of is, that Madame de Warens was the original from which\nhe drew the character of Julia. These unjustly celebrated Confessions\ncontain, generally speaking, a great many fine words, and but very few\ngood thoughts. If, instead of rejecting every opportunity of advancing\nhimself in life, he had engaged in some industrious profession, he might\nhave been more useful to the world than he has been by the publication of\nhis dangerous writings.\u201d\n\nThis incomparable criticism upon Rousseau merits preservation; for, in my\nopinion, it is the only one of its kind. The Confessions of Rousseau is a\nwork certainly not proper for the eye of youth; but to me it appears one\nof the most remarkable philosophic publications that the present age has\nproduced. The fine style and enchanting colors in which it is written are\nits least merits. The most distant posterity will read it with rapture,\nwithout inquiring what age the venerable author had attained when he gave\nto the world this last proof of his sincerity.\n\nAge, however advanced, is capable of enjoying real pleasure. A virtuous\nold man passes his days with serene gayety, and receives, in the\nhappiness he feels from the benedictions of all around him, a rich reward\nfor the rectitude and integrity of his past life; for the mind reviews\nwith joyful satisfaction its honorable and self-approving transactions:\nnor does the near prospect of the tomb give fearful emotion to his\nundismayed and steady soul.\n\nThe empress Maria Theresa has caused her own mausoleum to be erected,\nand frequently, accompanied by her family, visits with serenity and\ncomposure, a monumental depository, the idea of which conveys such\npainful apprehension to almost every mind. Pointing it out to the\nobservation of her children, \u201cOught we to be proud or arrogant,\u201d says\nshe, \u201cwhen we here behold the tomb in which, after a few years, the poor\nremains of royalty must quietly repose?\u201d\n\nThere are few men capable of thinking with so much sublimity. Every\none, however, is capable of retiring, at least occasionally, from the\ncorruptions of the world; and if, during this calm retreat, they shall\nhappily learn to estimate their past days with propriety, and to live the\nremainder in private virtue and public utility, the tomb will lose its\nmenacing aspect, and death appear like the calm evening of a fine and\nwell spent day.\n\n    \u201cBlest be that hand divine, which gently laid\n    My heart at rest beneath this humble shed.\n    The world\u2019s a stately bark on dang\u2019rous seas,\n    With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril;\n    Here, on a single plank, thrown safe ashore,\n    I hear the tumult of the distant throng,\n    As that of seas remote, or dying storms;\n    And meditate on scenes more silent still;\n    Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death.\n    Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut,\n    Touching his reed, or leaning on his staff,\n    Eager ambition\u2019s fiery chase I see;\n    I see the circling hunt of noisy men\n    Burst law\u2019s enclosure, leap the mounds of right,\n    Pursuing and pursued, each other\u2019s prey,\n    As wolves for rapine; as the fox for wiles;\n    Till death, that mighty hunter, earths them all.\u201d\n\nWhen Addison perceived that he was given over by his physicians, and\nfelt his end approaching, he sent for Lord Warwick, a young man of very\nirregular life and loose opinions, whom he had diligently, but vainly\nendeavored to reclaim, but who by no means wanted respect for the\nperson of his preceptor, and was sensible of the loss he was about to\nsustain. When he entered the chamber of his dying friend, Addison, who\nwas extremely feeble, and whose life at that moment hung quivering on\nhis lips, observed a profound silence. The youth, after a long and awful\npause, at length said, in low and trembling accents, \u201cSir, you desired to\nsee me: signify your commands, and be assured I will execute them with\nreligious fidelity.\u201d Addison took him by the hand, and with his expiring\nbreath replied, \u201cobserve with what tranquillity a Christian can die.\u201d\nSuch is the consolation which springs from a due sense of the principles,\nand a proper practice of the precepts of our holy religion: such is the\nhigh reward a life of simplicity and innocence bestows.\n\nHe who during the retirement of the day seriously studies, and during\nthe silence of the night piously contemplates the august doctrines of\nrevelation, will be convinced of their power by experiencing their\neffect. He will review with composure his past errors in society,\nperceive with satisfaction his present comfort in solitude, and aspire\nwith hope to future happiness in heaven. He will think with the freedom\nof a philosopher, live with the piety of a Christian, and renounce with\nease the poisonous pleasures of society from a conviction that they\nweaken the energies of his mind, and prevent his heart from raising\nitself toward his God. Disgusted with the vanities and follies of public\nlife, he will retire into privacy, and contemplate the importance\nof eternity. Even if he be still obliged occasionally to venture on\nthe stormy sea of busy life, he will avoid with greater skill and\nprudence the rocks and sands by which he is surrounded, and steer with\ngreater certainty and effect from the tempests which most threaten his\ndestruction; rejoicing less at the pleasant course which a favorable wind\nand clear sky may afford him, than at his having happily eluded such a\nmultitude of dangers.\n\nThe hours consecrated to God in solitude, are not only the most\nimportant, but when we are habituated to this holy communion, the\nhappiest of our lives. Every time we silently elevate our thoughts toward\nthe great Author of our being, we recur to a contemplation of ourselves:\nand being rendered sensible of our nearer approach, not only in idea, but\nin reality, to the seat of eternal felicity, we retire, without regret,\nfrom the noisy multitude of the world. A philosophic view and complete\nknowledge of the nature of the species creep by degrees upon the mind:\nwe scrutinize our characters with greater severity; feel with redoubled\nforce the necessity of a reformation; and reflect with substantial effect\non the glorious end for which we were created. Conscious that human\nactions are acceptable to the Almighty mind only in proportion as they\nare prompted by motives of the purest virtue, men ought benevolently\nto suppose that every good work springs from an untainted source and\nis performed merely for the benefit of mankind; but human actions are\nexposed to the influence of a variety of secondary causes, and cannot\nalways be the pure production of an unbiassed heart. Good works, however,\nfrom whatever motive they arise, always convey a certain satisfaction and\ncomplacency to the mind. But when the real merit of the performer is to\nbe actually investigated, the inquiry must always be, whether the mind\nwas not actuated by sinister views, by the hope of gratifying a momentary\npassion, by the feelings of self love, rather than by the sympathies\nof brotherly affection: and these subtle and important questions are\ncertainly discussed with closer scrutiny, and the motives of the heart\nexplored and developed with greater sincerity, during those hours when we\nare alone before God than in any other situation.\n\nFirm and untainted virtue, indeed, cannot be so easily and efficaciously\nacquired, as by practising the precepts of Christianity in the bowers of\nsolitude. Religion refines our moral sentiments, disengages the heart\nfrom every vain desire, renders it tranquil under misfortunes, humble\nin the presence of God, and steady in the society of men. A life passed\nin the practice of every virtue, affords us a rich reward for all the\nhours we have consecrated to its duties, and enables us in the silence of\nsolitude to raise our pure hands and chaste hearts in pious adoration to\nour Almighty Father!\n\nHow \u201clow, flat, stale, and unprofitable, seem all the uses of this\nworld,\u201d when the mind, boldly soaring beyond this lower sphere, indulges\nthe idea that the pleasures which result from a life of innocence and\nvirtue may be faintly analogous to the felicities of heaven! At least,\nI trust we may be permitted unoffendingly to conceive, according to our\nworldly apprehensions, that a free and unbounded liberty of thought\nand action, a high admiration of the universal system of nature, a\nparticipation of the divine essence, a perfect communion of friendship,\nand a pure interchange of love, may be a portion of the enjoyments we\nhope to experience in those regions of peace and happiness where no\nimpure or improper sentiment can taint the mind. But notions like these,\nalthough they agreeably flatter our imaginations, shed at present but\na glimmering light upon this awful subject, and must continue, like\ndreams and visions of the mind, until the clouds and thick darkness which\nsurrounded the tomb of mortality no longer obscure the bright glories of\neverlasting life; until the veil shall be rent asunder, and the Eternal\nshall reveal those things which no eye hath seen, no ear has heard, and,\nwhich passeth all understanding. For I acknowledge, with awful reverence\nand silent submission, that the knowledge of eternity is to the human\nintellect like that which the color of crimson appeared to be in the mind\nof a blind man, who compared it to the sound of a trumpet. I cannot,\nhowever, conceive, that a notion more comfortable can be entertained,\nthan that eternity promises a constant and uninterrupted tranquillity;\nalthough I am perfectly conscious that it is impossible to form an\nadequate idea of the nature of that enjoyment which is produced by\nhappiness without end. An everlasting tranquillity is, in my imagination,\nthe highest possible felicity, because I know of no felicity upon earth\nhigher than that which a peaceful mind and contented heart afford.\n\nSince, therefore, internal and external tranquillity is, upon earth,\nan incontestable commencement of beatitude, it may be extremely useful\nto believe, that a rational and qualified seclusion from the tumults\nof the world, may so highly rectify the faculties of the human soul,\nas to enable us to acquire in \u201cblissful solitude\u201d the elements of that\nhappiness we expect to enjoy in the world to come.\n\n    He is the happy man, whose life e\u2019en now,\n    Shows somewhat of that happier life to come:\n    Who, doom\u2019d to an obscure but tranquil state,\n    Is pleas\u2019d with it, and, were he free to choose\n    Would make his fate his choice: whom peace, the fruit\n    Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,\n    Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one\n    Content, indeed, to sojourn while he must\n    Below the skies, but having there his home,\n    The world o\u2019erlooks him in her busy search\n    Of objects more illustrious in her view;\n    And occupied as earnestly as she;\n    Though more sublimely, he o\u2019erlooks the world.\n    She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;\n    He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.\n    He cannot skim the ground like such rare birds\n    Pursuing gilded flies, and such he deems\n    Her honors, her emoluments, her joys.\n    Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,\n    Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth\n    She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,\n    And shows him glories yet to be reveal\u2019d.\n\nEND OF PART I.\n\n\n\n\nSOLITUDE.\n\nPART II.\n\nTHE PERNICIOUS INFLUENCE OF A TOTAL SECLUSION FROM SOCIETY UPON THE MIND\nAND THE HEART.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n_Introduction._\n\n\nSolitude, in its strict and literal acceptation, is equally unfriendly\nto the happiness, and foreign to the nature of mankind. An inclination\nto exercise the faculty of speech, to interchange the sentiments of the\nmind, to indulge the affections of the heart, and to receive themselves,\nwhile they bestow on others, a kind assistance and support, drives\nmen, by an ever active, and almost irresistible impulse, from solitude\nto society: and teaches them that the highest temporal felicity they\nare capable of enjoying, must be sought for in a suitable union of\nthe sexes, and in a friendly intercourse with their fellow creatures.\nThe profoundest deductions of reason, the highest flights of fancy,\nthe finest sensibilities of the heart, the happiest discoveries of\nscience, and the most valuable productions of art, are feebly felt, and\nimperfectly enjoyed, in the cold and cheerless regions of solitude.\nIt is not to the senseless rock, or to the passing gale, that we can\nsatisfactorily communicate our pleasures and our pains. The heavy sighs\nwhich incessantly transpire from the vacant bosoms of the solitary\nhermit and the surly misanthropist, indicate the absence of those high\ndelights which ever accompany congenial sentiment and mutual affection.\nThe soul sinks under a situation in which there are no kindred bosoms to\nparticipate its joys, and sympathise in its sorrows; and feels, strongly\nfeels, that the beneficent Creator has so framed and moulded the temper\nof our minds, that society is the earliest impulse and the most powerful\ninclination of our hearts.\n\nSociety, however, although it is thus pointed out to us, as it were\nby the finger of the Almighty, as the means of reaching our highest\npossible state of earthly felicity, is so pregnant with dangers, that it\ndepends entirely on ourselves, whether the indulgence of this instinctive\npropensity shall be productive of happiness or misery.\n\nThe pleasures of society, like pleasures of every other kind, must, to be\npure and permanent, be temperate and discreet. While passion animates,\nand sensibility cherishes, reason must direct, and virtue be the object\nof our course. Those who search for happiness in a vague, desultory, and\nindiscriminate intercourse with the world; who imagine the palace of\npleasure to be surrounded by the gay, unthinking, and volatile part of\nthe species; who conceive that the rays of all human delight beam from\nplaces of public festivity and resort;\n\n    \u201cWho all their joys in mean profusion waste,\n    Without reflection, management, or taste;\n    Careless of all that virtue gives to please;\n    For thought too active, and too mad for ease;\n    Who give each appetite too loose a rein,\n    Push all enjoyment to the verge of pain;\n    Impetuous follow where the passions call,\n    And live in rapture or not live at all;\u201d\n\nwill, instead of lasting and satisfactory fruition, meet only with\nsorrowful disappointment. This mode of seeking society is not a rational\nindulgence of that natural passion which heaven, in its benevolence to\nman, has planted in the human heart; but merely a factitious desire,\nan habitual pruriency, produced by restless leisure, and encouraged\nby vanity and dissipation. Social happiness, true and essential\nsocial happiness, resides only in the bosom of love and in the arms\nof friendship, and can only be really enjoyed by congenial hearts\nand kindred minds, in the domestic bowers of privacy and retirement.\nAffectionate intercourse produces an inexhaustible fund of delight. It\nis the perennial sunshine of the mind. With what extreme anxiety do we\nall endeavor to find an amiable being with whom we may form a tender\ntie and close attachment, who may inspire us with unfading bliss, and\nreceive increase of happiness from our endearments and attention! How\ngreatly do such connexions increase the kind and benevolent dispositions\nof the heart! and how greatly do such dispositions, while they lead the\nmind to the enjoyment of domestic happiness, awaken all the virtues, and\ncall forth the best and strongest energies of the soul! Deprived of the\nchaste and endearing sympathies of love and friendship, the species sink\ninto gross sensuality or mute indifference, neglect the improvement of\ntheir faculties, and renounce all anxiety to please; but incited by these\npropensities, the sexes mutually exert their powers, cultivate their\ntalents, call every intellectual energy into action; and, by endeavoring\nto promote each other\u2019s happiness, mutually secure their own.\n\nAdverse circumstances, however, frequently prevent well disposed\ncharacters, not only from making the election which their hearts would\nprompt, and their understandings approve, but force them into alliances\nwhich both reason and sensibility reject. It is from the disappointments\nof love or of ambition that the sexes are generally repelled from society\nto solitude. The affection, the tenderness, the sensibility of the heart,\nare but too often torn and outraged by the cruelty and malevolence of an\nunfeeling world, in which vice bears on its audacious front the mask of\nvirtue, and betrays innocence into the snares of unsuspected guilt. The\nvictims, however, whether of love or of ambition, who retire from society\nto recruit their depressed spirits, and repair their disordered minds,\ncannot, without injustice, be stigmatized as misanthropists, or arraigned\nas anti-social characters. All relish for scenes of social happiness may\nbe lost by an extreme and over ardent passion for the enjoyments of them;\nbut it is only those who seek retirement from an aversion to the company\nof their fellow creatures, that can be said to have renounced, or be\ndestitute of, the common sympathies of nature.\n\nThe present age, however, is not likely to produce many such unnatural\ncharacters, for the manners of the whole world, and particularly of\nEurope, were never, perhaps, more disposed to company. The rage for\npublic entertainments seems to have infected all the classes of society.\nThe pleasures of private life seem to be held in universal detestation\nand contempt; opprobrious epithets, defame the humble enjoyments of\ndomestic love, and those whose hours are not consumed in unmeaning\nvisits, or unsocial parties, are regarded as censors of the common\nconduct of the world, or as enemies to their fellow creatures; but\nalthough mankind appear so extremely social, they certainly were never\nless friendly and affectionate. Neither rank, nor sex, nor age, is free\nfrom this pernicious habit. Infants, before they can well lisp the\nrudiments of speech, are initiated into the idle ceremonies and parade of\ncompany: and can scarcely meet their parents or their playmates without\nbeing obliged to perform a punctilious salutation. Formal card parties,\nand petty treats, engross the time that should be devoted to healthful\nexercise and manly recreation. The manners of the metropolis are imitated\nwith inferior splendor, but with greater absurdity, in the country; every\nvillage has its routs and its assemblies, in which the curled darlings\nof the place blaze forth in feathered lustre and awkward magnificence;\nand while the charming simplicity of one sex is destroyed by affectation,\nthe honest virtues of the other by dissolute gallantry, and the passions\nof both inflamed by vicious and indecent mirth, the grave elders of the\ndistricts are trying their tempers and impoverishing their purses at\nsixpenny whist and cassino.\n\nThe spirit of dissipation has reached even the vagrant tribe. The\nGypsies of Germany suspend their predatory excursions, and on one\npreviously-appointed evening in every week, assemble to enjoy their\nguilty spoils in the fumes of strong waters and tobacco. The place of\nrendezvous is generally the vicinity of a mill, the proprietor of which,\nby affording to these wandering tribes an undisturbed asylum, not only\nsecures his property from their depredations, but, by the idle tales\nwith which they contrive to amuse his ear, respecting the characters\nand conduct of his neighbors, furnishes himself with new subjects of\nconversation for his next evening coterie.\n\nMinds that derive all their pleasure from the levity and mirth of\npromiscuous company, are seldom able to contribute, in any high degree,\nto their own amusement. Characters like these search every place\nfor entertainment, except their own bosoms and the bosoms of their\nsurrounding families, where by proper cultivation, real happiness, the\nhappiness arising from love and friendship, is alone capable of being\nfound.\n\nThe wearied pleasurist, sinking under the weight that preys upon his\nspirits, flies to scenes of public gayety or private splendor, in fond\nbut vain expectation that they will dispel his discontent, and recreate\nhis mind; but he finds, alas! that the fancied asylum affords him no\nrest. The ever-craving appetite for pastime grows by what it feeds\non; and the worm, which devoured his delight amidst his sylvan scenery\nof solitude, still accompanies him to crowded halls of elegance and\nfestivity. While he eagerly embraces every object that promises to supply\nthe dreadful vacancy of his mind, he exhausts his remaining strength;\nenlarges the wound he is so anxiously endeavoring to heal; and by too\neagerly grasping at the phantom pleasure, loses, perhaps for ever, the\nsubstantial power of being happy.\n\nMen whose minds are capable of higher enjoyments always feel these\nperturbed sensations, when deluded into a fashionable party, they find\nnothing to excite curiosity, or interest their feelings! and where they\nare pestered by the frivolous importunities of those for whom they cannot\nentertain either friendship or esteem. How, indeed, is it possible for a\nsensible mind to feel the slightest approbation, when a coxcomb enamored\nof his own eloquence, and swoln with the pride of self-conceited merit,\ntires by his loquacious nonsense, all around him?\n\nThe great Leibnitz was observed by his servant frequently to take notes\nwhile he sat at church; and the domestic very rationally conceived that\nhe was making observations on the subject of the sermon: but it is more\nconsistent with the character of this philosopher to conclude, that he\nwas indulging the powers of his own capacious and excursive mind, when\nthose of the preacher ceased to interest him. Thus it happens, that\nwhile the multitude are driven from solitude to society, by being tired\nof themselves, there are some, and those not a few, who seek refuge in\nrational retirement from the frivolous dissipation of company.\n\nAn indolent mind is as irksome to itself as it is intolerable to others;\nbut an active mind feels inexhaustible resources in its own power.\nThe first is forced to fly from itself for enjoyment, while the other\ncalmly resigns itself to its own suggestions, and always meets with the\nhappiness it has vainly sought for in its communion with the world.\n\nTo rouse the soul from that lethargy into which its powers are so apt to\ndrop from the tediousness of life, it is necessary to apply a stimulus\nboth to the head and to the heart. Something must be contrived to strike\nthe senses and interest the mind. But it is much more difficult to convey\npleasure to others, than to receive it ourselves; and while the many wait\nin anxious hope of being entertained, they find but few who are capable\nof entertaining. Disappointment increases the eagerness of desire; and\nthe uneasy multitude rush to places of public resort, endeavoring,\nby noise and bustle, festive gratification, elegant decoration, rich\ndresses, splendid illuminations, sportive dances, and sprightly music,\nto awaken the dormant faculties, and agitate the stagnant sensibilities\nof the soul. These scenes may be considered the machineries of pleasure;\nthey produce a temporary effect, without requiring much effort or\nco-operation to obtain it; while those higher delights, of which\nretirement is capable, cannot be truly enjoyed without a certain degree\nof intellectual exertion. There are, indeed, many minds so totally\ncorrupted by the unceasing pursuits of these vain and empty pleasures,\nthat they are utterly incapable of relishing intellectual delight; which,\nas it affords an enjoyment totally unconnected with, and independent of,\ncommon society, requires a disposition and capacity which common company\ncan never bestow. Retirement, therefore, and its attendant enjoyments,\nare of a nature too refined for the gross and vulgar capacities of the\nmultitude, who are more disposed to gratify their intellectual indolence,\nby receiving a species of entertainment which does not require from\nthem the exertion of thought, than to enjoy pleasures of a nobler kind,\nwhich can only be procured by a rational restraint of the passions, and\na proper exercise of the powers of the mind. Violent and tumultuous\nimpressions can alone gratify such characters, whose pleasures like\nthose of the slothful Sybarites, only indicate the pain they undergo in\nstriving to be happy.\n\nMen, eager for the enjoyment of worldly pleasures, seldom attain the\nobject they pursue. Dissatisfied with the enjoyments of the moment,\nthey long for absent delight, which seems to promise a more poignant\ngratification. Their joys are like those of Tantalus, always in view, but\nnever within reach. The activity of such characters lead to no beneficial\nend; they are perpetually in motion, without making any progress: they\nspur on \u201cthe lazy foot of time,\u201d and then complain of the rapidity of its\nflight, only because they have made no good use of its presence: they\n\u201ctake no note of time but by its loss;\u201d and year follows year, only to\nincrease their uneasiness. If the bright beam of Aurora wake them from\ntheir perturbed repose, it is only to create new anxiety how they are to\ndrag through the passing day. The change of season produces no change in\ntheir wearied dispositions; and every hour comes and goes with equal\nindifference and discontent.\n\nThe pleasures of society, however, although they are attended with such\nunhappy effects, and pernicious consequences, to men of weak heads and\ncorrupted hearts, who only follow them for the purpose of indulging\nthe follies, and gratifying the vices, to which they have given birth,\nare yet capable of affording to the wise and the virtuous, a high,\nrational, sublime, and satisfactory enjoyment. The world is the only\ntheatre upon which great and noble actions can be performed, or the\nheights of moral and intellectual excellence usefully attained. The\nsociety of the wise and good, exclusive of the pleasing relaxation it\naffords from the anxieties of business, and the cares of life, conveys\nvaluable information to the mind, and virtuous feelings to the breast.\nThere experience imparts its wisdom in a manner equally engaging and\nimpressive; the faculties are improved, and knowledge increased. Youth\nand age reciprocally contribute to the happiness of each other. Such a\nsociety, while it adds firmness to the character, gives fashion to the\nmanners; and opens immediately to the view the delightful models of\nwisdom and integrity. It is only in such society that man can rationally\nhope to exercise, with any prospect of success, the latent principle,\nwhich continually prompts him to pursue the high felicity of which he\nfeels his nature capable, and of which the Creator has permitted him to\nform a faint idea.\n\n    \u201cIn every human heart there lies reclined\n    Some atom pregnant with ethereal mind;\n    Some plastic power, some intellectual ray,\n    Some genial sunbeam from the source of day;\n    Something that warms, and restless to aspire,\n    Wakes the young heart, and sets the soul on fire;\n    And bids us all our inborn powers employ\n    To catch the phantom of ideal joy.\u201d\n\nSorrow frequently drives its unhappy victims from solitude into the\nvortex of society as a means of relief; for solitude is terrible to those\nwhose minds are torn with anguish for the loss of some dear friend,\nwhom death has, perhaps, taken untimely from their arms; and who would\nwillingly renounce all worldly joys to hear one accent of that beloved\nvoice, which used, in calm retirement, to fill his ear with harmony, and\nhis heart with rapture.\n\nSolitude also is terrible to those whose felicity is founded on popular\napplause; who have acquired a degree of fame by intrigue, and actions of\ncounterfeited virtue; and who suffer the most excruciating anxiety to\npreserve their spurious fame. Conscious of the fraudulent means by which\nthey acquire possession of it, and of the weak foundation on which it is\nbuilt, it appears continually to totter, and always ready to overwhelm\nthem in its ruins. Their attention is sedulously called to every quarter;\nand, in order to prop up the unsubstantial fabric, they bend with mean\nsubmission to the pride of power; flatter the vanity, and accommodate\nthemselves to the vices of the great; censure the genius that provokes\ntheir jealousy; ridicule the virtue that shames the conduct of their\npatrons; submit to all the follies of the age; take advantage of its\nerrors; cherish its prejudices; applaud its superstition, and defend its\nvices. The fashionable circles may, perhaps, welcome such characters as\ntheir best supporters and highest ornaments; but to them the calm and\ntranquil pleasures of retirement are dreary and disgusting.\n\nTo all those, indeed, whom vice has betrayed into guilt, and whose bosoms\nare stung by the adders of remorse, solitude is doubly terrible; and they\nfly from its shades to scenes of worldly pleasure, in the hope of being\nable to silence the keen reproaches of violated conscience in the tumults\nof society. Vain attempt!\n\nSolitude, indeed, as well as religion, has been represented in such\ndismal, disagreeable colors, by those who were incapable of tasting\nits sweets, and enjoying its advantages, that many dismiss it totally\nfrom all their schemes of happiness, and fly to it only to alleviate\nthe bitterness of some momentary passion, or temporary adversity, or to\nhide the blushes of approaching shame. But there are advantages to be\nderived from solitude, even under such circumstances, by those who are\notherwise incapable of enjoying them. Those who know the most delightful\ncomforts, and satisfactory enjoyments, of which a well regulated solitude\nis productive, like those who are acquainted with the solid benefits\nto be derived from religion, will seek retirement, in the hours of\nprosperity and content, as the only means by which they can be enjoyed\nin true perfection. The tranquillity of its shades will give richness\nto their joys; its uninterrupted quietude will enable them to expatiate\non the fullness of their felicity; and they will turn their eyes with\nsoft compassion on the miseries of the world, when compared with the\nblessings they enjoy.\n\nStrongly, therefore, as the social principle operates in our breast; and\nnecessary as it is, when properly regulated, to the improvement of our\nminds, the refinement of our manners, and the melioration of our hearts;\nyet some portion of our time ought to be devoted to rational retirement:\nand we must not conclude that those who occasionally abstain from the\ntumultuous pleasures, and promiscuous enjoyments of the world, are morose\ncharacters, or of peevish dispositions; nor stigmatize those who appear\nto prefer the calm delights of solitude to the tumultuous pleasures of\nthe world, as unnatural and anti-social.\n\n    \u201cWhoever thinks, must see that man was made\n    To face the storm, not languish in the shade:\n    Action\u2019s his sphere, and for that sphere design\u2019d,\n    Eternal pleasures open on his mind.\n    For this fair hope leads on th\u2019 impassion\u2019d soul\n    Through life\u2019s wild lab\u2019rinths to her distant goal,\n    Paints in each dream, to fan the genial flame,\n    The pomp of riches, and the pride of fame;\n    Or fondly gives reflection\u2019s cooler eye\n    In solitude, an image of a future sky.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n_Of the motives to solitude._\n\n\nThe motives which induce men to exchange the tumultuous joys of society,\nfor the calm and temperate pleasures of solitude, are various and\naccidental; but whatever may be the final cause of such an exchange, it\nis generally founded on an inclination to escape from some present or\nimpending constraint; to shake off the shackles of the world; to taste\nthe sweets of soft repose; to enjoy the free and undisturbed exertion of\nthe intellectual faculties; or to perform, beyond the reach of ridicule,\nthe important duties of religion. But the busy pursuits of worldly minded\nmen prevent the greater part of the species from feeling these motives,\nand, of course, from tasting the sweets of unmolested existence. Their\npleasures are pursued in paths which lead to very different goals: and\nthe real, constant, and unaffected lover of retirement is a character\nso rarely found, that it seems to prove the truth of lord Verulam\u2019s\nobservation, that he who is really attached to solitude, must be either\nmore or less than man; and certain it is, that while the wise and\nvirtuous discover in retirement an uncommon and transcending brightness\nof character, the vicious and the ignorant are buried under its weight,\nand sink even beneath their ordinary level. Retirement gives additional\nfirmness to the principles of those who seek it from a noble love of\nindependence, but loosens the feeble consistency of those who only seek\nit from novelty and caprice.\n\nTo render solitude serviceable, the powers of the mind, and the\nsensibilities of the heart, must be co-equal, and reciprocally regulate\neach other; weakness of intellect, when joined with quick feelings,\nhurries its possessor into all the tumult of worldly pleasure; and when\nmingled with torpid insensibility, impels him to the cloister. Extremes,\nboth in solitude and in society, are equally baneful.\n\nA strong sense of shame, the keen compunctions of conscience, a deep\nregret for past follies, the mortification arising from disappointed\nhopes, and the dejection which accompanies disordered health, sometimes\nso affect the spirits, and destroy the energies of the mind, that the\nsoul shrinks back upon itself at the very approach of company, and\nwithdraws to the shades of solitude, only to brood and languish in\nobscurity. The inclination to retire, in cases of this description,\narises from a fear of meeting the reproaches or disregard of an unpitying\nand unreflecting world, and not from that erect spirit which disposes the\nmind to self enjoyment.\n\nThe disgust arising from satiety of worldly pleasures, frequently induces\na temporary desire for solitude. The dark and gloomy nature, indeed, of\nthis disposition, is such as neither the splendors of a throne, nor the\nlight of philosophy, are able to irradiate and dispel. The austere and\npetulant Heraclitus abandoned all the pleasures and comforts of society,\nin the vain hope of being able to gratify his discontented mind, by\nindulging an antipathy against his fellow creatures; flying from their\npresence he retired, like his predecessor Timon, to a high mountain,\nwhere he lived for many years among the beasts of the desert, on the\nrude produce of the earth, regardless of all the comforts a civilized\nsociety is capable of bestowing. Such a temper of mind proceeds from a\nsickened intellect and disordered sensibility, and indicates the loss\nof that fine, but firm sense of pleasure, from which alone all real\nenjoyment must spring. He who having tasted all that can delight the\nsenses, warm the heart, and satisfy the mind, secretly sighs over the\nvanity of his enjoyments, and beholds all the cheering objects of life\nwith indifference, is, indeed, a melancholy example of the sad effects\nwhich result from an intemperate pursuit of worldly pleasures. Such a man\nmay, perhaps, abandon society, for it is no longer capable of affording\nhim delight; but he will be debarred from all rational solitude, because\nhe is incapable of enjoying it, and a refuge to the brute creation seems\nhis only resource. I have, indeed, observed even noblemen and princes\nin the midst of abundance, and surrounded by all the splendor that\nsuccessful ambition, high state, vast riches, and varying pleasures can\nconfer, sinking the sad victims of satiety; disgusted with their glories;\nand dissatisfied with all those enjoyments which are supposed to give\na higher relish to the soul; but they had happily enriched their minds\nwith notions far superior to all those which flow from the corrupted\nscenes of vitiated pleasures; and they found, in solitude, a soft and\ntranquil pillow, which invited their perturbed minds, and at length\nlulled their feelings into calm repose. These characters were betrayed\nfor a time by the circumstances which surrounded their exalted stations\ninto an excess of enjoyment; but they were able to relish the simple\noccupations, and to enjoy the tranquil amusements of retirement, with as\nmuch satisfaction as they had formerly pursued the political intrigues of\nthe cabinet, the hostile glories of the field, or the softer indulgences\nof peaceful luxury; and were thereby rendered capable of deriving comfort\nand consolation from that source which seems only to heighten and\nexasperate the miseries of those whose minds are totally absorbed in the\ndissipations of life.\n\nThe motives, indeed, which lead men either to temporary retirement, or\nabsolute solitude, are innumerably various. Minds delicately susceptible\nto the impressions of virtue, frequently avoid society, only to avoid\nthe pain they feel in observing the vices and follies of the world.\nMinds active and vigorous, frequently retire to avoid the clogs and\nincumbrances by which the tumults and engagements of society distract and\nimpede the free and full enjoyment of their faculties. The basis, indeed,\nof every inclination to solitude is the love of liberty, either mental\nor corporeal; a freedom from all constraint and interruption: but the\nform in which the inclination displays itself, varies according to the\ncharacter and circumstances of the individual.\n\nMen who are engaged in pursuits foreign to the natural inclination of\ntheir minds, sigh continually for retirement, as the only means of\nrecruiting their fatigued spirits, and procuring a comfortable repose.\nScenes of tranquillity can alone afford them any idea of enjoyment.\nA refined sense of duty, indeed, frequently induces noble minds to\nsacrifice all personal pleasures to the great interests of the public,\nor the private benefits of their fellow creatures; and they resist\nevery opposing obstacle with courage, and bear every adversity with\nfortitude, under those cheering sentiments, and proud delights, which\nresult from the pursuits of active charity and benevolence, even\nthough their career be thwarted by those whose advantages they design\nto promote. The exhilarating idea of being instrumental in affording\nrelief to suffering humanity, reconciles every difficulty, however\ngreat: prompts to new exertions, however fruitless; and sustains them\nin those arduous conflicts, in which all who aspire to promote the\ninterest, and improve the happiness of mankind, must occasionally engage,\nespecially when opposed by the pride and profligacy of the rich and\ngreat, and the obstinacy and caprice of the ignorant and unfeeling. But\nthe most virtuous and steady minds cannot always bear up against \u201ca sea\nof troubles, or by opposing, end them:\u201d and, depressed by temporary\nadversities, will arraign the cruelty of their condition, and sigh for\nthe shades of peace and tranquillity. How transcendent must be the\nenjoyment of a great and good minister who, after having anxiously\nattended to the important business of the state, and disengaged himself\nfrom the necessary but irksome occupation of official detail, refreshes\nhis mind in the calm of some delightful retreat, with works of taste, and\nthoughts of fancy and imagination! A change, indeed, both of scene and\nsentiment, is absolutely necessary, not only in the serious and important\nemployments, but even in the common occupations and idle amusements of\nlife. Pleasure springs from contrast. The most charming object loses a\nportion of its power to delight, by being continually beheld. Alternate\nsociety and solitude are necessary to the full enjoyment of both the\npleasures of the world and the delights of retirement. It is, however,\nasserted that the celebrated Pascal, whose life was far from being\ninactive, that quietude is a beam of the original purity of our nature,\nand that the height of human happiness is in solitude and tranquillity.\nTranquillity, indeed, is the wish of all: the good, while pursuing the\ntrack of virtue; the great while following the star of glory; and the\nlittle, while creeping in the styes of dissipation, sigh for tranquillity\nand make it the great object which they ultimately hope to attain. How\nanxiously does the sailor, on the high and giddy mast, when rolling\nthrough tempestuous seas, cast his eyes over the foaming billows, and\nanticipate the calm security he hopes to enjoy when he reaches the wished\nfor shore! Even kings grow weary of their splendid slavery, and nobles\nsicken under increasing dignities. All, in short, feel less delight in\nthe actual enjoyment of worldly pursuits, however great and honorable\nthey may be, than in the idea of their being able to relinquish them and\nretire to\n\n          \u201c\u2026 some calm sequestered spot;\n    The world forgetting, by the world forgot.\u201d\n\nThe restless and ambitious Pyrrhus hoped that ease and tranquillity\nwould be the ultimate reward of his enterprising conquests. Frederic the\ngreat, discovered, perhaps unintentionally, how pleasing and satisfactory\nthe idea of tranquillity was to his mind, when immediately after he\nhad gained a glorious and important victory, he exclaimed on the field\nof battle, \u201cOh that my anxieties may now be ended!\u201d The emperor Joseph\nalso displayed the predominancy of his passion for tranquillity and\nretirement, when on asking the famous German pedestrian, Baron Grothaus,\nwhat countries he next intended to traverse, was told a long number in\nrapid succession. \u201cAnd what then?\u201d continued the emperor. \u201cWhy then,\u201d\nreplied the baron, \u201cI intend to retire to the place of my nativity, and\nenjoy myself in rural quietude, and the cultivation of my patrimonial\nfarm.\u201d \u201cAh, my good friend,\u201d exclaimed the emperor, \u201cif you will trust\nthe voice of sad experience, you had better neglect the walk, and retire\nbefore it is too late, to the quietude and tranquillity you propose.\u201d\n\nPublius Scipio, surnamed Africanus, during the time that he was invested\nwith the highest offices of Rome, and immediately engaged in the most\nimportant concerns of the empire, withdrew whenever an opportunity\noccurred, from public observation, to peaceful privacy; and though\nnot devoted, like Tully, to the elegant occupations of literature and\nphilosophy, declared that \u201che was never less alone than when alone.\u201d He\nwas, says Plutarch, incomparably the first both in virtue and power,\nof the Romans of his time; but in his highest tide of fortune, he\nvoluntarily abandoned the scene of his glory, and calmly retired to his\nbeautiful villa in the midst of a romantic forest, near Liturnum, where\nhe closed, in philosophic tranquillity, the last years of a long and\nsplendid life.\n\nCicero, in the plenitude of his power, at a time when his influence over\nthe minds of his fellow citizens was at its height, retired, with the\nretiring liberties of his country, to his Tusculum villa, to deplore the\napproaching fate of his beloved city, and to ease, in soothing solitude,\nthe anguish of his heart.\n\nHorace, also, the gay and elegant favorite of the great Augustus, even in\nthe meridian rays of royal favor, renounced the smiles of greatness, and\nall the seductive blandishments of an imperial court, to enjoy his happy\nmuse among the romantic wilds of his sequestered villa of Tibur, near the\nlake Albunea.\n\nBut there are few characters who have passed the concluding scenes\nof life with more real dignity than the emperor Dioclesian. In the\ntwenty-first year of his reign, though he had never practised the lessons\nof philosophy either in the attainment or the use of supreme power, and\nalthough his reign had flowed with a tide of uninterrupted success, he\nexecuted his memorable resolution of abdicating the empire, and gave\nthe world the first example of a resignation which has not been very\nfrequently imitated by succeeding monarchs. Dioclesian was at this\nperiod only fifty-nine years of age, and in the full possession of his\nmental faculties; but he had vanquished all his enemies, and executed\nall his designs; and his active life, his wars, his journeys, the\ncares of royalty, and his application to business having impaired his\nconstitution, and brought on the infirmities of a premature old age, he\nresolved to pass the remainder of his days in honorable repose; to place\nhis glory beyond the reach of fortune, and to relinquish the theatre\nof the world to his younger and more active associates. The ceremony\nof his abdication was performed in a spacious plain, about three miles\nfrom Nicomedia. The emperor ascended a lofty throne, and, in a speech\nfull of reason and dignity, declared his intention both to the people\nand to the soldiers, who were assembled on this extraordinary occasion.\nAs soon as he had divested himself of the purple, he withdrew from the\ngazing multitude; and traversing the city in a covered chariot, proceeded\nwithout delay to the favorite retirement which he had chosen in his\nnative country of Dalmatia. The emperor, who, from a servile origin, had\nraised himself to the throne, passed the last nine years of his life in\na private condition at Salona. Reason had dictated, and content seems to\nhave accompanied, his retreat, in which he enjoyed for a long time the\nrespect of those princes to whom he had resigned the possession of the\nworld. It is seldom that minds long exercised in business have formed\nany habits of conversing with themselves, and in the loss of power, they\nprincipally regret the want of occupation. The amusements of letters and\nof devotion, which afford so many resources in solitude, were incapable\nof fixing the attention of Dioclesian: but he had preserved, or, at\nleast, he soon recovered, a taste for the most innocent as well as\nnatural pleasures; and his leisure hours were sufficiently employed in\nbuilding, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly\ncelebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to resume the\nreins of government and the imperial purple. He rejected the temptation\nwith a smile of pity, calmly observing, that if he could show Maximian\nthe cabbages he had planted at Salona, he should be no longer urged\nto relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power. In\nhis conversations with his friends he frequently acknowledged, that of\nall the arts the most difficult was that of reigning; and he expressed\nhimself on that favorite topic with a degree of warmth which could be\nthe result only of experience. \u201cHow often,\u201d was he accustomed to say,\n\u201cis it the interest of four or five ministers to combine together to\ndeceive the sovereign! Secluded from mankind by his exalted dignity,\nthe truth is concealed from his knowledge: he can only see with their\neyes; he hears nothing but their misrepresentations. He confers the most\nimportant offices upon vice and weakness, and disgraces the most virtuous\nand deserving among his subjects; and by such infamous acts the best and\nwisest princes are sold to the venal corruption of their courtiers.\u201d A\njust estimate of greatness, and the assurance of immortal fame, improve\nour relish for the pleasures of retirement.\n\nZenobia, the celebrated queen of Palmyra and the east; a female whose\nsuperior genius broke through the servile indolence imposed on her sex\nby the climate and manners of Asia, the most lovely as well as the\nmost heroic of her sex, who spread the terror of her arms over Arabia,\nArmenia, and Persia, and kept even the legions of the Roman empire in\nawe, was, after the two great battles of Antioch and Emesa, at length\nsubdued, and made the illustrious captive of the emperor Aurelian; but\nthe conqueror, respecting the sex, the beauty, the courage and endowments\nof the Syrian queen, not only preserved her life, but presented her\nwith an elegant villa at Tibur or Tivoli, about twenty miles from Rome;\nwhere, in happy tranquillity, she fed the greatness of her soul with the\nnoble images of Homer, and the exalted precepts of Plato; supported the\nadversity of her fortunes with fortitude and resignation; and learnt\nthat the anxieties attendant on ambition are happily exchanged for the\nenjoyments of ease and the comforts of philosophy.\n\nCharles V. resigned the government of the empire to his brother the king\nof the Romans; and transferred all claims of obedience and allegiance\nto him from the Germanic body, in order that he might no longer be\ndetained from that retreat for which he long had languished. In passing,\nsome years before, from Valladolid to Placentia, in the Province of\nEstremadura, he was struck with the delightful situation of the monastery\nof St. Justus, belonging to the order of St. Jerome, not many miles\ndistant from the town; and observed to some of his attendants, that\nthis was a spot to which Dioclesian might have retired with pleasure.\nThe impression remained upon his mind, and he determined to make it the\nplace of his own retreat. It was seated in a vale of no great extent,\nwatered by a small brook, and surrounded by rising grounds covered with\nlofty trees; and from the nature of the soil, as well as the temperature\nof the climate, was esteemed the most healthful and delicious situation\nin Spain. Some months before his resignation, he had sent an architect\nthither to add a new apartment to the monastery for his accommodation;\nbut he gave strict orders that the style of the building should be\nsuch as suited his present station rather than his former dignity. It\nconsisted only of six rooms; four of them in the form of friar\u2019s cells,\nwith naked walls; the other two, each twenty feet square, were hung with\nbrown cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner; they were all\non a level with the ground, with a door on one side into a garden of\nwhich Charles himself had given the plan, and had filled it with various\nplants, which he intended to cultivate with his own hands. On the other\nside they communicated with the chapel of the monastery, in which he\nwas to perform his devotions. In this humble retreat, hardly sufficient\nfor the comfortable accommodation of a private gentleman, did Charles\nenter with twelve domestics only, and buried in solitude and silence his\ngrandeur, his ambition, and all those vast projects which, during almost\nhalf a century, had alarmed and agitated Europe; filling every kingdom in\nit by turns with the terror of his arms, and the dread of being subdued\nby his power.\n\nThese instances of resignation and retirement, to which many others\nmight have been added, sufficiently prove that a desire to live in free\nleisure, independent of the restraints of society, is one of the most\npowerful affections of the human mind; and that solitude, judiciously and\nrationally employed, amply compensates all that is sacrificed for the\npurpose of enjoying it.\n\nBut there are many other resources from whence an anti-social disposition\nmay arise, which merits consideration. That terrible malady, the\nhypocondria, frequently renders the unhappy sufferer not only averse\nto society in general, but even fearful of meeting a human being; and\nthe still more dreadful malady a wounded heart, increases our antipathy\nto mankind. The fear of unfounded calumny also sometimes drives weak\nand dejected minds into the imaginary shelter of obscurity; and even\nstrong and honest characters, prone to disclose their real sentiments,\nare disgusted at the world from a consciousness of its being unable\nto listen temperately to the voice of truth. The obstinacy with which\nmankind persist in habitual errors, and the violence with which they\nindulge inveterate passions, a deep regret for their follies, and\nthe horror which their vices create, drives us frequently from their\npresence. The love of science, a fondness for the arts, and an attachment\nto the immortal works of genius, induce, I trust, not a few to neglect\nall anxiety to learn the common news of the day, and keep them in some\ncalm, sequestered retreat far from the unmeaning manners of the noisy\nworld, improving the genuine feelings of their hearts, and storing their\nminds with the principles of true philosophy. There are others, though\nI fear they are few, who, impressed by a strong sense of the duties of\nreligion, and feeling how incompatible with their practice are most, if\nnot all, the factitious joys of social life, retire from the corrupted\nscene, to contemplate, in sacred privacy, the attributes of a Being\nunalterably pure, and infinitely good; to impress upon their minds so\nstrong a sense of the importance of obedience to the divine will, of the\nvalue of the reward promised to virtue, and the terrors of the punishment\ndenounced against crimes, as may overbear all temptations which temporal\nhope or fear can bring in their way, and enable them to bid equal\ndefiance to joy and sorrow; to turn away at one time from the allurements\nof ambition, and press forward at another against the threats of calamity.\n\nThe dejection occasioned by the hypochondria renders the mind not\nonly averse from, but wholly incapable of, any pleasure, and induces\nthe unhappy sufferer to seek a solitude by which it is increased. The\ninfluence of this dreadful malady is so powerful, that it destroys all\nhope of remedy, and prevents those exertions, by which alone, we are told\nit can be cured.\n\n    To cure the mind\u2019s wrong bias--spleen,\n    Some recommend the bowling-green;\n    Some, hilly walks; all, exercise;\n    Fling but a stone, the giant dies;\n    Laugh, and be well. Monkies have been\n    Extreme good doctors for the spleen;\n    And kittens, if the humor hit,\n    Have harlequined away the fit.\n\nBut, alas! the heart shuts itself against every pleasing sensation, and\nthe mind dismisses every cheering sentiment. Joy opens in vain its festal\narms to receive him; and he shuns embraces, whose light and mirthful\nair would only serve to increase the melancholy of his dreary and\ndistempered mind. Even the tender, affectionate offices of friendship,\nin endeavoring to sooth and divert his mind by lively conversation and\nsocial intercourse, appear officious and ill-timed. His spirits are\nquite dejected; his faculties become torpid; and his sense of enjoyment\nis annihilated. The charming air which breathes to us the sweetest\nfragrance, and most invigorating delights, feels to him like a pestilent\ncongregation of vapors.\n\n    His pensive spirit takes the lonely grove\n    Nightly he visits all the sylvan scenes,\n    Where, far remote, a melancholy moon\n    Raising her head, serene and shorn of beams,\n    Throws here and there the glimmerings through the trees,\n    To make more awful darkness.\n\nConscious that his frame is totally unstrung, and that his pulse is\nincapable of beating in any pleasant unison with the feelings of his\nhealthful friends, he withers into sorrowful decay. Every object around\nhim appears to be at enmity with his feelings, and comes shapeless and\ndiscolored to his disordered eyes. The gentle voice of pity grates\nhis ears with harsh and hollow sounds, and seems to reproach him with\ninsulting tones. Stricken by his dreadful malady, the lamentable effects\nof which a cruel and unfeeling world so often ridicule and despise, and\nconstantly tearing open the wound it has occasioned, the afflicted spirit\nflies from every scene of social joy and animating pleasure, seeks as a\nsole resource, to hide its sorrows in solitary seclusion, and awaits, in\nlingering sufferance, the stroke of death.\n\nThe erroneous opinions, perverse dispositions, and inveterate prejudices\nof the world, are sometimes the causes which induce men to retire from\nsociety, and seek in solitude the enjoyments of innocence and truth.\nCareless of a commerce with those for whom they can entertain no esteem,\ntheir minds naturally incline toward those scenes in which their\nfancy paints the fairest form of felicity. He, indeed, whose free and\nindependent spirit is resolved to permit his mind to think for itself;\nwho disdains to form his feelings, and to fashion his opinions, upon\nthe capricious notions of the world; who is too candid to expect that\nothers should be guided by his notions, and sufficiently firm not to\nobey implicitly the hasty notions of others; who seeks to cultivate the\njust and manly feelings of the heart, and to pursue truth in the paths\nof science, must detach himself from the degenerate crowd, and seek his\nenjoyments in retirement. For to those who love to consult their own\nideas, to form opinions upon their own reasonings and discernment, and\nto express only such sentiments as they really feel, a society whose\njudgments are borrowed, whose literature is only specious, and whose\nprinciples are unfounded, must not only be irksomely insipid, but morally\ndangerous. The firm and noble minded disdain to bow their necks to\nthe slavish yoke of vulgar prejudice, and appeal, in support of their\nopinions, to the higher tribunal of sense and reason, from the partial\nand ill-formed sentences of conceited critics, who, destitute themselves\nof any sterling merit, endeavor to depreciate the value of that coin\nwhose weight and purity render it current, and to substitute their own\nbase and varnished compositions in its stead. Those self-created who\nproudly place themselves in the professor\u2019s chair, look with an envious\nand malignant eye on all the works of genius, taste, and sense; and as\ntheir interests are intimately blended with the destruction of every\nsublime and elegant production, their cries are raised against them the\nmoment they appear. To blast the fame of merit is their chief object and\ntheir highest joy: and their lives are industriously employed to stifle\nthe discoveries, to impede the advancement, to condemn the excellency,\nand to pervert the meaning of their more ingenious contemporaries. Like\nloathsome toads, they grovel on the ground, and, as they move along,\nemit a nasty slime, or frothy venom, on the sweetest shrubs and fairest\nflowers of the fields.\n\nFrom the society of such characters, who seem to consider the noble\nproductions of superior intellect, the fine and vigorous flights of\nfancy, the brilliant effusions of a sublime imagination, and the refined\nfeelings of the heart, as fancied conceits or wild deliriums, those who\nexamine them by a better standard than that of fashion or common taste,\nfly with delight.\n\nThe reign of envy, however, although it is perpetual as to the existence\nof the passion, is only transitory as to the objects of its tyranny; and\nthe merit which has fallen the victim of its rage, is frequently raised\nby the hand of truth, and placed on the throne of public applause. A\nproduction of genius, however the ears of its author were deafened,\nduring his life, by the clamors of calumny, and hisses of ignorance, is\nreviewed with impartiality when he dies, and revived by the acclamations\nof ingenuous applause. The reproach which the life of a great and good\nman is continually casting on his mean and degenerate contemporaries,\nis silenced by his death. He is remembered only in the character of his\nworks; and his fame increases with the successive generations, which his\nsentiments and opinions contribute to enlighten and adorn.\n\nThe history of the celebrated English philosopher, David Hume, affords,\nperhaps, a stronger instance of the dangers to which wit and learning are\nexposed from the malicious shafts of envy, ignorance, and intolerance,\nthan that of any other author. The tax indeed, is common to authors of\nevery description, but it frequently falls the heaviest on the highest\nheads. This profound philosopher and elegant historian, possessed a\nmild temper; a lively, social disposition; a high sense of friendship,\nand incorruptible integrity. His manners, indeed, appeared, at first\nsight, cold and repulsive; for he had sacrificed little to the graces:\nbut his mind was invariably cheerful, and his affections uncommonly warm\nand generous: and neither his ardent desire of fame, nor the gross and\nunfounded calumnies of his enemies, were capable of disturbing the happy\ntranquillity of his heart. His life was passed in the constant exercise\nof humanity and benevolence; and even those who had been seduced, by the\njealous and vindictive artifices of others, wantonly to attack his fame\nand character with obloquy and reproach, experienced his kindness, and\nacknowledged his virtues. He would never indeed confess that his friends\nhad ever had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of his character\nor conduct, or that he had ever been attacked either by the baleful\ntooth of envy, or the rage of civil or religious faction. His company,\nindeed, was equally agreeable to all classes of society; and young and\nold, rich and poor, listened with pleasure to his conversation, and\nquitted his company with regret; for although he was deeply learned, and\nhis discourses replete with sagacity and science, he had the happy art\nof delivering his sentiments upon all subjects without the appearance of\nostentation, or in any way offending the feelings of his hearers.\n\nThe interests of religion are said to have suffered by the abuse of his\ntalents; but the precepts of Christianity were never more powerfully\nrecommended, than by the integrity of his morals, and the purity of his\nlife. His benign and gentle spirit, attached to virtue, and averse from\nevery species of vice, essentially promoted the practice of piety, and\nthe duties of a religious mind; and did not, as is always the case with\nthe zeal of persecution and martyrdom, tear away the very foundation of\nthat fabric which it pretends to support. The excellency, indeed, both\nof the head and the heart of this great and good man, enabled him not\nonly to enjoy himself with perfect felicity, but to contribute to the\nimprovement, and increase the happiness of mankind. This is the opinion\nnow generally entertained of the character of Hume; but far different\nwere the sentiments of his contemporaries upon this subject. It was\nneither in a barbarous country, or in an unenlightened age, that he\nlived; but although the land was free, the people philosophical, and the\nspirit of the times provoked the minds of learned men to metaphysical\ninquiry, the fame of Hume was wrecked upon his moral and religious\nwritings. He was charged with being a sceptic; but from the propagation\nof certain doctrines, and the freedom of inquiry which had then gone\nforth, it is impossible to attribute his disappointments to this cause.\nA kind of natural prejudice, indeed, prevailed in England at this period\nagainst the Scots; but as he did not experience much favor from his own\ncountrymen, no conclusion can be fairly drawn from this circumstance;\nand the extraordinary History of his Literary Transactions, a work\nwritten by himself, cannot be perused without an equal degree of surprise\nand concern. The contemptuous repulses which his several compositions\nreceived from the public, appear incredible; but the facts he relates\nare undoubtedly authentic; and while they raise a sorrowful regret for\nthe fate of Hume in particular, they most unhappily tend to diminish the\nardor of the student, who contemplates the various dangers to which his\ndesire of fame may be exposed, and may, perhaps, induce him to quit the\npursuit of an object \u201cso hard to gain, so easy to be lost.\u201d\n\nThe melancholy history of the literary career of the celebrated Hume,\nas appears from the short sketch he made of _his own life_, while he\ncalmly waited, under an incurable disorder, the moment of approaching\ndissolution; a work which proclaims the mildness, the modesty, and the\nresignation of his temper, as clearly as his other works demonstrate\nthe power and extent of his mind. The history, indeed, of every man who\nattempts to destroy the reigning prejudices, or correct the prevailing\nerrors, of his age and country, is nearly the same. He who has the\nhappiness to see objects of any description with greater perspicuity than\nhis contemporaries, and presumes to disseminate his superior knowledge,\nby the unreserved publication of his opinions, sets himself up as a\ncommon mark for the shafts of envy and resentment to pierce, and seldom\nescapes from being charged with wicked designs against the interests of\nmankind. A writer, whatever his character, station, or talents may be,\nwill find that he has a host of malevolent inferiors ready to seize every\nopportunity of gratifying their humbled pride, by attempting to level\nhis superior merits, and subdue his rising fame. Even the compassionate\nfew, who are ever ready to furnish food to the hungry, clothing to the\nnaked, and consolation to the afflicted, seldom feel any other sensation\nthan that of jealousy on beholding the wreath of merit placed on the\nbrow of a deserving rival. The Ephesians, with republican pride, being\nunable to endure the reproach which they felt from the pre-eminency of\nany individual, banished to some other state, the citizen who presumed\nto excel the generality of his countrymen. It would be, in some measure,\nadopting this egregious and tyrannical folly, were I to exhort the man\nwhose merits transcend those who are his equals in rank, or station,\nto break off all intercourse and connexion with them; but I am certain\nthat he might, by an occasional retirement, elude the effects of their\nenvy, and avoid those provocations to which, by his superiority, he will\notherwise be continually exposed.\n\nTo treat the frailties of our fellow creatures with tenderness, to\ncorrect their errors with kindness, to view even their vices with pity,\nand to induce, by every friendly attention, a mutual complacency and good\nwill, is not only an important moral duty, but a means of increasing the\nsum of earthly happiness. It is, indeed, difficult to prevent an honest\nmind from bursting forth with generous indignation against those artful\nhypocrites who, by specious and plausible practices, obtain the false\ncharacter of being wise and good, and obtrude their flimsy and heterodox\nopinions upon the unthinking world, as the fair and genuine sentiments\nof truth and virtue. The anger which arises in a generous and ardent\nmind, on hearing a noble action calumniated, or a useful work illiberally\nattacked, is not easily restrained; but such feelings should be checked\nand regulated with a greater degree of caution than even if they were\nless virtuous and praiseworthy; for, if they are indulged with frequency,\ntheir natural violence may weaken the common charities of the mind, and\nconvert its very goodness and love of virtue into a mournful misanthropy,\nor virulent detestation of mankind.\n\nLet not the man, whose exalted mind, improved by study and observation,\nsurveys with a discriminating eye the moral depravities and mental\nweaknesses of human nature, submit to treat his envious inferiors with\ninveterate anger, and undistinguishing revenge. Their envy as a tribute\nof approbation to his greatness. Let him look with the gentle eye of\npity upon those who err rather from the wicked suggestions of others,\nthan from the malevolence of their own hearts: let him not confound\nthe weak and innocent reptile with the scorpion and the viper; let him\nlisten, without emotion, to the malignant barking and envious hissings\nthat everywhere attend the footsteps of transcendent merit; let him\ndisregard, with philosophic dignity, the senseless clamors of those noisy\nadversaries who are blinded by prejudice, and deaf to the arguments\nof sense and reason: let him rather, by a mild and forbearing temper,\nendeavor to make some impression on their hearts; and if he should find\ntheir bosoms susceptible, he may hope in time to convince them of their\nerrors, and, without violence or compulsion, bring back their deluded\nunderstandings to a sense of truth, and the practice of virtue; but, if\nexperience convince him that every endeavor to reform them is fruitless\nand vain, let him--\n\n    Neglect the grumblers of an envious age,\n    Vapid in spleen, or brisk in frothy rage;\n    Critics, who, ere they understand, defame;\n    And seeming friends who only do not blame,\n    And puppet prattlers, whose unconscious throat\n    Transmits what the pert witling prompts by rote:\n    Let him neglect this blind and babbling crowd,\n    To enjoy the favor of the wise and good.\n\nSlander, however, by fixing her talons on the most virtuous characters,\ngenerally defeats her own malice, and proclaims their merit. It may,\nindeed, tend to diminish their inclination for general society, and to\nrender them, in some degree, apprehensive of the danger of even well\ndeserved fame. \u201cDurable fame,\u201d says Petrarch, \u201cis only to be derived from\nthe practice of virtue, and from such works as are worthy of descending\nfrom generation to generation. As to praters, gowned gentlemen, that\nwalk in their silks, glitter in their jewels, and are pointed at by the\npeople, all their bravery and pomp, their show of knowledge, and their\nthundering speeches, last only with their lungs, and then vanish into\nthin smoke; for the acquisition of wealth, and the desires of ambition,\nare no witnesses of true desert. I think I shall have fame after my\ndeath; and that is a fame from which no profit is derived; but, on the\ncontrary, frequently injures, while alive, the person who is to enjoy it\nwhen dead. What procured the destruction of Cicero, Demosthenes, and\nZeno, but foul and haggard envy of their fame? What brought the chosen\nmen of the great ship Argos to Colchis, but the fame of that king\u2019s\nriches? For what else was signified by the Golden Fleece, but the riches\nseized by these marauders, destitute of true riches, and who were clad\nwith fleeces not their own?\u201d Many, indeed, whose merits have cast a\nradiance around their characters, have hidden its splendors with the\nshades of retirement to avoid giving uneasiness to envy; and, by being\ndeprived of that warm and aspiring tribute of applause which they had\ngloriously and justly earned, have, in some instances at least, indulged\ntoo keen a sense of the depravity of mankind. Solon, after having in vain\nexhorted the Athenians to resist the tyranny of Pisistratus, and save the\nliberties of that country, on which he had conferred such distinguished\nservices, returned to his own house, and placing his weapons at the\nstreet door, exclaimed, as a last effort, \u201c_I have done all in my power\nto save my country and defend its laws!_\u201d and then retired from the\ntumults of public life, to weep in silence over the servility of the\nAthenians, and the fate of Athens. History affords many illustrious\ninstances, both ancient and modern, of the like kind: for there never\nwas a statesman, who possessed a great mind and manly feelings, that did\nnot, even during the plentitude of his power, occasionally wish to escape\nfrom the incorrigible vices which prevail in courts, to the enjoyment\nof the more innocent pleasures and humble virtues which surround the\ncottage. Such exalted characters cannot observe, without the highest\ndisgust, and keenest indignation, the virtues of the best, and the\nservices of the bravest men of the nation, blasted by the envious breath\nof brainless placemen, or the insidious insinuations of female favorites,\nwhose whole time is employed in caressing their monkies and paroquets,\nor in aspersing the merits of those who boldly seek their fortune by\nthe open and manly road of true desert, and not by the deep, dark, and\ncrooked paths of flattery and intrigue. Can such a man behold the double\ndealing and deceitful artifices by which the excellency of princes is\ncorrupted, their imaginations dazzled, their discernment blinded, and\ntheir minds led astray without feeling uncommon indignation? Certainly\nnot. But however acutely his bosom may feel, or tongue express his\nsense of such prevailing practices, he must still be forced to see,\nwith even a more contemptuous and painful sensation, that envious rage\nand jealous asperity, which burst from the cringing crowd of mean and\nabject courtiers, on hearing the monarch, in the grateful feelings of\nhis heart, applaud the eminent and faithful services of some gallant\nofficer. Dion was the principal statesman at the court of Dionysius, and\nthe deliverer of Sicily. When the younger Dionysius succeeded to the\nthrone of his father, Dion, in the first council that he held, spoke\nwith so much propriety on the existing state of affairs, and on the\nmeasures which ought to be taken, that the surrounding courtiers appeared\nto be mere children in comparison. By the freedom of his counsels he\nexposed, in a strong light, the slavish principles of those who, through\na timorous disingenuity, advised such measures as they thought would\nplease their prince, rather than such as might advance his interest. But\nwhat alarmed them most, were the steps he proposed to take with regard to\nthe impending war with Carthage; for he offered either to go in person\nto Carthage, and settle an honorable peace with the Carthagenians, or,\nif war should be inevitable, to fit out and maintain fifty gallies at\nhis own expense. Dionysius was pleased with the magnificence of his\nspirit; but his courtiers felt that it made them appear little; and\nagreeing that, at all events, Dion was to be crushed, they spared for\nthat purpose no calumny that malice could suggest. They represented to\nthe king that this favorite certainly meant to make himself master by\nsea, and by that means to obtain the kingdom for his sister\u2019s children.\nThere was, moreover, another and obvious cause of their hatred to him, in\nthe reserve of his manners, and the sobriety of his life. They led the\nyoung and ill-educated king through every species of debauchery, and were\nthe shameless panders of his wrong directed passions. Their enmity to\nDion, who had no taste for luxurious enjoyments, was a thing of course;\nand as he refused to partake with them in their vices, they resolved\nto strip him of his virtues; to which they gave the name of such vices\nas are supposed to resemble them. His gravity of manners they called\npride; his freedom of speech, insolence; his declining to join in their\nlicentiousness, contempt. It is true, there was a natural haughtiness\nin his deportment and an asperity that was unsociable, and difficult\nof access; so that it was not to be wondered at if he found no ready\nadmission to the ears of a young king, already spoiled by flattery.\nWilling to impute the irregularities of Dionysius to ignorance and bad\neducation, Dion endeavored to engage him in a course of liberal studies,\nand to give him a taste for those sciences which have a tendency to moral\nimprovement. But in this wise and virtuous resolution he was opposed by\nall the artifices of court intrigue.\n\nMen, in proportion as their minds are dignified with noble sentiments,\nand their hearts susceptible of refined sensibility, feel a justifiable\naversion to the society of such characters, and shrink from the scenes\nthey frequent; but they should cautiously guard against the intrusions\nof that austerity and moroseness with which such a conduct is but too\napt to inspire the most benevolent minds. Disgusted by the vices and\nfollies of the age, the mind becomes insensibly impressed with a hatred\ntoward the species, and loses, by degrees, that mild and humane temper\nwhich is so indispensably necessary to the enjoyment of social happiness.\nEven he who merely observes the weak or vicious frailties of his fellow\ncreatures with an intention to study philosophically the nature and\ndisposition of man, cannot avoid remembering their defects with severity,\nand viewing the character he contemplates with contempt, especially if\nhe happens to be the object of their artifices, and the dupe of their\nvillanies. Contempt is closely allied with hatred; and hatred of mankind\nwill corrupt, in time, the fairest mind: it tinges, by degrees, every\nobject with the bile of misanthropy; perverts the judgment; and at length\nlooks indiscriminately with an evil eye on the good and bad, engenders\nsuspicion, fear, jealousy, revenge, and all the black catalogue of\nunworthy and malignant passions: and when these dreadful enemies have\nextirpated every generous sentiment from the breast, the unhappy victim\nabhors society, disclaims his species, sighs, like St. Hyacinth, for\nsome distant and secluded island, and with savage barbarity, defends the\ninviolability of its boundaries by the cruel repulsion, and, perhaps, the\ndeath of those unhappy mortals whom misfortune may drive, hapless and\nunpitied, to its inhospitable shores.\n\nBut if misanthropy be capable of producing such direful effects on well\ndisposed minds, how shocking must be the character whose disposition,\nnaturally rancorous, is heightened and inflamed by an habitual hatred and\nmalignancy toward his fellow creatures! In Swisserland, I once beheld\na monster of this description; I was compelled to visit him by the\nduties of my profession; but I shudder while I recollect the enormity of\nhis character. His body was almost as deformed as his mind. Enmity was\nseated on his distorted brow. Scales of livid incrustation, the joint\nproduce of his corrupted body and distempered mind, covered his face. His\nhorrid figure made me fancy that I saw Medusa\u2019s serpents wreathing their\nbaleful folds among the black and matted locks of his dishevelled hair;\nwhile his red and fiery eyes glared like malignant meteors through the\nobscurity of his impending eyebrows. Mischief was his sole delight, his\ngreatest luxury, and his highest joy. To sow discord among his neighbors,\nand to tear open the closing wounds of misery, was his only occupation.\nHis residence was the resort of the disorderly, the receptacle of\nthe vicious, and the asylum of the guilty. Collecting around him the\nturbulent and discontented of every description, he became the patron\nof injustice, the protector of villany, the perpetrator of malice, the\ninventer of fraud, the propagator of calumny, and the zealous champion\nof cruelty and revenge; directing, with malignant aim, the barbed shafts\nof his adherents equally against the comforts of private peace and the\nblessings of public tranquillity. The bent and inclination of his nature\nhad been so aggravated and confirmed by the \u201cmultiplying villanies of\nhis life,\u201d that it was impossible for him to refrain one moment from the\npractice of them, without feeling uneasiness and discontent; and he never\nappeared perfectly happy, but when new opportunities occurred to glut his\ninfernal soul with the spectacle of human miseries.\n\nThe Timon of Lucian was in some measure excusable for his excessive\nhatred to mankind, by the unparallelled wrongs they had heaped upon\nhim. The inexorable antipathy he entertained against the species had\nbeen provoked by injuries almost too great for the common fortitude of\nhumanity to endure. His probity humanity, and charity to the poor, had\nbeen the ruin of him; or rather his own folly, easiness of disposition,\nand want of judgment in his choice of friends. He never discovered that\nhe was giving away his all to wolves and ravens. Whilst these vultures\nwere preying on his liver, he thought them his best friends, and that\nthey fed upon him out of pure love and affection. After they had gnawed\nhim all round, ate his bones bare, and whilst there was any marrow in\nthem, sucked it carefully out, they left him cut down to the roots\nand withered; and so far from relieving him, or assisting him in their\nturns, would not so much as know or look upon him. This made him turn a\ncommon laborer; and, dressed in his skin garment, he tilled the earth\nfor hire; ashamed to show himself in the city, and venting his rage\nagainst the ingratitude of those who, enriched, as they had been by\nhim now proudly passed along without noticing him. But although such a\ncharacter is not to be despised or neglected, no provocation, however\ngreat can justify the violent and excessive invectives which he profanely\nbellowed forth from the bottom of Hymettus; \u201cthis spot of earth shall\nbe my only habitation while I live; and when I am dead, my sepulchre.\nFrom this time forth, it is my fixed resolution to have no commerce or\nconnexion with mankind; but to despise them, and avoid it. I will pay\nno regard to acquaintance, friendship, pity or compassion. To pity the\ndistressed, or to relieve the indigent, I shall consider as a weakness,\nnay, as a crime; my life, like that of the beasts of the field, shall\nbe spent in solitude; and Timon alone shall be Timon\u2019s friend. I will\ntreat all beside as enemies and betrayers. To converse with them were\nprofanation! to herd with them impiety. Accursed be the day that brings\nthem to my sight! I will look upon men, in short, as no more than so\nmany statues of brass or stone; will make no truce, have no connexion\nwith them. My retreat shall be the boundary to separate us for ever.\nRelations, friends, and country, are empty names, respected by fools\nalone. Let Timon only be rich and despise all the world beside. Abhorring\nidle praise, and odious flattery, he shall be delighted with himself\nalone. Alone shall he sacrifice to the gods, feast alone, be his own\nneighbor, and his own companion. I am determined to be alone for life;\nand when I die, to place the crown upon my own head. The fairest name I\nwould be distinguished by is that of a misanthrope. I would be known and\nmarked out by my asperity of manners; by moroseness, cruelty, anger, and\ninhumanity. Were I to see a man perishing in the flames, and imploring\nme to extinguish them, I would throw pitch or oil into the fire to\nincrease it; or, if the winter flood should overwhelm another, who, with\nout-stretched hands should beg me to assist him, I would plunge him still\ndeeper in the stream, that he might never rise again. Thus shall I be\nrevenged of mankind. This is Timon\u2019s law, and this hath Timon ratified.\nI should be glad, however, that all might know how I abound in riches,\nbecause that I know will make them miserable.\u201d\n\nThe moral to be drawn from this dialogue of the celebrated Grecian\nphilosopher, is the extreme danger to which the best and most benevolent\ncharacters may be exposed, by an indiscreet and unchecked indulgence\nof those painful feelings with which the baseness and ingratitude of\nthe world are apt to wound the heart. There are, however, those who,\nwithout having received ill treatment from the world, foster in their\nbosoms a splenetic animosity against society, and secretly exult in the\nmiseries and misfortunes of their fellow creatures. Indulging themselves\nin the indolent habits of vice and vanity, and feeling a mortification\nin being disappointed of those rewards which virtuous industry can alone\nbestow, they seek a gloomy solitude to hide them from those lights which\nequally discover the errors of vice and the rectitude of virtue. Unable\nto attain glory for themselves, and incapable of enduring the lustre of\nit in others, they creep into discontented retirement, from which they\nonly emerge to envy the satisfaction which accompanies real merit, to\ncalumniate the character to which it belongs; and, like satan, on the\nview of paradise, to \u201csee undelighted all delight.\u201d\n\nThere are, however, a class of a very different description, who,\nunoppressed by moody melancholy, untinctured by petulance or spleen,\nfree from resentment, and replete with every generous thought and\nmanly sentiment, calmly and contentedly retire from society, to enjoy,\nuninterruptedly, a happy communion with those high and enlightened minds,\nwho have adorned by their actions the page of history, enlarged by their\ntalents the powers of the human mind, and increased by their virtues the\nhappiness of mankind.\n\nRetirement, however solitary it may be, when entered into with such a\ntemper of mind, instead of creating or encouraging any hatred toward\nthe species, raises our ideas of the possible dignity of human nature;\ndisposes our hearts to feel, and our hands to relieve, the misfortunes\nand necessities of our fellow creatures; calls to our minds what high\ncapacious powers lie folded up in man; and giving to every part of\ncreation its finest forms, and richest colors, exhibits to our admiration\nits brightest glories and highest perfections, and induces us to\ntransplant the charm which exists in our own bosoms into the bosoms of\nothers.\n\n                    \u2026 The spacious west,\n    And all the teeming regions of the south,\n    Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight\n    Of knowledge, half so tempting, or so fair,\n    As man to man: nor only where the smiles\n    Of love invite; nor only where the applause\n    Of cordial honor turns the attentive eye\n    On virtue\u2019s graceful deeds; for since the course\n    Of things external acts in different ways\n    On human apprehension, as the hand\n    Of nature tempered to a different frame\n    Peculiar minds, so haply where the powers\n    Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge\n    The images of things, but paint, in all\n    Their genuine hues, the features which they wear\n    In nature, there opinions will be true,\n    And action right.\u2026\n\nA rational solitude, while it corrects the passions, improves the\nbenevolent dispositions of the heart, increases the energies of the mind,\nand draws forth its latent powers. The Athenian orator, Callistratus,\nwas to plead in the cause which the city of Oropus had depending; and\nthe expectation of the public was greatly raised, both by the powers of\nthe orator, which were then in the highest repute, and the importance\nof the trial. Demosthenes, hearing the governors and tutors agree among\nthemselves to attend the trial, with much importunity prevailed on\nhis master to take him to hear the pleaders. The master having some\nacquaintance with the officer who opened the court, got his young pupil a\nseat where he could hear the orators without being seen. Callistratus had\ngreat success, and his abilities were extremely admired. Demosthenes was\nfired with the spirit of emulation. When he saw with what distinction the\norator was conducted home, and complimented by the people, he was struck\nstill more with the power of that commanding eloquence which would carry\nall before it. From this time, therefore, he bade adieu to the other\nstudies and exercises in which boys are engaged, and applied himself\nwith great assiduity to declaiming, in hope of being one day numbered\namong the orators. Satyrus, the player who was an acquaintance of his,\nand to whom he lamented, after having been for some time called to the\nbar, \u201cthat though he had almost sacrificed his health to his studies, he\ncould gain no favor with the people,\u201d promised to provide him with a\nremedy, if he would repeat some speech in Euripides or Sophocles. When\nDemosthenes had finished his recitation, Satyrus pronounced the same\nspeech; and he did it with such propriety of action, and so much in\ncharacter, that it appeared to the orator quite a different passage; and\nDemosthenes now understanding how much grace and dignity of action adds\nto the best oration, quitted the practice of composition, and, building a\nsubterraneous study repaired thither, for two or three months together,\nto form his action, and exercise his voice; and, by this means formed\nthat strong, impassioned, and irresistible eloquence, which rendered\nhim the glory of Athens, and the admiration of the world. Most of the\nexalted heroes, both of Greece and Rome, who devoted their attention to\narts and to arms, acquired their chief excellency in their respective\npursuits, by retiring from public observation, and cultivating their\ntalents in the silence of solitude. St. Jerome, the most learned of all\nthe Latin fathers, and son of the celebrated Eusebius, retired from the\npersecution of religious fury into an obscure and dreary desert in Syria,\nwhere he attained that rich, animated, and sublime style of eloquence,\nwhich afterward so essentially contributed to support the rising church,\nand to enlighten while it dazzled the Christian world. The Druids, or\nministers of religion among the ancient Gauls, Britons, and Germans,\nretired, in the intervals of their sacred functions, into awful forests\nand consecrated groves, where they passed their time in useful study and\npious prayers; and while they acquired a complete knowledge of astrology,\ngeometry, natural philosophy, politics, geography, morals, and religion,\nrendered themselves happy and revered, and produced, by the wise\ninstruction they were capable of affording to others, but particularly\nto youth, whose education they superintended, a bright succession of\npriests, legislators, counsellors, judges, physicians, philosophers, and\ntutors, to the respective nations in which they resided.\n\nThe modern Julian, the justly celebrated Frederic, king of Prussia,\nderives the highest advantages from his disguised retirement at Sans\nSouci, where he contrives the means of hurling inevitable destruction\nagainst the enemies of his country; listens to and relieves with all the\nanxiety of a tender parent, the complaints and injuries of his meanest\nsubjects; and recreates his excursive mind, by revising and correcting\nhis immortal works for the admiration of posterity. Philosophy, poetry,\nand politics, are the successive objects of his attention; and while he\nextends his views, and strengthens his understanding, by the study of\nancient wisdom, he meliorates his heart by the delightful offerings of\nthe muses, and increases the public strength by the wise and economical\nmanagement of his resources. An awful silence, interrupted only by gentle\nairs with which it is refreshed, pervades this delightful retreat. It\nwas during the twilight of an autumnal evening that I visited this\nsolemn scene. As I approached the apartment of this philosophic hero,\nI discovered him sitting, \u201cnobly pensive,\u201d near a small table, from\nwhich shone the feeble rays of a common taper. No jealous sentinels, or\nceremonious chamberlain, impeded my progress by scrutinizing inquiries\nof suspicion and mistrust; and I walked free and unchecked, except by\nrespect and veneration, through the humble unostentatious retreat of this\nextraordinary man. All characters, however high and illustrious they may\nbe, who wish to attain a comprehensive view of things, and to shine in\nthe highest spheres of virtue, must learn the rudiments of glory under\nthe discipline of occasional retirement.\n\nSolitude is frequently sought from an inclination to extend the knowledge\nof our talents and characters to those with whom we have no opportunity\nof being immediately acquainted; by preparing with greater care, and\ncloser application, for the inspection of our contemporaries, works\nworthy of the fame we are so anxious to acquire: but it seldom happens,\nalas! that those whose labors are most pregnant with instruction and\ndelight, have received, from the age or country in which they lived,\nor even from the companions with whom they associated, the tribute of\nkindness or applause that is justly due to their merits. The work which\nis stigmatized and traduced by the envy, ignorance, or local prejudices\nof a country, for whose delight and instruction it was particularly\nintended, frequently receives from the generous suffrages of impartial\nand unprejudiced strangers, the highest tribute of applause. Even those\npretended friends, under whose auspices it was at first undertaken, upon\nwhose advice it proceeded, and upon whose judgment it was at length\npublished, no sooner hear its praises resounded from distant quarters,\nthan they permit the poisoned shafts of calumny to fly unaverted around\nthe unsuspecting author, and warrant, by their silence, or assist, by\ntheir sneers, every insidious insinuation against his motives or his\nprinciples. This species of malevolence has been feelingly painted by\nthe celebrated Petrarch. \u201cNo sooner had my fame,\u201d says he, \u201crisen above\nthe level of that which my contemporaries had acquired, than every\ntongue babbled, and every pen was brandished against me: those who had\nbefore appeared to be my dearest friends, instantly became my deadliest\nenemies: the shafts of envy were industriously directed against me from\nevery quarter: the critics, to whom my poetry had before been much more\nfamiliar than their psalms or their prayers, seized, with malignant\ndelight, every opportunity of traducing my morals; and those with whom\nI had been most intimate, were the most eager to injure my character,\nand destroy my fame.\u201d The student, however, ought not to be discouraged\nby this instance of envy and ingratitude. He who, conscious of his\nmerit, learns to depend only on himself for support, will forget the\ninjustice of the world, and draw his comfort and satisfaction from more\ninfallible sources: like the truly benevolent and great, he will confer\nhis favors on the public without the expectation of a return; and look\nwith perfect indifference upon all the efforts his treacherous friends,\nor open enemies, are capable of using. He will, like Petrarch, appeal to\nposterity for his reward; and the justice and generosity of future ages\nwill preserve his fame to succeeding generations, heightened and adorned\nin proportion as it has been contemporaneously mutilated and depressed.\n\nThe genius of many noble minded authors, particularly in Germany,\nare obscured and blighted by the thick and baneful fogs with which\nignorance and envy overwhelm their works. Unable to withstand the\nincessant opposition they meet with, the powers of the mind grow feeble\nand relaxed; and many a fair design and virtuous pursuit is quitted\nin despair. How frequently does the desponding mind exclaim, \u201cI feel\nmy powers influenced by the affections of the heart. I am certainly\nincapable of doing to any individual an intentional injury, and I seek\nwith anxiety every opportunity of doing good; but, alas! my motives are\nperverted, my designs misrepresented, my endeavors counteracted, my very\nperson ridiculed, and my character defamed.\u201d There are, indeed, those\nwhose courage and fortitude no opposition can damp, and no adversity\nsubdue; whose firm and steady minds proceed with determined resolution\nto accomplish their designs in defiance of all resistance; and whose\nbright talents drive away the clouds of surrounding dulness, like\nfogs before the sun. Wieland, the happy Wieland, the adopted child of\nevery muse, the favorite pupil of the graces, formed the powers of his\nextraordinary mind in a lonely and obscure retreat, the little village of\nBiberach, in the circle of Suabia, and thereby laid the foundation for\nthat indisputable glory he has since attained. In solitude and silence\nhe enriched his mind with all the stores that art and science could\nproduce, and enabled himself to delight and instruct mankind, by adorning\nthe sober mien of philosophy, and the lively smiles of wit, with the\ntrue spirit and irresistible charms of poetry. Retirement is the true\nparent of the great and good, and the kind nurse of nature\u2019s powers. It\nis to occasional retirement that politics owe the ablest statesmen, and\nphilosophy the most celebrated sages. Did Aristotle, the peripatetic\nchief, compose his profound systems in the tumultuous court of Philip, or\nwere the sublime theories of his master conceived among the noisy feasts\nof the tyrant Dionysius? No. The celebrated groves of the Academy, and\nthe shades of Atarnya, bear witness of the important advantages which,\nin the opinion of both Plato and Aristotle, learning may derive from a\nrational retirement. These great men, like all others who preceded or\nhave followed them, found in the ease and quietude of retirement the\nbest means of forming their minds and extending their discoveries. The\ncelebrated Leibnitz, to whom the world is deeply indebted, passed a great\npart of every year at an humble, quiet, retired, and beautiful villa\nwhich he possessed in the vicinity of Hanover.\n\nTo this catalogue of causes, conducing to a love of solitude, or hatred\nof society, we may add religion and fanaticism. The benign genius\nof religion leads the mind to a love of retirement from motives the\nhighest, the most noble, and most really interesting, that can possibly\nbe conceived, and produces the most perfect state of human happiness,\nby instilling into the heart the most virtuous propensities, and\ninspiring the mind with its finest energies: but fanaticism must ever be\nunhappy: for it proceeds from a subversion of nature itself, is formed\non a perversion of reason, and a violation of truth; it is the vice of\nlow and little understandings, is produced by an ignorance of human\nnature, a misapprehension of the Deity, and cannot be practised without\nrenunciation of real virtue. The passion of retirement, which a sense\nof religion enforces, rises in proportion as the heart is pure, and the\nmind correct; but the disposition to solitude, which fanaticism creates,\narises from a wild enthusiastic notion of inspiration, and increases in\nproportion as the heart is corrupt, and the mind deranged. Religion is\nthe offspring of truth and love, and the parent of benevolence, hope,\nand joy: but the monster fanaticism is the child of discontent, and\nher followers are fear and sorrow. Religion is not confined to cells\nand closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement; these are the gloomy\nretreats of fanaticism, by which she endeavors to break those chains\nof benevolence and social affection that link the welfare of every\nindividual with that of the whole. The greatest honor we can pay to the\nAuthor of our being, is such a cheerful behavior as discovers a mind\nsatisfied with his dispensations. But this temper of mind is most likely\nto be attained by a rational retirement from the cares and pleasures of\nthe world.\n\nThe disposition to solitude, however, of whatever kind or complexion it\nmay be, is greatly influenced by the temper and constitution of the body,\nas well as by the frame and turn of the mind. The action of those causes\nproceeds, perhaps, by slow and insensible degrees, and varies in its\nform and manner in each individual; but though gradual or multiform, it\nat length reaches its point, and confirms the subject of it in habits of\nrational retreat, or unnatural solitude.\n\nThe motives which conduce to a love of solitude might, without doubt,\nbe assigned to other causes; but a discussion of all the refined\noperations to which the mind may be exposed, and its bent and inclination\ndetermined, by the two great powers of sensation and reflection, would\nbe more curious than useful. Relinquishing all inquiry into the primary\nor remote causes of human action, to those who are fond of the useless\nsubtilties of metaphysics, and confining our researches to those final or\nimmediate causes which produce this disposition to enjoy the benefits of\nrational retirement, or encounter the mischiefs of irrational solitude,\nwe shall proceed to show the mischiefs which may result from the one, in\norder that they may be contrasted with the advantages which, in the first\npart, we have already shown may be derived from the other.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n_The disadvantages of solitude._\n\n\nThe retirement which is not the result of cool and deliberate reason,\nso far from improving the feelings of the heart, or strengthening the\npowers of the mind, generally renders men less able to discharge the\nduties and endure the burdens of life. The wisest and best formed system\nof retirement is, indeed, surrounded with a variety of dangers, which\nare not, without the greatest care and caution, easily avoided. But in\nevery species of total solitude, the perils are not only innumerable, but\nalmost irresistible. It would, however, be erroneous to impute all the\ndefects which may characterize such a recluse merely to the loneliness\nof his situation. There are original defects implanted by the hand\nof nature in every constitution, which no species of retirement and\ndiscipline can totally eradicate: there are certain vices, the seeds of\nwhich are so inherent, that no care, however great, can totally destroy.\nThe advantages or disadvantages arising from retirement, will always be\nproportionate to the degrees of virtue and vice which prevail in the\ncharacter of the recluse. It is certain that an occasional retreat from\nthe business of the world will greatly improve the virtues, and increase\nthe happiness, of him on whom nature has bestowed a sound understanding\nand a sensible heart; but when the heart is corrupt, the understanding\nweak, the imagination flighty, and the disposition depraved, solitude\nonly tends to increase the evil and to render the character more rank\nand vicious; for whatever be the culture, the produce will unavoidably\npartake of the quality of the seeds and the nature of the soil; and\nsolitude, by allowing a weak and wicked mind leisure to brood over its\nown suggestions, recreates and rears the mischief it was intended to\nprevent.\n\n    \u201c\u2026 Where solitude, sad nurse of care,\n    To sickly musing gives the pensive mind,\n    There madness enters: and the dim-eyed fiend,\n    Lorn melancholy, night and day provokes\n    Her own eternal wound. The sun grows pale;\n    A mournful visionary light o\u2019erspreads\n    The cheerful face of nature; earth becomes\n    A dreary desert; and the heavens frown above.\n    The various shapes of cursed illusion rise;\n    Whate\u2019er the wretched fear, creating fear\n    Forms out of nothing; and with monsters teems\n    Unknown in hell. The prostrate soul beneath\n    A load of huge imagination heaves:\n    And all the horrors that the guilty feel,\n    With anxious flutterings wake the guilty breast.\n    From other cares absolved, the busy mind\n    Finds in itself a theme to pore upon;\n    And finds it miserable, or makes it so.\u201d\n\nTo enable the mind, however, to form an accurate judgment of the\nprobable consequences of solitude, it is, perhaps, necessary to have\nseen instances both of its advantageous and detrimental effects. The\nconsequences vary with the subject on which it operates; and the same\nspecies of solitude which to one character would be injurious, will\nprove to another of the highest benefit and advantage. The same person,\nindeed, may at different periods, as his disposition changes, experience,\nunder similar circumstances of retirement, very different effects.\nCertain, however, it is, that an occasional retreat from the tumultuous\nintercourses of society, or a judicious and well arranged retirement,\ncannot be prejudicial. To have pointed out the train of virtues it is\ncapable of producing, and to have been silent upon the black catalogue of\nvices that may result from extreme seclusion, would have been the more\npleasing task; but I have undertaken to draw the character of solitude\nimpartially, and must therefore point out its possible defects.\n\nMan in a sate of solitary indolence and inactivity, sinks by degrees\nlike stagnant water into impurity and corruption. The body suffers with\nthe mind\u2019s decay. It is more fatal than excess of action. It is a malady\nthat renders every hope of recovery vain and visionary. To sink from\naction into rest, is only indulging the common course of nature; but to\nrise from long continued indolence to voluntary activity, is extremely\ndifficult, and almost impracticable. A celebrated poet has finely\ndescribed this class of unhappy beings in the following lines:\n\n    \u201cThen look\u2019d, and saw a lazy lolling sort,\n    Unseen at church, at senate, or at court,\n    Of ever listless loiterers, that attend\n    No cause, no trust, no duty, and no friend.\n    Thee, too, my Paridel! she mark\u2019d thee there,\n    Stretch\u2019d on the rack of a too easy chair,\n    And heard the everlasting yawn confess\n    The pains and penalties of idleness.\u201d\n\nTo preserve the proper strength, both of the body and the mind, labor\nmust be regularly and seasonably mingled with rest. Each of them require\ntheir suited exercise and relaxations. Philosophers, who aim at the\nattainment of every superior excellency, do not indulge themselves in\nease, and securely and indolently wait for the cruelties of fortune\nto attack them in their retirement; but, for fear she should surprise\nthem in the state of inexperienced and raw soldiers, undisciplined for\nthe battle they sally out to meet her, and put themselves into regular\ntraining, and even upon the proof of hardships. Those only who observe a\nproper interchange of exercise and rest, can expect to enjoy health of\nbody, or cheerfulness of mind. It is the only means by which the economy\nof the human frame can be regularly preserved.\n\nHe, therefore, who does not possess sufficient activity to keep the body\nand mind in proper exercise; he who is unacquainted with the art of\nvarying his amusements, of changing the subjects of his contemplation,\nand of finding within himself all the materials of enjoyment, will\nsoon feel solitude not only burdensome, but insupportable. To such\na character, solitude will not only be disagreeable, but dangerous;\nfor the moment the temporary passion which draws him from society has\nsubsided, he will sink into languor and indifference; and this temper is\nalways unfavorable to moral sentiment. The world, perhaps, with all its\ndisadvantages, is less likely to be injurious to such a man, than the\ncalm and silent shades of unenjoyed retirement.\n\nSolitude also, particularly when carried to an extreme, is apt to render\nthe character of the recluse rigid, austere, and inflexible, and of\ncourse, unsuited to the enjoyments of society. The notions he contracts\nare as singular and abstracted as his situation: he adheres to them\nwith inflexible pertinacity: his mind moves only in the accustomed\ntrack: he cherishes his preconceived errors and prejudices with fond\nattachment, and despises those whose sentiments are contrary to his\nown. A promiscuous intercourse with society has the effect of rendering\nthe mind docile, and his judgment of men and things correct: for in\nthe world every subject is closely examined, every question critically\ndiscussed; and, while the spirit of controversy and opposition elicits\ntruth, the mind is led into a train of rational investigation, and its\npowers strengthened and enlarged; but the mind of the recluse being\nuninterruptedly confined to its own course of reasoning, and to the habit\nof viewing objects on one side, it is unable to appreciate the respective\nweights which different arguments may deserve, or to judge in doubtful\ncases, on which side, truth is most likely to be found. A commixture\nof different opinions, on any particular subject, provokes a free and\nliberal discussion of it, an advantage which the prepossession engendered\nby solitude uniformly prevents.\n\nSolitude, while it establishes a dangerous confidence in the powers\nand opinions of its votaries, not only fastens on the characters the\nerrors and imperfections it has produced and fostered, but recommends\nthem strongly to their esteem. How frequently do we observe, even in\npersons of rank and fortune, who reside continually on their own estates,\na haughty manner and arbitrary disposition, totally incompatible with\nthat candid conduct, that open minded behavior, that condescending\nurbanity, that free spirit, which mark the character of the polite and\nliberal minded gentleman, and render him the veneration and delight of\nall around him! \u201cObstinacy and pride,\u201d says Plato, \u201care the inevitable\nconsequences of a solitary life;\u201d and the frequency of the fact certainly\njustifies the observation. Retired, secluded characters, having no\nopportunity of encountering the opinions of others, or of listening to\nany other judgment than their own, establish a species of tyranny over\ntheir understandings, and check that free excursion of the intellect\nwhich the discovery of truth requires. They reject, with disdain, the\nclose investigations of logic, and repel all attempts to examine their\narguments, and expose their fallacies. Their preconceived opinions, which\nthey dignify with the appellation of settled truths, and mistake for\nindisputable axioms, have infixed themselves so deeply in their minds\nthat they cannot endure the idea of their being rooted out or removed:\nand they are fearful of submitting them to the test of controversy, only\nbecause they were originally received without due examination, and have\nbeen confirmed by the implicit consent and approbation of their inferiors\nand dependants.\n\nSolitude also, even the solitude which poets and philosophers have so\nfeelingly described as blissful and beneficial, has frequently proved\ninjurious to its delighted votaries. Men of letters are, in general, too\ninattentive to those easy and captivating manners which give such high\nspirit to the address, and splendid decoration to the characters, of well\nbred men. They seldom qualify the awkwardness of scholastic habits by a\nfree and intimate intercourse either with the world or with each other;\nbut being secluded from society, and engaged in abstracted pursuits,\nadopt a pedantic phraseology, an unaccommodating address, formal notions,\nand a partial attachment to their recondite pursuits. The common topics\nof conversation, and usual entertainment of company, they treat with\nhigh, but unjustifiable disdain; and, blinded by fogs of pride, and ideal\nsuperiority, are rendered incapable of discerning their errors.\n\nThe correction of this disposition in authors has been thought of so\nmuch importance to the interests of morals, and to the manners of the\nrising generation, that scholars in general have been exhorted, in the\nhighest strains of eloquence, by one of the most powerful preachers of\nGermany, from the pulpit of the politest city in the empire, to guard\nwith unceasing vigilance against those defects which are so apt to mingle\nwith the habits of the profession, and which tend to sully the brightness\nof their characters. The orator invokes them to shake off that distant\ndemeanor, that unsocial reserve, that supercilious behavior and almost\nexpress contempt, from which few of them are free, and which most of them\npractise when in unlettered company; and to treat their fellow citizens,\nhowever inferior they may be in erudition and scholastic knowledge,\nwith affability and attention; to listen to their conversation with\npoliteness; to regard their errors with lenity; to view their failings\nwith compassion, and their defects with liberality; to lead them into the\npaths of truth and science by mild persuasion, to lure them to knowledge\nby gentle means, and, by reducing their conversation and subjects\nof discourse to a level with the unlettered understandings of their\nauditors, to please the heart while they instruct the mind.\n\n    Good sense and learning may esteem obtain,\n    Humor and wit a laugh, if rightly ta\u2019en:\n    Fair virtue admiration may impart;\n    But \u2019tis good nature only wins the heart:\n    It moulds the body to an easy grace,\n    And brightens every feature of the face:\n    It smooths th\u2019 unpolish\u2019d tongue with eloquence,\n    And adds persuasion to the finest sense.\n\nLearning and good sense, indeed, to whatever degree they may be\npossessed, can only render the possessor happy in proportion as he\nemploys them to increase the happiness of others. To effect this, he must\noccasionally endure the jokes of dullness without petulance, and listen\nwith complacency to the observations of ignorance, but, above all, he\nmust carefully avoid all inclination to exhibit his own superiority, and\nto shine at the expense of others.\n\nLearning and wisdom, indeed, however they may be confounded by arrogant\nand self-conceited scholars, are in no respects synonymous terms; but,\non the contrary, are not unfrequently quite at variance with each other.\nThe high admiration which scholars are too apt to entertain of the\nexcellency of their own talents, and the vast importance they generally\nascribe to their own characters and merit, instead of producing that\nsound judgment upon men and things which constitutes true wisdom, only\nengenders an effervescence in the imagination, the effect of which\nis in general, the most frothy folly. Many of those who thus pride\nthemselves on the pursuits of literature, having nothing to boast of\nbut an indefatigable attention to some idle and unprofitable study; a\nstudy which, perhaps only tends to contract the feelings of the heart,\nand impoverish the powers of the mind. True wisdom and genuine virtue\nare the produce of those enlarged views which arise from a general\nand comprehensive knowledge both of books and men: but scholars, who\nconfine their attention entirely to books, and feel no interest or\nconcern for the world, despise every object that does not lie within the\nrange of their respective studies. By poring over obsolete works, they\nacquire sentiments quite foreign to the manners of the age in which we\nlive; form opinions as ridiculous as they are unfashionable; fabricate\nsystems incomprehensible to the rest of mankind; and maintain arguments\nso offensive and absurd, that whenever they venture to display their\nacquirements in society, they are, like the bird of night, hooted back\nwith derision into their daily obscurity. Many studious characters are\nso puffed up by arrogance, presumption, self-conceit, and vanity, that\nthey can scarcely speak upon any subject without hurting the feelings\nof their friends and giving cause of triumph to their enemies. The\ncounsel and instruction they affect to give is so mixed with ostentatious\npedantry, that they destroy the very end they wish to promote: and,\ninstead of acquiring honorable approbation, cover themselves with merited\ndisgrace. Plato, the illustrious chief of the academic set of Athenian\nphilosophers was so totally free from this vice of inferior minds, that\nit was impossible to discover in him by ordinary and casual conversation,\nthat sublime imagination and almost divine intellect, which rendered him\nthe idol of his age, and the admiration of succeeding generations. On his\nreturn from Syracuse, to which place he had been invited by Dionysius\nthe younger, he visited Olympia, to be present at the performance of the\nOlympic games; and he was placed on the seat appropriated to foreigners\nof the highest distinction, but to whom he was not personally known. Some\nof them were so pleased with the ease, politeness, wisdom, and vivacity\nof his conversation, that they accompanied him to Athens, and, on their\narrival in that city, requested him to procure them an interview with\nPlato. But how pleasing and satisfactory was their surprise, when, on his\nreplying with a smile, \u201c_I am the person whom you wish to see_,\u201d they\ndiscovered that this affable and entertaining companion, with whom they\nhad travelled without discerning his excellency, was the most learned and\nprofound philosopher at that time existing in the world! The studious\nand retired life of this extraordinary character had not decreased his\nurbanity and politeness, nor deprived him of the exercise of those easy\nand seducing manners which so entirely engage the affection and win the\nheart. He wisely prevented seclusion from robbing him of that amenity and\nunassuming ease so necessary to the enjoyment of society. Like those two\neminent philosophers of the present day, the wise Mendelsohm, and the\namiable Garve, he derived from solitude all the benefits it is capable\nof conferring, without suffering any of those injuries which it too\nfrequently inflicts on less powerful minds.\n\nCulpable, however, as studious characters in general are, by neglecting\nto cultivate that social address, and to observe that civility of\nmanners, and urbane attention, which an intercourse not only with\nthe world, but even with private society, so indispensably requires,\ncertain it is, that men of fashion expect from them a more refined good\nbreeding, and a nicer attention to the forms of politeness, than all\ntheir endeavors can produce. The fashionable world, indeed, are blamable\nfor their constant attempts to deride the awkwardness of their more\nerudite and abstracted companions. The severity with which they treat the\ndefective manners of a scholastic visitor, is a violation of the first\nrules of true politeness, which consists entirely of a happy combination\nof good sense and good nature, both of which dictate a different conduct,\nand induce rather a friendly concealment than a triumphant exposure\nof such venial failings. The inexperienced scholastic is entitled to\nindulgence, for he cannot be expected nicely to practice customs which\nhe has had no opportunity to learn. To the eye of polished life, his\nausterity, his reserve, his mistakes, his indecorums, may, perhaps,\nappear ridiculous; but to expose him to derision on this subject is\ndestructive to the general interests of society, inasmuch as it tends to\nrepress and damp endeavors to please. How is it possible that men who\ndevote the greater portion of their time to the solitary and abstracted\npursuits of literature, can possess that promptitude of thought, that\nvariety of expression, those easy manners, and that varying humor, which\nprevail so agreeably in mixed society, and which can only be acquired\nby a constant intercourse with the world? It was not only cruel, but\nunjust, of the Swedish courtiers to divert themselves with the confusion\nand embarrassments into which Miebom and Naude, two celebrated writers\non the music and dances of the ancients were thrown, when the celebrated\nChristina desired the one to sing and the other to dance in public, for\nthe entertainment of the court. Still less excusable were those imps of\nfashion in France, who exposed the celebrated mathematician, Nicole,\nto the derision of a large company, for the misapplication of a word.\nA fashionable female at Paris, having heard that Nicole, who had then\nlately written a profound and highly approved treatise on the doctrine\nof curves, was greatly celebrated in all the circles of science, and\naffecting to be thought the patroness and intimate of all persons of\ndistinguished merit, sent him such an invitation to one of her parties\nthat he could not refuse to accept of. The abstracted geometrician, who\nhad never before been present at an assembly of the kind, received the\ncivilities of his fair hostess, and her illustrious friends, with all the\nawkwardness and confusion which such a scene must naturally create. After\npassing an uncomfortable evening, in answering the observations of those\nwho addressed him, in which he experienced much greater difficulties than\nhe would have found in solving the most intricate problem, he prepared\nto take his leave, and pouring out a profusion of declarations to the\nlady of the house, of the grateful sense he entertained of the high honor\nshe had conferred on him, by her generous invitation, distinguishing\nattention, polite regard, and extraordinary civility, rose to the climax\nof his compliments, by assuring her, that the _lovely little eyes of\nhis fair entertainer had made an impression which never could be erased\nfrom his breast_, and immediately departed. But a kind friend, who was\naccompanying him home, whispering in his ear, as they were passing the\nstairs, that he had paid the lady a very ill compliment, by telling\nher that her eyes were little, for that little eyes were universally\nunderstood by the whole sex to be a great defect. Nicole, mortified to\nan extreme by the mistake he had thus innocently made, and resolving\nto apologize to the lady whom he conceived he had offended, returned\nabruptly to the company, and entreated her with great humility, to pardon\nthe error into which his confusion had betrayed him of imputing any thing\nlike _littleness_ to so high, so elegant, so distinguished a character,\ndeclaring that he had never beheld _such fine large eyes, such fine large\nlips, such fine large hands, or so fine and large a person altogether_,\nin the whole course of his life!\n\nThe professional pursuits of students confine them, during the early\nperiods of life, to retirement and seclusion, and prevent them in\ngeneral, from attempting to mix in the society of the world until age, or\nprofessional habits, have rendered them unfit for this scene. Discouraged\nby the neglect they experience, and by the ridicule to which they are\nexposed, on their first introduction into active life, from persevering\nin their attempts to shake off the uncouth manner they have acquired,\nthey immediately shrink from the displeasing prospect into their original\nobscurity, in despair of ever attaining the talents necessary to render\nthem agreeable to the elegant and gay. There are, indeed, some men, who,\non attempting to change the calm and rational enjoyments of a retired and\nstudious life, for the more lively and loquacious pleasures of public\nsociety, perceive the manners and maxims of the world so repugnant to\ntheir principles, and so disagreeable to their taste and inclinations,\nthat they instantly abandon society, and, renouncing all future attempts\nto enter into its vortex, calmly and contentedly return to their beloved\nretreat under an idea that it is wrong for persons of such different\ndispositions to intermix or invade the provinces of each other. There\nare also many studious characters who avoid society, under an idea that\nthey have transferred their whole minds into their own compositions;\nthat they have exhausted all that they possessed of either instruction\nor entertainment; and that they would, like empty bottles, or squeezed\noranges, be thrown aside with disregard, and, perhaps, with contempt, as\npersons no longer capable of contributing to companionable pleasures.\nBut there are others of sounder sense and better judgment, who gladly\nrelinquish the noisy assemblies of public life, and joyfully retire to\nthe sweet and tranquil scenes of rural solitude, because they seldom meet\namong the candidates for public approbation, a single individual capable\nof enjoying a just thought, or making a rational reflection; but, on the\ncontrary, have to encounter a host of vain, frivolous pretenders to wit\nand learning, who herd together, like the anarchs of insurrection, to\noppose with noise and violence, the progress of truth and the exertions\nof reason.\n\nSentiments like these too frequently banish from the circles of society\ncharacters of useful knowledge and of distinguished genius, and from\nwhose endowments mankind might receive both instruction and delight.\nThe loss, in such a case, to the individual is, perhaps, trifling; his\ncomforts may possibly be increased by his seclusion; but the interests of\ntruth and good sense are thereby considerably injured: for the mind of\nman, however powerful and informed it may be in itself, cannot employ its\nenergies and acquisitions with the same advantage and effect, as when it\nis whetted by a collision with other minds, and polished by the manners\nof the world. An acquaintance with the living characters and manners of\nthe world, teaches the mind to direct its powers to their proper and\nmost useful points: exhibits the means and furnishes the instruments,\nby which the best exertions of virtue can attain her ends; gives morals\ntheir brightest color, taste its highest refinement, and truth its\nfairest objects. The wisest and best philosophers have acknowledged\nthe obligations they were under to society for the knowledge they\nacquired in its extensive, though dangerous school, and have strongly\nrecommended the study of mankind, by viewing all the various classes with\na discriminating eye, as the best means of becoming acquainted with the\nbeauties of _virtue_, and the deformities of _vice_, and, of course, as\nthe best means of discovering the true road to earthly happiness; for--\n\n    Virtue, immortal virtue! born to please,\n    The child of nature and the source of ease,\n    Bids every bliss on human life attend;\n    To every rank a kind and faithful friend;\n    Inspirits nature \u2019midst the scenes of toil,\n    Smooths languor\u2019s cheek, and bids fell want recoil:\n    Shines from the mitre with unsullied rays,\n    Glares on the crest, and gives the star to blaze;\n    Supports distinction, spreads ambition\u2019s wings,\n    Forms saints of queens, and demi-gods of kings;\n    O\u2019er grief, oppression, envy, scorn, prevails,\n    And makes a cottage greater than Versailles.\n\nA free, open, unconstrained intercourse with mankind, has also the\nadvantage of reconciling us to the peculiarities of others, and of\nteaching us the important lesson how to accommodate our minds and\nmanners to such principles, opinions, and dispositions, as may differ\nfrom our own. The learned and enlightened cannot maintain an intercourse\nwith the illiterate, without exercising an extraordinary degree of\npatience, conceding many points which appear unnatural, and forbearing\nto feel those little vexations so adherent to characters who have\nlived in retirement. The philosopher, in order to teach virtue to the\nworld with any hope of success, must humor its vices to a certain\ndegree, and sometimes even adopt the follies he intends to destroy. To\ninculcate wisdom, it is necessary to follow the examples of Socrates and\nWieland, and, separating from morals all that is harsh, repulsive, and\nanti-social, adopt only the kind and complacent tenets of the science. A\nGerman author of the present day, whom I glory to call both my countryman\nand my friend, observes, with the sagacity and discrimination of a\ncritic, in his \u201cRemarks on the Writings and Genius of Franklin,\u201d that\nthe compositions of that great and extraordinary character are totally\nfree from that pomp of style and parade of erudition, which so frequently\ndisfigure the writings of other authors, and defeat their intended\neffect. The pen of Franklin renders the most abstract principles easy\nand familiar. He conveys his instructions in pleasing narrations, lively\nadventures, or humorous observations; and while his manner wins upon\nthe heart, by the friendly interest he appears to take in the concerns\nof mankind, his matter instils into the mind the soundest principles\nof morals and good policy. He makes fancy the handmaid to reason in\nher researches into science, and penetrates the understanding through\nthe medium of the affections. A secret charm pervades every part of his\nworks. He rivets the attention by the strength of his observations, and\nrelieves it by the variety of pleasing images with which he embellishes\nhis subject. The perspicuity of his style, and the equally easy and\neloquent turn of his periods, give life and energy to his thoughts; and,\nwhile the reader feels his heart bounding with delight, he finds his mind\nimpregnated with instruction. These high advantages resulted entirely\nfrom his having studied the world, and gained an accurate knowledge\nof mankind. An author, indeed, may acquire an extraordinary fund of\nknowledge in solitude; but it is in society alone that he can learn how\nto render it useful. Before he can instruct the world, he must be enabled\nto view its fooleries and vices with calm inspection; to contemplate\nthem without anger, as the unavoidable consequences of human infirmity;\nto treat them with tenderness; and to avoid exasperating the feelings of\nthose whose depravity he is attempting to correct. A moral censor whose\ndisposition is kind and benevolent, never suffers his superior virtue,\nknowledge, or talents, however great they may be, to offend the feelings\nof others; but, like Socrates, he will appear as if he were receiving\nhimself the instruction he is imparting. It is a fine observation of the\ncelebrated Goethe, that kindness is the golden chain by which society\nis bound together: those who have had the happiness to converse with\nthat extraordinary man, must have perceived the anxiety with which he\nendeavors to temper the strength of his genius by the mildness and\namenity of his conversation.\n\nMen of letters, however awkward the habits of seclusion may have rendered\nthem, would, I am convinced, be, in general, if not always, treated with\ngreat politeness and attention, if they would be careful to treat others\nwith the common candor which humanity requires, and with that indulgence\nand affability which true liberality of sentiment will ever dictate; but\nhow few, alas! are there who, by complacency and condescension, entitle\nthemselves to the kindness and civility of which they stand so much in\nneed, and so arrogantly expect! How is it possible for those who are\nvigilantly anxious to depress the rising merit of others, ever to gain\ntheir friendship or esteem? Friendship can only be acquired by an open,\nsincere, liberal, and manly conduct; but he whose breast is filled with\nenvy and jealousy, who cautiously examines, before he speaks, every\nsentiment and feeling, lest his tongue should betray the meanness of his\nheart, and the poverty of his mind; who seizes every light indiscretion,\nor trifling error, that many inadvertently escape from his companions;\nwho silently repines at every excellency, both moral and intellectual,\nwhich they may discover; who, even when surrounded by those who wish him\nwell, continues with guarded circumspection, and suspicious caution,\nto weigh the motives of their actions and conversation, as if he were\nsurrounded by the bitterest enemies, must be utterly incapable of\nesteeming others, or being esteemed himself; and to suppose that the\ngenerous flame of friendship, that holy fire which, under the deepest\nadversity, so comfortably warms and cheers the heart, can ever spring\nup from such cold materials, and ashy embers, would be extravagant and\nridiculous.\n\nThe delight which the heart experiences in pouring forth the fulness\nof its feelings, with honest confidence, into the bosom of a faithful\nfriend, is permanent and unbounded. The pleasures which spring from\nthe acquisition of fame, whether resulting from the generous voice of\nan approving public, or extorted from the reluctant tongues of envious\nrivals and contemporaries, will bear no comparison with those which\nthrill through the exulting bosom of him who can justly exclaim, \u201cTo the\nheart of this unhappy man I have given returning hopes, and made him\nlook forward with confidence to the enjoyment of peace; to his wounded\nspirit I have imparted the balm of comfort and tranquillity; and from\nthe bleeding bosom of my friend have driven despair!\u201d But to perform\nsuch offices as these, it is indispensably necessary that we should have\nrecommended ourselves to the confidence, and have gained the affections\nof those we intend to serve. This great and necessary property, however,\nthose who live secluded lives very seldom possess: but, much as they may\nin general disdain to practise this high virtue, it is necessary that\nthey should know that it tends more to ennoble the sentiments of the\nmind, and to raise the feelings of the heart, than their most successful\nresearches to discover something before unheard of in the regions of\nscience, and which they pursue with as much avidity as if truth were\nliable to decay, unless sustained by the aid of novelty.\n\nIt is justly and beautifully said by one of the apocryphal writers, that\n_a faithful friend is the medicine of life_. A variety of occasions\nhappen, when to pour forth the heart to one whom we love and trust, is\nthe chief comfort, perhaps the only relief we can enjoy. Miserable is\nhe who, shut up within the narrow inclosure of selfish interest, has\nno person to whom he can at all times, with full confidence, expand\nhis soul. But he who can only feel an affection for such as listen\ncontinually to the suggestions of vanity, as applaud indiscriminately\nthe imaginary prodigies of his wit, or never contradict the egotism of\nhis opinions, is totally unfit for friendship, and utterly unworthy\nof respect. It is men of learning and of retired habits, who are most\nlikely to adopt this disengaging disposition. There are, I am sorry to\nsay it, many men, distinguished in the paths of science, who affect to\npossess the most refined sensibility, and whose tongues are continually\nproclaiming the virtues of benevolence, but who, when they are called\nupon to practise those virtues in behalf of some distressed companion,\nturn a deaf ear to the appeal, form some poor excuse for not interfering,\nand, if pressed to come forward with some promised assistance, deny to\nafford it, because the unhappy sufferer has neglected to approve of\nsome extravagant conjecture, or to adopt all the visionary notions and\nUtopian systems they may have framed. He who neglects to perform the\ncommon charities of life, because his idle vanity may have been offended\nby the neglect or indifference of his companions, will never find, and\ncannot become, a real friend. There is also an inferior order of fops\nin literature, (if any order can be inferior to that which I have last\ndescribed,) who carry with them, wherever they go, a collection of their\nlatest compositions, and by importunately reading them to every one they\nmeet, and expecting an unreserved approbation of their merits, render\nthemselves so unpleasantly troublesome on all occasions that, instead of\nconciliating the least regard or esteem, their very approach is dreaded\nas much as a pestilence or a famine. Every man of real genius will shun\nthis false ambition of gratifying vanity by forced applause; because he\nwill immediately perceive, that instead of gaining the hearts of his\nauditors, he only exposes himself to the ridicule, and loses all chance\nof their esteem.\n\nThe disadvantages, however, which studious characters have been described\nto experience from habits of solitary seclusion, and by neglecting the\nmanners of society, must not be indiscriminately applied. It is the\nmorose and surly pedant, who sits silently in his solitary study, and\nendeavors to enforce a character for genius in opposition to nature, who\nadopts the mean and unworthy arts of jealousy, suspicion, and dishonest\npraise. Far different the calm, happy, and honorable life of him who,\ndevoted to the cultivation of a strong understanding, and the improvement\nof a feeling heart, is enabled, by his application and genius, to\ndirect the taste of the age by his liberality of spirit, to look on his\nequals without jealousy, and his superiors with admiration; and, by his\nbenevolence, to feel for the multitude he instructs, indulgence and\naffection; who, relying on the real greatness of his temper, makes no\nattempt to increase his importance by low raillery or unfounded satire;\nwhose firm temper never sinks into supine indolence, or grovelling\nmelancholy; who only considers his profession as the means of meliorating\nmankind; who perseveres in the cause of truth with cheerful rectitude,\nand virtuous dignity; whose intellectual resources satisfactorily supply\nthe absence of society; whose capacious mind enables him to increase\nhis stores of useful knowledge; whose discriminating powers enable him\nto elucidate the subject he explores; who feels as great a delight in\npromoting the beneficial discoveries of others, as in executing his own;\nand who regards his professional contemporaries, not as jealous rivals,\nbut as generous friends, striving to emulate each other in the noble\npursuits of science, and in the laudable task of endeavoring to improve\nthe morals of mankind.\n\nCharacters of this description, equally venerable and happy, are numerous\nin Europe, both within and without the shades of academic bowers,\nand afford examples which, notwithstanding the tribe of errors and\nabsurdities solitude occasionally engenders, should induce men of worldly\npleasures to repress the antipathies they are in general inclined to feel\nagainst persons of studious and retired lives.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n_The influence of solitude on the imagination._\n\n\nThe powers of imagination are great; and the effects produced by them,\nunder certain circumstances, upon the minds of men of warm and sensible\ntempers, extraordinary and surprising. Multitudes have been induced by\nperturbed imaginations, to abandon the gay and cheerful haunts of men,\nand to seek, in dreary desolation, comfort and repose. To such extremes\nhas this faculty, when distorted, hurried its unhappy subjects, that they\nhave endured the severest mortification, denied themselves the common\nbenefits of nature, exposed themselves to the keenest edge of winter\u2019s\ncold, and the most scorching rays of summer\u2019s heat, and indulged their\ndistempered fancies in the wildest chimeras. These dreadful effects\nappear, on a first view, to be owing to some supernatural cause, and they\nagitate our senses, and confuse the understanding, as phenomena beyond\nthe comprehension of reason; but the wonder vanishes when the cause is\ncoolly and carefully explored; and the extravagances are traced up to\ntheir real source, and natural organization of man. The wild ideas of\nthe hermit Anthony, who, in his gloomy retreat, fancied that Beelzebub\nappeared to him in the form of a beautiful female to torture his\nsenses, and disturb his repose, originated in his natural character and\ndisposition. His distempered fancy conjured up a fiend, which, in fact,\nexisted in his unsubdued passions and incontinent desires.\n\n              \u2026 From the enchanting cup\n    Which fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst\n    Of youth oft swallows a Circ\u00e6an draught,\n    That sheds a baleful tincture o\u2019er the eye\n    Of reason, till no longer he discerns,\n    And only lives to err: then revel forth\n    A furious band, that spurn him from the throne,\n    And all is uproar. Hence the fevered heart\n    Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms.\n\nSolitude excites and strengthens the powers of the imagination to an\nuncommon degree, and thereby enfeebles the effect of the controlling\npowers of reason. The office of the latter faculty of the mind is, to\nexamine with nice discernment and scrupulous attention, to compare the\nseveral properties of thoughts and things with each other, and to\nacquire, by cool and deliberate investigation, correct ideas of their\ncombinations and effects. The exercise of their power suspends the\nvehemence of action, and abates the ardor of desire; but fancy performs\nher airy excursions upon light and vagrant wings, and flying around\nher objects without examination, embraces every pleasing image with\nincreasing delight. Judgment separates and associates the ideas the\nmind has gained by sensation and reflection, and by determining their\nagreement or disagreement, searches after truth through the medium of\nprobability; but the imagination employs itself in raising unsubstantial\nimages, and portraying the form of things unknown in nature, and foreign\nto truth. It has, indeed, like memory, the power of reviving in the mind\nthe ideas which, after having been imprinted there, have disappeared; but\nit differs from that faculty by altering, enlarging, diversifying, and\nfrequently distorting, the subjects of its power.\n\n    It bodies forth the form of things unknown,\n    And gives to airy nothings\n    A local habitation and a name.\n\nBut the irregular and wild desires which seize upon the mind through\nthe avenues of an untamed fancy and disordered imagination, are not\nexclusively the produce of solitude. The choice of wisdom or folly is\noffered to us in all places, and under every circumstance; but the\nmind of man is unhappily prone to that which is least worthy of it. I\nshall therefore endeavor to show, by some general observations, in what\ninstances solitude is most likely to create those flights of imagination\nwhich mislead the mind, and corrupt the heart.\n\nImagination is said to be the simple apprehension of corporeal objects\nwhen they are absent; which absence of the object it contemplates,\ndistinguishes this faculty from _sensation_, and has occasioned some\nmetaphysicians to call it _recorded sensation_. Upon the due regulation,\nand proper management, of this great and extraordinary power of the mind,\ndepends, in a great measure, the happiness or misery of life. It ought\nto consist of a happy combination of those ideas we receive through the\norgans of bodily sense, and those which we derive from the faculties\nof moral perception; but it too frequently consists of a capricious\nand ill-formed mixture of heterogeneous images, which though true in\nthemselves, are false in the way they are applied. Thus a person, the\ncirculation of whose blood in any particular member is suddenly stopped,\n_imagines_ that needles are pricking the disordered part. The sensation\nin this case is real, but the conclusion from it is fallacious. So in\nevery mental illusion, imagination, when she first begins to exercise\nher powers, seizes on some fact, of the real nature of which the mind\nhas but an obscure idea, and, for want of tracing it through all its\nconnexions and dependences, misleads reason into the darkest paths of\nerror. The wild conjectures, and extravagant opinions which have issued\nfrom this source are innumerable. The imagination receives every impulse\nwith eagerness, while the passions crowd around her splendid throne,\nobedient to her dictates. They act, indeed, reciprocally on each other.\nThe imagination pours a concourse of contrary ideas into the mind, and\neasily disregards, or reconciles their incongruities. The voice of the\ncalm inquirer, reason, is incapable of being heard amidst the tumult; and\nthe favorite image is animated and enlarged by the glowing fire of the\npassions. No power remains to control or regulate, much less to subdue,\nthis mental ray, which inflames the whole soul, and exalts it into the\nfervor of enthusiasm, hurries it into the extravagance of superstition:\nor precipitates it into the furious frenzies of fanaticism.\n\n    The powerful tumult reigns in every part,\n    Pants in the breast, and swells the rising heart.\n\nEnthusiasm is that ecstacy of the mind, that lively transport of the\nsoul, which is excited by the pursuit or contemplation of some great\nand noble object, the novelty of which awakens attention, the truth of\nwhich fixes the understanding, and the grandeur of which, by firing the\nfancy, engages the aid of every passion, and prompts the mind to the\nhighest undertakings. A just and rightly formed enthusiasm is founded in\nreason, and supported by nature, and carries the mind above its ordinary\nlevel, into the unexplored regions of art and science. The rational\nenthusiast, indeed, rises to an elevation so far above the distinct view\nof vulgar eyes, that common understandings are apt to treat him either\nwith blind admiration, or cool contempt, only because they are incapable\nof comprehending his real character; and while some bow to him as an\nextraordinary genius, others rail at him as an unhappy lunatic. The\npowers of enthusiasm, however, when founded upon proper principles, so\nstrengthen and invigorate the faculties of the mind, as to enable it\nto resist danger undismayed, and to surmount difficulties that appear\nirresistible. Those, indeed, who have possessed themselves of this power\nto any extraordinary degree, have been considered as _inspired_, and\ntheir great achievements conceived to have been directed by councils,\nand sustained by energies of a divine or super-mundane nature. Certain\nit is, that we owe to the spirit of enthusiasm whatever is great in art,\nsublime in science, or noble in the human character: and the elegant and\nphilosophic Lord Shaftsbury, while he ridicules the absurdities of this\nwonderfully powerful and extensive quality, admits that it is impossible\nto forbear ascribing to it whatever is greatly performed by heroes,\nstatesmen, poets, orators, and even philosophers themselves: and who\nthat is not contented to wallow in the mire of gross sensuality, would\nnot quit the noisy scenes of tumultuous dissipation, and repair with\njoy and gladness to solitary shades, to the bower of tranquillity, and\nthe fountain of peace, to majestic forests, and to verdant groves, to\nacquire this necessary ingredient to perfect excellence? Who would not\nwillingly pierce the pensive gloom, or dwell among the brighter glories\nof the golden age, to acquire by a warm and glowing, but correct and\nchaste contemplation of the beautiful and sublime works of nature, these\nravishing sensations, and gain this noble fervor of the imagination? A\nproper study of the works of nature amidst the romantic scenery of sylvan\nsolitude, is certainly the most likely means of inspiring the mind with\ntrue enthusiasm, and leading genius to her most exalted heights; but\nthe attempt is dangerous. There are few men in whose minds airy notions\ndo not sometimes tyrannize. \u201cTo indulge the power of fiction,\u201d says a\ncelebrated writer, \u201cand send imagination out upon the wing, is often the\nsport of those who delight too much in silent speculation. When we are\nalone, we are not always busy; the labor of excogitation is too violent\nto last long; the ardor of inquiry will sometimes give way to idleness\nor satiety. He who has nothing external that can divert him, must find\npleasure in his own thoughts, and must conceive himself what he is not;\nfor who is pleased with what he is? He then expatiates in boundless\nfuturity, and culls from all imaginable conditions that which for the\npresent moment he should most desire, amuses his desires with impossible\nenjoyments, and confers upon his pride unattainable dominion. The mind\ndances from scene to scene, unites all pleasures in all combinations,\nriots in delights which nature and fortune, with all their bounty, cannot\nbestow. In time some particular train of ideas fixes the attention; all\nother intellectual gratifications are rejected; the mind in weariness or\nleisure, recurs constantly to the favorite conception, and feasts on the\nluscious falsehood whenever she is offended with the bitterness of truth.\nBy degrees the reign of fancy is confirmed; she grows first imperious,\nand in time despotic: then fictions begin to operate as realities, false\nopinions fasten on the mind, and life passes in dreams of rapture or of\nanguish. This is one of the dangers of solitude.\u201d\n\nThese observations lead us to consider the character of the fanatical\nvisionary, who feels, like the happy enthusiast, the same agitation of\npassion, and the same inflammation of mind; but as the feelings of one\nare founded upon knowledge, truth, and nature, so the feelings of the\nother are the result of ignorance and error, and all the glittering\nmeteors of his brain the effects of imposture and deception. Of this\nspecies of enthusiasm Mr. Locke gives the following description: \u201cIn all\nages men in whom melancholy has mixed with devotion, or whose conceit\nof themselves has raised them into an opinion of a greater familiarity\nwith God, and a nearer admittance to his favors, than is afforded to\nothers, have often flattered themselves with a persuasion of an immediate\nintercourse with the Deity, and frequent communication with his divine\nspirit. Their minds being thus prepared, whatever groundless opinion\ncomes to settle itself strongly upon their fancies, is an illumination\nfrom the Spirit of God, and whatever odd action they find in themselves\na strong inclination to do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or\ndirection from heaven, and must be obeyed; it is a commission from above,\nand they cannot err in executing it. This species of enthusiasm, though\narising from the conceit of a warm and overweening brain, works, when it\nonce gets footing, more powerfully on the persuasions and actions of men\nthan either reason, revelation, or both together; men being forwardly\nobedient to all the impulses they receive from themselves.\u201d The fantastic\nimages, indeed, which the wildness of his imagination creates, subdues\nhis reason, and destroys the best affections of his heart, while his\npassions take the part of their furious assailants, and render him the\nvictim of his visionary conceptions. It is not, however, from sources of\nfanatical devotion, or irrational solitude, that this vicious species of\nenthusiasm alone arises. The follies of faquiers, the extravagance of\norgaists, the absurdities of hermits, and the mummery of monks, are not\nmore enthusiastically injurious to the true interests of mankind, or more\npregnant with all the calamitous effects of this baleful vice, than those\nunprincipled systems of politics and morals which have been of late years\nobtruded on the world, and in which good sense is sacrificed, and true\nscience disgraced.\n\nThe growth of fanaticism, whether moral, political, religious, or\nscientific, is not confined exclusively to any age or country; the seeds\nof it have been but too plentifully sown in all the regions of the earth;\nand it is almost equally baneful and injurious in whatever soil they\nspring. Every bold, turbulent, and intriguing spirit, who has sufficient\nartifice to inflame the passions of the inconstant multitude, the moment\nhe calls the demon of fanatacism to his aid, becomes troublesome, and\nfrequently dangerous, to the government under which he lives. Even the\naffectation of this powerful but pernicious quality, is able to produce\nfermentations, highly detrimental to the peace of society. In the very\nmetropolis of Great Britain, and among the enlightened inhabitants of\nthat kingdom, Lord George Gordon, in the present age, was enabled, by\nassuming the hypocritical appearance of piety, and standing forth as\na champion of a religious sect, to convulse the nation, and endanger\nits safety. In the twenty-first year of the reign of his Britannic\nMajesty, the present powerful and illustrious King George III. an act\nof parliament was passed to relieve the Roman Catholics residing in\nEngland from the penalties and disabilities which had been imposed on\nthem at the revolution. An extension of the same relief to the Catholics\nof Scotland was also said to be intended by parliament. The report\nspread an immediate alarm throughout the country; societies were formed\nfor the defence of the Protestant faith; committees appointed, books\ndispersed, and, in short, every method taken to inflame the zeal of the\npeople. These attempts being totally neglected by government, and but\nfeebly resisted by the more liberal minded in the country, produced all\ntheir effects. A furious spirit of bigotry and persecution soon showed\nitself, and broke out into the most outrageous acts of violence against\nthe Papists at Edinburgh, Glasgow, and elsewhere; but as government did\nnot think it advisable to repress this spirit by force, the just and\nbenevolent intentions of the legislature were laid aside. The successful\nresistance of the zealots in Scotland to any relaxation of the penal\nlaws against the Papists, seems to have given the first rise to the\nProtestant Association in England; for about the same time bills were\ndispersed, and advertisements inserted in the newspapers, inviting those\nwho wished well to the cause to unite under that title; and Lord George\nGordon, who had been active at the head of the malcontents in Scotland,\nwas chosen their President. The ferment was suffered to increase during\na course of several years. His lordship was a member of the senate, and\nhis extraordinary conduct in the house, and frequent interruption he gave\nto the business of parliament, as well as the unaccountable manner in\nwhich he continually brought in and treated matters relative to religion\nand the danger of popery, and the caprice with which he divided the house\nupon questions wherein he stood nearly or entirely alone, were passed\nover, along with other singularities in his dress and manners, rather as\nsubjects of pleasantry than of serious notice or reprehension. On Monday,\nthe 29th of May, 1780, a meeting was held at Coachmaker\u2019s Hall, pursuant\nto a public advertisement, in order to consider of the mode of presenting\na petition to the House of Commons. Lord George Gordon took the chair;\nand, after a long inflammatory harangue, in which he endeavoured to\npersuade his hearers of the rapid and alarming progress that popery was\nmaking in the kingdom, he proceeded to observe, that the only way to\nstop it, was going in a firm, manly, and resolute manner to the house\nand showing their representatives that they were determined to preserve\ntheir religious freedom with their lives; that, for his part, he would\nrun all hazards with the people; and if the people were too lukewarm to\nrun all hazards with him, when their conscience and their country called\nthem forth, they might get another president, for that he would tell them\ncandidly, he was not a lukewarm man himself; and that, if they meant to\nspend their time in mock debate, and idle opposition, they might get\nanother leader. This speech was received with the loudest applause, and\nhis lordship then moved the following resolution: \u201cThat the whole body\nof the Protestant Association do attend in St. George\u2019s Fields, on Friday\nnext, at ten o\u2019clock in the morning, to accompany their president to the\nHouse of Commons at the delivery of the Protestant petition;\u201d which was\ncarried unanimously. His Lordship then informed them, that if less than\ntwenty thousand of his fellow citizens attended him on that day, he would\nnot present their petition. Accordingly, on Friday, the 2d day of June,\n1780, at ten in the forenoon, several thousands assembled at the place\nappointed, marshalling themselves in ranks, and waiting for their leader,\nwho arrived about an hour afterward, and they all proceeded to the houses\nof parliament. Here they began to exercise the most arbitrary power over\nboth lords and commons, by obliging almost all the members to put blue\ncockades on their hats, and call out \u201cno popery!\u201d Some they compelled\nto take oaths to vote for the repeal of this obnoxious act; others they\ninsulted in the most indecent and insolent manner. They took possession\nof all the avenues up to the very door of both houses of parliament,\nwhich they twice attempted to force open, and committed many outrages on\nthe persons of the members. Nor were they dispersed, or the remaining\nmembers able to leave their seats, until a military force arrived. The\nhouses were adjourned to the 19th of June. But so dreadful a spectacle\nof calamity and horror was never known in any age or country, as that\nwhich the metropolis of England exhibited on the evening and the day\nwhich succeeded this seditious congregation. These astonishing effects\nproduced by the real or pretended fanaticism of a simple individual,\nsufficiently display the power of this dangerous quality, when artfully\nemployed to inflame the passions of the unthinking multitude. But it is\nworthy of observation, that while this incendiary sustained among his\nfollowers the character of a pious patriot, of a man without the smallest\nspot or blemish, of being, in short, the most virtuous guardian of the\nestablished religion of the country, he regularly indulged his holy\nfervors, and sanctified appearances, every evening, in the company of\ncommon prostitutes, or professed wantons.\n\nThe fire of fanaticism is, indeed, so subtilely powerful, that it is\ncapable of inflaming the coldest mind. The mildest and the most rational\ndispositions have been occasionally injured by its heat. The rapidity of\nits progress certainly depends, in a great degree, on the nature of the\nmaterials on which it acts; but, like every dangerous conflagration, its\nfirst appearances should be watched, and every means taken to extinguish\nits flames. The extinction is, perhaps, most happily and readily effected\nby those counteractions which the common occupations, and daily duties\nof life produce on the mind, when judiciously opposed to this flagrant\nevil. Of the advantages, at least, of this resource, a circumstance in\nthe history of the late Dr. Fothergill affords a remarkable example. This\ncelebrated physician possessed the greatest tranquillity of mind, and\nhad obtained so complete a dominion over his passions, that he declared\nto a friend, recently before his death, that he could not recollect a\nsingle instance, during the whole course of his life, in which they had\nbeen improperly disturbed. This temper, which perfectly suited to the\ncharacter of the religion he professed, the tenets of which he strictly\npractised, he maintained on all occasions; nor was there any thing in his\ngeneral conduct or manner that betrayed to his most familiar friends the\nleast propensity toward enthusiasm; and yet, distant as the suspicion\nmust be, under these circumstances, that he should ever be under the\ninfluence of superstition, it is well known, that while he was a student\nat Edinburgh, where he was distinguished for the mildness of his manners\nand the regularity of his conduct, he one day, in an eccentric sally\nof fanaticism ran, almost entirely naked through the streets of that\ncity, warning all its inhabitants of the impending wrath of heaven;\nand exhorting them in the most solemn manner, to avert the approaching\ndanger, by humbly imploring the mercy of the offended Deity; but this\nreligious paroxysm was of short duration. He was at this time in habits\nof intimacy with the great characters who then filled the professional\nchairs of the university, and ardently engaged in the pursuits of study;\nand the exercises which his daily tasks required, together with the\ncompany and conversation of these rational, well-informed, and thinking\nmen, preserved his reason, and soon restored him to the full and free\nenjoyment of those faculties, from which both science and humanity\nafterward derived so many benefits.\n\nThe conduct of St. Francis, commonly called the holy Francis of Assisi,\nwas in some degree similar; excepting that the madness of this fanatic\ncontinued throughout his life, while the delirium of Fothergill\nlasted but a day. This saint was born at Assisi, in the province of\nUmbria, in the year 1182. His real name of baptism was John; but, on\naccount of the facility with which he acquired the French language, so\nnecessary at that time in Italy, especially for the business for which\nhe was intended, he was called Francis. He is said to have been born\nwith the figure of a cross on his right shoulder, and to have dreamt\nthat he was designed by heaven to promote the interests of that holy\nsign. His disposition was naturally mild, his comprehension quick,\nhis feelings acute, his manners easy, his imagination vivid, and his\npassions inordinately warm. A careless and unrestrained indulgence of the\npropensities of youth had led him into a variety of vicious habits and\nlibertine extravagances, until the solitude to which a fit of sickness\nconfined him, brought him to a recollection, and forced him to reflect\nupon the dangerous tendency of his past misconduct. His mind started with\nhorror at the dreadful scene his retrospection presented to his view;\nand he resolved to quit the company of his former associates, to reform\nthe profligacy of his life, to restore his character, and to save, by\npenitence and prayer, his guilty soul. These serious reflections wrought\nso powerfully on his dejected mind, that he fell into an extravagant\nkind of devotion, more resembling madness than religion. Fixing on a\npassage in St. Matthew, in which our Saviour desires his apostles to\n_provide neither gold nor silver, nor brass in their purses; nor scrip\nfor their journey; neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves_,\nhe was led to consider a voluntary and absolute poverty as the essence\nof the gospel, and to prescribe this poverty as a sacred rule, both to\nhimself and to the few who followed him. He accordingly wandered through\nthe streets of Assisi, in garments that scarcely concealed his nakedness,\nin order, as he said, to inure himself to the taunts and ridicule of\nhis former companions, whom he now called the children of sin, and\nfollowers of satan. The father of the young saint, supposing, from these\nextravagances, that the sickness under which he had so long labored had\ndisordered his intellects, prepared to provide him with some proper\nplace of confinement, until time or medical regimen should restore him\nto his right senses; but the saint, having been informed of his father\u2019s\nfriendly intention, declined his parental care, and quitting his house,\nsought a sanctuary in the palace of the bishop of Assisi. The diocesan\nimmediately sent to the father of the fugitive, and, after hearing him\nupon the subject of his right to provide for the safety of his son, he\nturned calmly to the son and desired him to reply. The son immediately\ntore off the tattered garments which he then wore, and casting them with\nscorn and indignation at the feet of his astonished parent exclaimed,\n\u201c_there, take back all your property. You were, indeed, my earthly\nfather; but henceforth I disclaim you; for I own no father but him who\nis in heaven._\u201d The bishop, either really or affectedly delighted with\nthis unnatural rant of the young enthusiast, threw his own mantle over\nthe saint, and exhorted him to persevere in his holy resolution, and\nto cherish with increasing ardor, the divine inspiration of his pious\nmind. The frantic youth, animated by the warm approbation of the bishop\nproceeded in his religious course, and abandoning the city, retired\ninto the deepest gloom of an adjacent forest, to indulge the fervors of\nthat false enthusiasm which had overpowered his brain. In this retreat\na second vision confirmed him in his holy office; and being encouraged\nby pope Innocent III, and Honorius, he established, in the year 1209,\nthe Order of Saint Francis. If this ridiculous enthusiast had corrected\nthe extravagances of his overheated imagination, by a cool and temperate\nexercise of his reason, by studying, like the celebrated physician we\nhave just mentioned, some liberal science, he might, with the talents he\npossessed, have become a really useful member of society. But these wild\nshoots, if suffered to grow to any height, cannot afterward be easily\neradicated: and even Fothergill, if he had lived like Francis, in an age\nof superstitious delusion, and had been encouraged to believe the truth\nof his fanatic conceptions, his temporary frenzy might have continued\nthrough life; and his character, instead of being revered as a promoter\nof an useful science, have been held up by an ignorant multitude to the\ncontempt and ridicule of posterity.\n\nThe vacancy of solitude, by leaving the mind to its own ideas, encourages\nto a great excess these wild and eccentric sallies of the imagination.\nHe who has an opportunity to indulge, without interruption or restraint\nthe delightful musings of an excursive fancy, will soon lose all relish\nfor every other pleasure, and neglect every employment which tends to\ninterrupt the gratification of such an enchanting though dangerous\npropensity. During the quietude of a sequestered life, imagination\nusurps the throne of reason, and all the feeble faculties of the mind\nobey her dictates, until her voice becomes despotic. If the high powers\nbe exercised on the agreeable appearances of nature, and the various\nentertainments, poetry, painting, music, or any of the elegant arts, are\ncapable of affording,\n\n            \u2026 Then the inexpressive strain\n    Diffuses its enchantment; fancy dreams\n    Of sacred fountains, and elysian groves,\n    And vales of bliss; the intellectual Power\n    Bends from his awful throne a wandering ear,\n    And smiles; the passions, gently smoothed away,\n    Sink to divine repose, and love and joy\n    Alone are waking.\n\nBut if the mind, as in the solitude of monastic seclusion, fixes its\nattention on ascetic subjects, and fires the fancy with unnatural\nlegends, the soul, instead of sinking to divine repose, feels a morbid\nmelancholy and discontented torpor, which extinguishes all rational\nreflection, and engenders the most fantastic visions.\n\nMen even of strong natural understandings, highly improved by education,\nhave, in some instances, not been able to resist the fatal effects of\nintense application, and long continued solitude. The learned Molanus,\nhaving, during a course of many years, detached his mind from all objects\nof sense, neglected all seasonable and salutary devotion, and giving\nan uncontrolled license to his imagination fancied, in the latter part\nof his life, that he was a _barley corn_; and although he received his\nfriends with great courtesy and politeness, and conversed upon subjects\nboth of science and devotion with great ease and ingenuity, he could\nnever afterward be persuaded to stir from home, lest, as he expressed his\napprehension, he should be picked up in the street, and swallowed by a\nfowl.\n\nThe female mind is still more subject to these delusions of disordered\nfancy; for, as their feelings are more exquisite, their passions warmer,\nand their imaginations more active than those of the other sex, solitude,\nwhen carried to excess, affects them in a much greater degree. Their\nbosoms are much more susceptible to the injurious influence of seclusion,\nto the contagion of example, and to the dangers of illusion. This may,\nperhaps, in some degree, account for the similarity of disposition which\nprevails in cloisters, and other institutions which confine women\nentirely to the company of each other. The force of example and habit is,\nindeed, in such retreats, surprisingly powerful. A French medical writer,\nof great merit, and undoubted veracity, relates, that in a convent of\nnuns, where the sisterhood was unusually numerous, one of those secluded\nfair ones was seized with a strange impulse to mew like a cat; that\nseveral others of the nuns in a short time followed her example; and\nthat at length this unaccountable propensity became general throughout\nthe convent; the whole sisterhood joined, at stated periods, in the\npractice of mewing, and continued it for several hours. But of all the\nextraordinary fancies recorded of the sex, none can exceed that which\nCardan relates to have happened in one of the convents of Germany, during\nthe fifteenth century. One of the nuns, who had long been secluded from\nthe sight of man, was seized with the strange propensity to bite all her\ncompanions; and extraordinary as it may seem, this disposition spread\nuntil the whole house was infected with the same fury. The account,\nindeed, states, that this mania extended even beyond the walls of the\nconvent, and that the disease was conveyed to such a degree from cloister\nto cloister, throughout Germany, Holland, and Italy, that the practice at\nlength prevailed in every female convent in Europe.\n\nThe instances of the pernicious influence of a total dereliction of\nsociety, may possibly appear to the understandings of the present\ngeneration extravagant and incredible; but they are certainly true; and\nmany others of a similar nature might be adduced from the most authentic\nhistories of the times. The species, when prevented from enjoying a free\nintercourse and rational society with each other, almost change their\nnature; and the mind, feeding continually on the melancholy musings\nof the imagination, in the cold and cheerless regions of solitude,\nengenders humors of the most eccentric cast. Excluded from those social\ncommunications which nature enjoins, with the means of gratifying the\nunderstanding, amusing the senses, or interesting the affections, fancy\nroves at large into unknown spheres, and endeavors to find in ideal forms\nentertainment and delight. Angelic visions, infernal phantoms, amazing\nprodigies, the delusions of alchemy, the frenzies of philosophy, and the\nmadness of metaphysics, fill the disordered brain. The intellect fastens\nupon some absurd idea, and fosters it with the fondest affection,\nuntil its increasing magnitude subdues the remaining powers of sense\nand reason. The slightest retrospect into the conduct of the solitary\nprofessors of every religious system, proves the lamentable dangers to\nwhich they expose their mental faculties, by excluding themselves from\nthe intercourse of rational society. From the prolific womb of solitude\nsprung all the mysterious ravings and senseless doctrines of the New\nPlatonists. The same cause devoted the monks and anchorites of the\nChristian church to folly and fanaticism. Fakirs, Bramins, and every\nother tribe of religious enthusiasts, originated from the same source.\nBy abandoning the pleasures of society, and renouncing the feelings\nof nature, they sacrificed reason upon the altar of superstition, and\nsupplied its place with ecstatic fancies, and melancholy musings. There\nis nothing more evident, than that our holy religion, in its original\nconstitution, was set so far apart from all refined speculations, that it\nseemed in a manner diametrically opposite to them. The great founder of\nChristianity gave one simple rule of life to all men; but his disciples,\nanxious to indulge the natural vanity of the human mind, and misled, in\nsome degree, by the false philosophy which at that period overspread the\nheathen world, introduced various doctrines of salvation, and new schemes\nof faith. Bigotry, a species of superstition never known before, took\nplace in men\u2019s affections, and armed them with new jealousies against\neach other: barbarous terms and idioms were every day invented; monstrous\ndefinitions imposed, and hostilities, the fiercest imaginable, exercised\non each other by the contending parties. Fanaticism, with all the\ntrain of visions, prophecies, dreams, charms, miracles, and exorcises,\nsucceeded; and spiritual feats, of the most absurd and ridiculous nature,\nwere performed in monasteries, or up and down, by their mendicant or\nitinerant priests and ghostly missionaries. Solitude impressed the\nprinciples upon which these extravagances were founded, with uncommon\nforce on the imagination; and the mind, working itself into holy fervors\nand inspirations, give birth to new extravagances. The causes which\noperated on the minds of men to produce such ridiculous effects, acted\nwith double force on the ardent temper, warm imagination, and excessive\nsensibility of the female world. That which was mere fantasy with the\none sex, became frenzy with the other. Women, indeed, are, according\nto the opinion of Plato, the nurses of fanaticism; and their favorite\ntheme is that which has been dignified by the appellation of _a sublime\npassion for poetry_: an ardent, refined love of heaven; but which, in\nfact, is only the natural effects of the heart, swollen intumescently\nby an unreined, prolific, and too ardent imagination. Instances of this\nkind are discoverable in all the accounts that have been published of the\nholy fervors of these penitents, particularly in those of Catherine of\nSienna, of Joan of Cambray, of Angelina of Foligny, of Matilda of Saxony,\nof Maria of the Incarnation, of Mary Magdalen of Pazzio, of Gertrude of\nSaxony, and many others. The celebrated Armelle, who was born in the year\n1606, at Campenac, in the diocese of St. Malo, and who died at Vannes in\nthe year 1671, possessed great personal beauty, a quick and lively mind,\nand an uncommon tenderness of heart. Her parents, who were honest and\nindustrious villagers, placed her as a menial servant in the house of\na neighboring gentleman, with whom she lived for five and thirty years\nin the practice of the most exemplary piety and extraordinary virtue,\nat least, according to the accounts which he gave from time to time of\nher conduct. During the time she resided with this gentleman, his groom,\nfinding the kitchen door fastened, had the curiosity to peep through the\nkey-hole, where he discovered the pious maid, in a paroxysm of divine\necstacy, performing the humble office of spitting a capon. The agitation\nof this holy spirit so affected the mind of the astonished youth, that,\nit is said by the Ursuline sister who has written the life of this great\nluminary of French sanctity, under the title of _The school for the love\nof God_, he became immediately enamored with the beauties of religion,\nand renouncing the pomps and vanities of the world, entered into a\nmonastery, at the same time that his holy companion thought proper to\nwithdraw from future observation into the convent of Vannes, where she\ndevoted the remainder of her life, and died, as it is reported, in an\nexcess of divine love. The youthful days of Armelle had been passed in\nalmost total solitude; for her occupation at the house in which she was\nplaced by her parents, was confined entirely to the kitchen, and she\nhad scarcely any other intercourse than with its furniture. It appears,\nhowever, from the history of her life, that she was from her childhood\nexcessively fond of reciting an _ave_ or _paternoster_; and while\noccupied in tending the flocks, her original employment, amused herself\nin telling her rosary; \u201cby which means,\u201d says the Ursuline sister, \u201cshe\nmade, even in her pastoral state of simplicity and ignorance, such great\nadvances in divine love that, the first moment she was allowed to pay her\nadoration to the crucifix the fervency of her pious passion burst forth\nwith such ecstacy, that she eagerly snatched the holy object to her arms,\nand embraced it with a transport so warmly affectionate, that streams of\ntenderness rushed from her eyes.\u201d\n\nIt is truly said by a celebrated English writer, to be \u201cof the utmost\nimportance to guard against extremes of every kind in religion. We must\nbeware lest by seeking to avoid one rock we split upon another. It has\nbeen long the subject of remark, that superstition and enthusiasm are two\ncapital sources of delusion: superstition, on the one hand, attaching\nmen with immoderate zeal to the ritual and external points of religion;\nand enthusiasm, on the other, directing their whole attention to\ninternal emotions and mystical communications with the spiritual world;\nwhile neither the one nor the other had paid sufficient regard to the\ngreat moral duties of the Christian life. But running with intemperate\neagerness from these two great abuses of religion, men have neglected\nto observe that there are extremes opposite to each of them, into which\nthey are in hazard of precipitating themselves. Thus the horror of\nsuperstition has sometimes reached so far as to produce contempt for all\nexternal institutions; as if it were possible for religion to subsist in\nthe world without forms of worship, or public acknowledgment of God. It\nhas also happened, that some, who, in the main are well affected to the\ncause of goodness, observing that persons of a devout turn have at times\nbeen carried away by warm affections into unjustifiable excesses, have\nthence hastily concluded that all devotion was akin to enthusiasm; and\nseparating religion totally from the heart and affections, have reduced\nit to a frigid observance of what they call the rules of virtue.\u201d These\nextremes are to be carefully avoided. True devotion is rational and well\nfounded; and consists in the lively exercise of that affection which we\nowe to the Supreme Being, comprehending several emotions of the heart,\nwhich all terminate in the same great object.\n\nThese are among the evils which an irrational solitude is capable of\nproducing upon an unrestrained and misdirected imagination; but I do\nnot mean to contend indiscriminately, that solitude is generally to be\nconsidered as dangerous to the free indulgence of this delightful faculty\nof the mind. Solitude, well chosen, and rationally pursued, is so far\nfrom being either the open enemy, or the treacherous friend of a firm\nand fine imagination, that it ripens its earliest shoots, strengthens\ntheir growth, and contributes to the production of its richest and most\nvaluable fruits. To him who has acquired the happy art of enjoying in\nsolitude the charms of nature, and of indulging the powers of fancy\nwithout impairing the faculty of reason\n\n          \u2026 Whate\u2019er adorns\n    The princely dome, the column, and the arch,\n    The breathing marble, and the sculptured gold,\n    Beyond the proud possessor\u2019s narrow claim,\n    His happy breast enjoys. For him the spring\n    Distils her dews, and from the silken gem\n    Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him the hand\n    Of autumn tinges every fertile branch\n    With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.\n    Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;\n    And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,\n    And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze\n    Flies o\u2019er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes\n    The setting sun\u2019s effulgence; not a strain\n    From all the tenants of the warbling shade\n    Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake\n    Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partake\n    Fresh pleasure only: for the attentive mind,\n    By this harmonious action on her powers,\n    Becomes herself harmonious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n_The effects of solitude on a melancholy mind._\n\n\nA disposition to enjoy the silence of sequestered solitude, and a glowing\ndistaste of the noisy tumults of public life, are the earliest and most\ngeneral symptoms of approaching melancholy. The heart, on which felicity\nwas used to sit enthroned, becomes senseless to the touch of pleasure;\nthe airy wing of high delight sinks prostrate to the earth on broken\npinions: and care and anxiety, chagrin, and regret, load the mind with\ndistempering ideas, and render it cheerless and forlorn. The dawning sun,\nand heaven lighted day, give no pleasure to the sickened senses of the\nunhappy sufferer. His only pleasure is to \u201ccommune with his own griefs;\u201d\nand for this purpose he seeks some gloomy glen,\n\n    \u201cWhere bitter boding melancholy reigns\n    O\u2019er heavy sighs and care disordered thoughts.\u201d\n\nBut a mind thus disposed, however it may for a time console its sorrows,\nby retiring from the world, thereby becomes more weak and helpless.\nSolitude in such cases, increases the disorder, while it softens its\neffects. To eradicate the seeds of this dreadful malady, the imagination\nshould be impressed with some new, contrary, and more powerful bias than\nthat which sways the mind, which can only be turned from its course of\nthought by shifting the object of its reflection, and giving entrance to\nnew desires. A melancholy mind therefore, should be weaned by degrees\nfrom its disposition to solitude, should be agreeably interrupted in its\nmusings, and be induced to relish the varying pleasures of the world.\nBut, above all, those scenes and subjects which have any connexion,\nhowever remotely, with the cause of the complaint, must be cautiously\navoided. The seeds of this dreadful malady are, in general, very deeply\nplanted in the constitution of the patient, however accidental the\ncircumstances may be when relieved from its oppression, is, if left\nto itself, always in danger of relapsing into its former habit. This\ncircumstance alone is sufficient to show how unfriendly solitude must be\nto the cure of this complaint. If, indeed, the patient be so far gone\nas to leave no hope of recovery; if his desponding heart be incapable\nof any new impression; if his mind forgoes all custom of mirth; if he\nrefuse to partake of any healthful exercise or agreeable recreation:\nand the soul sinks day after day into deeper dejection, and threatens\nnature with madness or with death, solitude is the only resource. When\nmelancholy seizes, to a certain degree, the mind of an Englishman, it\nalmost uniformly leads him to put a period to his existence; while\nthe worst effect it produces on a Frenchman, is to induce him to turn\nCarthusian. Such dissimilar effects, proceeding from the operation of\nthe same cause, in different persons, can only be accounted for from the\ngreater opportunities which there is in France than in England to hide\nthe sorrows of the mind from the inspection of the world. An English\nhypochondriac would, perhaps, seldom destroy himself, if there were in\nEngland any monastic institution to which he could fly from the eye of\npublic observation.\n\nThe mind, in proportion as it loses its proper tone, and natural\nelasticity, decreases in its attachments to society, and wishes to recede\nfrom the world and its concerns. There is no disorder of the mind, among\nall the various causes by which it may be affected, that destroys its\nforce and activity so entirely as melancholy. It unties, as it were,\nall the relations, both physical and moral, of which society, in its\nmost perfect state, consists, and sets the soul free from all sense of\nobligation. The private link which unites the species is destroyed;\nall inclination to the common intercourse of life is lost; and the\nonly remaining disposition is for solitude. It is for this reason that\nmelancholy persons are continually advised to frequent the theatres,\nmasquerades, operas, balls, and other places of public diversion; to\namuse themselves at home with cards, dice, or other games; or to infuse\nfrom the eyes of female beauty new life into their drooping souls.\nCertain it is, that great advantages may be derived by detaching the\nmind from those objects by which it is tortured and consumed; but to run\nindiscriminately, and with injudicious eagerness, into the pursuit of\npleasures, without any predisposition to enjoy them, may rather tend to\naugment than diminish the disease.\n\nThe eye of melancholy views every object on its darkest and most\nunfavorable side, and apprehends disastrous consequences from every\noccurrence. These gloomy perceptions, which increase as the feelings\nbecome more indolent, and the constitution more morbid, bring on habitual\nuneasiness and chagrin upon the mind, and render every injury, however\nsmall and trifling it may be, irksome and insupportable. A settled\ndejection ensues; and the miserable patient avoids every scene in which\nhis musings may be liable to interruption; the few enjoyments he is yet\ncapable of feeling in any degree impeded; or which may call upon him to\nmake the slightest exertion; and by withdrawing himself from society\ninto solitude, neglects the exercises and recreations by which his\ndisease might be relieved. Instead of endeavoring to enlighten the dark\ngloom which involves his mind, and subdues his soul, by regarding with\na favorable eye all that gives a true value and high relish to men of\nsound minds and lively dispositions, he fondly follows the phantom which\nmisleads him, and thereby sinks himself more deeply into the moody fanes\nof irremediable melancholy: and if the bright rays of life and happiness\npenetrate by chance into the obscurity of his retreat instead of feeling\nany satisfaction from the perception of cheerfulness and content, he\nquarrels with the possessor of them, and converts their enjoyments into\nsubjects of grievance, in order to torment himself.\n\nUnfavorable, however, as a dreary and disconsolate solitude certainly\nis to the recovery of a mind labouring under this grievous affliction,\nit is far preferable to the society of licentious companions, and to\nwild scenes of inebriating dissipation. Worldly pleasures, and sensual\ngratifications of every description, when intemperately pursued, only\ndrive a melancholy mind into a more abject state of dejection. It is from\nrational recreation, and temperate pleasures alone, that an afflicted\nmind can receive amusement and delight. The only scenes by which the\nmudded current of his mind can be cleared, or his stagnated system of\npleasure refreshed, must be calm, cheerful, and temperate, not gay.\nMelancholy is of a sedate and pensive character, and flies from whatever\nis hurrying and tumultuous. How frequently do men of contemplative\ndispositions conceive a distaste for the world, only because they have\nunthinkingly engaged so ardently in the pursuits of pleasure, or of\nbusiness, that they have been prevented for a length of time, from\ncollecting their scattered ideas, and indulging their natural habits of\nreflection! But in striving to reclaim a melancholy mind, it is necessary\nto attend to the feelings of the heart, as well as the peculiar temper\nof the mind. A gloomy, disturbed, unquiet mind, is highly irritated, and\nits disease of course increased, by the company and conversation of those\nwhose senseless bosoms are incapable of feeling the griefs it endures,\nor the complaints it utters. This, indeed, is another cause which drives\nmelancholy persons from society into solitude; for how few are there\nwhose tenderness leads them to sympathize with a brother in distress,\nor to contribute a kind aid to eradicate the thorns which rankle in\nhis heart! Robust characters, in whose bosoms nature has planted the\nimpenetrable shield of unvarying health, as well as those whose minds are\nengrossed by the charms of uninterrupted prosperity, can form no idea\nof the secret but severe agonies which shake the system of valetudinary\nmen: nor feel any compassion for the tortures which accompany a\nwounded and afflicted spirit, until the convulsive frame proclaims the\ndreadful malady, or increasing melancholy sacrifices its victim on the\naltar of self-destruction. The gay associates of the unfeeling world\nview a companion suffering under the worst of nature\u2019s evils, with\ncold indifference, or affected concern; or, in the career of pleasure,\noverlook the miseries he feels until they hear that exhausted wo has\ninduced him to brave the anger of the Almighty, and to rush from mortal\nmisery, uncalled, into the awful presence of his Creator. Dreadful state!\nThe secrecy and silence, indeed, with which persons of this description\nconceal the pangs that torture their minds, is among the most dangerous\nsymptoms of the disease. It is not, indeed, easy to hide from the anxious\nand attentive eye of real friendship the feelings of the heart; but to\nthe careless and indifferent multitude of common acquaintances, the\ncountenance may wear the appearance not only of composure, but even of\ngayety, while the soul is inwardly suffering the keenest anguish of\nunutterable wo. The celebrated Carlini, a French actor of great merit,\nand in high reputation with the public, for the life, whim, frolic,\nand vivacity with which he nightly entertained the Parisian audiences,\napplied to a physician to whom he was not personally known, for advice,\nand represented to him that he was subject to attacks of the deepest\nmelancholy. The physician advised him to amuse his mind by scenes of\npleasure, and particularly directed him to frequent the Italian Comedy;\n\u201cfor,\u201d continued he, \u201cyour distemper must be rooted, indeed, if the\nacting of the lively Carlini does not remove it.\u201d \u201cAlas!\u201d exclaimed the\nunhappy patient, \u201cI am the very Carlini whom you recommend me to see; and\nwhile I am capable of filling Paris with mirth and laughter, I am myself\nthe dejected victim of melancholy and chagrin.\u201d\n\nPainful as it may be to a person who is laboring under the oppression of\nmelancholy, to associate with those who are incapable of sympathizing\nwith his feelings, or who neglect to compassionate his sufferings, yet\nhe should not fly from the presence of men into solitude; for solitude\nwill unavoidably aggravate and augment his distress inasmuch as it tends\nto encourage that musing and soliloquy to which melancholy is invariably\nprone. It is the most dangerous resource to which he can fly; for, while\nit seems to promise the fairest hope of relief, it betrays the confidence\nreposed in it; and instead of shielding its votary from that conflict\nwhich disturbs his repose, it renders him defenceless, and delivers him\nunarmed to his bitterest enemy.\n\nThe boldest spirits and firmest nerves cannot withstand the inroads of\nmelancholy merely by their own strength. It damps the courage of the\nmost enterprising mind, and makes him who was before upon all occasions,\nfearless and unawed, shrink even from the presence of his fellow\ncreatures. Company of every description becomes displeasing to him; he\ndreads the idea of visiting; and if he is induced to quit the domestic\nsolitude into which he retires, it is only when the glorious, but to him\noffensive, light of heaven is concealed in congenial darkness; and the\nshades of night hide him from the observation of man. An invitation to\nsocial entertainment alarms his mind; the visit even of a friend becomes\npainful to his feelings; and he detests every thing which lightens the\ngloom in which he wishes to live, or which tends to disturb his privacy,\nor remove him from his retreat.\n\nRousseau, toward the latter part of his life, abandoned all intercourse\nwith society under a notion, which was the effect of his melancholy\ndisposition, that the world had conceived an unconquerable antipathy\nagainst him; and that his former friends, particularly Hume, and some\nphilosophers in France, not only had entered into confederacy to\ndestroy his glory and repose, but to take away his life. On departing\nfrom England, he passed through Amiens, where he met with Gresset,\nwho interrogated him about his misfortunes, and the controversies in\nwhich he had been engaged; but Rousseau only answered, \u201cYou have got\nthe art of making a parrot speak, but you are not yet possessed of the\nsecret of giving language to a bear:\u201d and when the magistrates of the\ncity wished to confer on him some marks of their esteem, he refused\nall their offers, and considered these flattering civilities like the\ninsults which were lavished in the same form on the celebrated Sancho\nin the island of Barataria. To such extent, indeed, did his disordered\nimagination carry him, that he thought one part of the people looked upon\nhim like Lazarillo de Tormes, who being fixed to the bottom of a tub,\nwith only his head out of water, was carried from one town to another to\namuse the vulgar. His bad health, a strong and melancholy imagination,\na too nice sensibility, a jealous disposition, joined with philosophic\nvanity, and his uncommon devotion to solitude, tended to prepossess\nhim with those wrong and whimsical ideas. But it must be confessed that\nthe opposition he met with from different ranks of persons, at several\nperiods of his life, was extremely severe. He was driven at one time\nfrom France, in which he had before been distinguished by his writings,\nand highly honored. At another time he was chased from Geneva, the\nplace of his nativity, and of his warmest affection. He was exiled from\nBerne with disgrace; expelled, with some appearance of injustice, from\nNeufchatel; and even banished from his tranquil solitude on the borders\nof the lake of Bienne. His disposition therefore to avoid society, must\nnot be entirely attributed to his melancholy disposition; nor his love\nof solitude to a misanthropic mind. Every acute and scientific observer\nof the life and character of this extraordinary man will immediately\nperceive that the seeds of that melancholy disposition, and fretful\ntemper, which through life destroyed his repose, were sown by nature in\nhis constitution. He confesses indeed, to use his own words, that \u201ca\nproud misanthropy, and peculiar contempt for the riches and pleasures of\nthe world, constituted the chief traits of his character.\u201d This proud\nspirit and contemptuous mind were mixed with an extreme sensibility of\nheart, and an excessive indolence of disposition; and his body, which\nwas naturally feeble, suffered, from ill health, the keenest agonies,\nand most excruciating disorders, to which the human frame is incident.\nPersecution also had levelled the most pointed and severely barbed shafts\nagainst him; and he was forced to endure, amidst the pangs of poverty,\nand the sorrows of sickness, all that envy, hatred, and malice, could\ninflict. It has been said, that the persecutions he experienced were not\nso much excited by the new dogmas, or eccentric paradoxes, which, both\non politics and religion, pervade all his writings, as by the refinement\nof his extraordinary talents, the wonderful splendor of his eloquence,\nand the increasing extent of his fame. His adversaries certainly pursued\nhim, not only with bigotry and intolerance, but with an inconsistency\nwhich revealed, in a great degree, the secret motives by which they were\nactuated; for they condemned, with the sharpest virulence, the freedom\nof his religious tenets, even in places where the religious creed of\nVoltaire was held in the highest admiration, and where atheism had\ncollected the most learned advocates, and displayed the very standard\nof infidelity and disbelief. Harassed by the frowns of fortune, and\npursued with unrelenting enmity by men whose sympathy and kindness he\nhad anxiously endeavored to obtain, it is scarcely surprising that the\ncheerfulness of his disposition, and the kindness of his heart, should be\nsubdued by those sentiments of aversion and antipathy which he fancied\nmost of his intimates entertained against him: and the invectives\nfrom the pen of his former friend and confidant, Voltaire, together\nwith many others that might be adduced, particularly the letter which\nwas fabricated in the name of the king of Prussia, for the purpose of\nexposing him to ridicule, prove that his suspicions on the subject were\nnot unfounded. The voice, indeed of mankind, seems ready to exclaim that\nthis eccentric philosopher was not only a misanthrope, but a madman;\nbut those who are charitably disposed, will recollect that he was a\nmartyr to ill health; that nature had bestowed upon him a discontented\nmind; that his nerves were in a continued state of irritation; and that\nto preserve equanimity of temper when goaded by the shafts of calumny\nand malice, requires such an extraordinary degree of fortitude and\npassive courage as few individuals are found to possess. His faults are\nremembered, while the wonderful bloom and uncommon vigor of his genius,\nare forgotten or concealed. The production from which his merits are in\ngeneral estimated, is that which is called \u201cThe Confessions:\u201d a work\nwritten under the pressure of calamity, in sickness and in sorrow; amidst\nfears, distresses, and sufferings; when the infirmities which accompany\nold age, and the debility which attends continued ill health, had injured\nthe tone of his mind, overpowered his reason, and perverted his feelings\nto such a degree, as to create an almost total transformation of the\ncharacter of the man, and deprive him of his identity: but this degrading\nwork ought, in candor, to be considered as a deplorable instance of the\nweakness of human nature, and how unable it is to support its own dignity\nwhen attacked by the adversities of fortune, and the malice of mankind.\nThe greatness of Rousseau ought to be erected on a different basis: for\nhis earliest works are certainly sufficient to support the extent of his\nfame as an author, however they may, on particular subjects, expose his\nintegrity as a man.\n\nThe anxieties which a vehemence of imagination, and a tender texture of\nthe nervous system at all times produce, are highly injurious to the\nfaculties of the mind; and, when accompanied by sickness or by sorrow,\nwear out the intellect in proportion to its vigor and activity. To use\nthe popular metaphor upon this subject, \u201cThe sword becomes too sharp for\nthe scabbard;\u201d and the body and the mind are thereby exposed to mutual\ndestruction.\n\nReligious melancholy is, of all other descriptions of this dreadful\ndisease, most heightened and aggravated by solitude. The dreadful idea\nof having irretrievably lost the divine favor, and of being an object\nunworthy of the intercession of our Saviour, incessantly haunts the mind,\nlaboring under religious despondency; and the imagination being left, in\nsolitude, entirely to its own workings, increases the horrors which such\nthoughts must unavoidably inspire.\n\n    Her lash Tisiphone that moment shakes,\n    The mind she scourges with a thousand snakes,\n    And to her aid, with many a thundering yell;\n    Calls her dire sisters from the gulf of hell!\n\nThese mutual tortures, even when heightened by the gloominess of\nsolitude, are frequently still further increased by the mischievous\ndoctrines of bigoted priests, who by mistaking the effects of nervous\nderangement, or theological errors, for the compunctious visitings of\na guilty mind, establish and mature, by the injudicious application of\nscriptural texts, and precepts of casuistry, the very disease which they\nthus ignorantly and presumptuously endeavor to remove. The wound, thus\ntainted by the most virulent and corrosive of the intellectual poisons,\nbecomes extremely difficult to cure. The pure and uncontaminated tenets\nof the Christian faith furnishes, perhaps, the surest antidotes; and\nwhen these balms of true comfort are infused by such enlightened and\ndiscerning minds as Luther, Tillotson, and Clark, the most rational hope\nmay be entertained of a speedy recovery. The writings of those holy\nteachers confirm the truth of the observation, that the deleterious gloom\nof superstition assumes a darker aspect in the shades of retirement, and\nthey uniformly exhort the unhappy victims of this religious error to\navoid solitude as the most certain enemy of this dreadful infirmity.\n\nSolitude, however, is not the only soil in which this noxious weed\nsprings up, spreading around its baleful glooms; it sometimes appears\nwith deeply rooted violence in minds unused to retirement of every\nkind. In the course of my practice as a physician, I was called upon\nto attend a young lady, whose natural disposition had been extremely\ncheerful, until a severe fit of sickness damped her spirits, and rendered\nher averse to all those lively pleasures which fascinate the youthful\nmind. The debility of her frame, and the change of her temper were not\nsufficiently attended to in the early stages of her convalescence. The\nanxiety of her mind was visible in the altered features of her face; and\nshe was frequently heard to express a melancholy regret that she had\nconsumed so many hours in the frivolous, though innocent, amusements\nof the age. Time increased, by almost imperceptible degrees, these\nsymptoms of approaching melancholy; and at length exhibited themselves\nby penitential lamentations of the sin she had committed with respect to\nthe most trifling actions of her life, and in which no shadow of offence\ncould possibly be found. At the time I was called in, this superstitious\nmelancholy was attended with certain indications of mental derangement.\nThe distemper clearly originated in the indisposition of the body, and\nthe gloomy apprehensions which disease and pain, had introduced into the\nmind, during a period of many months. This once lively, handsome, but now\nalmost insane female, was daily attacked with such violent paroxysms of\nher complaint, that she lost all sense of her situation, and exclaimed,\nin horrid distraction and deep despair, that her perdition was already\naccomplished, and that _the fiends were waiting to receive her soul,\nand plunge it into the bitterest torments of hell_. Her constitution,\nhowever, still fortunately retained sufficient strength to enable me, by\nthe power of medicine, gradually to change its temperament, and to reduce\nthe violence of the fever which had been long preying upon her life.\nHer mind became more calm in proportion as her nerves recovered their\nformer tone; and when her intellectual powers were in a condition to be\nacted on with effect, I successfully counteracted the baleful effects of\nsuperstition by the wholesome infusion of real religion, and restored by\ndegrees, a lovely, young, and virtuous woman, to her family and herself.\n\nAnother instance of a similar nature occurred very recently, in which\nthe patient experienced all those symptoms, which prognosticate the\napproach of religious melancholy, and the completion of whose sorrow and\ndespondency would quickly have been effected, if good fortune had not\ndeprived her of the advice of an ignorant and bigoted priest, to whom\nher friends, when I was called in, had resolved to apply. This young\nlady, whose mind remained pure and uncorrupted amidst all the luxuries\nand dissipations which usually accompany illustrious birth and elevated\nstation, possessed by nature great tranquillity of disposition, and lived\nwith quietude and content, far retired from the pleasures of the world.\nI had been long acquainted with her family, and entertained for them\nthe warmest esteem. The dangerous condition of her health gave me great\nanxiety and concern; for whenever she was left one moment to herself,\nand even in company, whenever she closed her eyes, a thousand horrid\nspectres presented themselves to her disordered mind, and seemed ready\nto devour her from every corner of the apartment. I inquired whether\nthese imaginary spectres made any impression upon the affections of her\nheart: but she answered in the negative, and described the horrors which\nshe felt from the supposed fierceness of their eyes, and the threatening\ngesticulations of their bodies. I endeavored to compose her by assuring\nher that they were the creatures of fancy, the wild chimeras of a\nweakened brain; that her long course of ill health had affected her mind;\nand that when a proper course of medicine, dietic regimen, and gentle\nexercise, had restored her strength, these dreadful appearances would\ngive way to the most delightful visions. The course I pursued succeeded\nin a short time beyond my most sanguinary expectations, and I raised\nher languid powers to health and happiness. But if she had confided\nthe anxieties of her mind to her confessor, instead of her physician,\nthe holy father would, in all probability, have ascribed her gloomy\napprehensions to the machinations of the devil, and have used nothing\nbut pure spiritual antidotes to destroy them, which would have increased\nthe melancholy, and possibly have thrown her into the darkest abyss of\nmadness and despair.\n\nThis grievous malady, indeed, is not the exclusive offspring of mistaken\npiety and religious zeal; for it frequently invades minds powerful by\nnature, improved by science, and assisted by rational society. Health,\nlearning, conversation, highly advantageous as they unquestionably are to\nthe powers both of the body and the mind, have, in particular instances,\nbeen found incapable of resisting the influence of intense speculation,\nan atrabilarius constitution, and a superstitious habit. I have already\nmentioned the thick cloud of melancholy which obscured the latter days\nof the great and justly celebrated Haller, which were passed under the\noppression of a religious despondency, that robbed him not only of all\nenjoyment, but almost of life itself. During the long period of four\nyears, immediately antecedent to his death, he lived (if such a state\ncould be called existence) in continual misery; except, indeed, at those\nshort intervals when the returning powers of his mind enabled him, by\nthe employment of his pen, to experience a temporary relief. A long\ncourse of ill health had forced him into an excessive use of opium, and\nby taking gradually increased quantities of that inspissated juice, he\nkept himself continually fluctuating between a state of mind naturally\nelevated and deeply dejected; for the first effects of this powerful\ndrug are like those of a strong stimulating cordial, but they are soon\nsucceeded by universal langour, or irresistable propensity to sleep,\nattended with dreams of the most agitated and enthusiastic nature. I\nwas myself an eyewitness of the dreary melancholy into which this great\nand good man was plunged about two years before the kind, but cold, and\nthough friendly, yet unwelcome hand of death, released him from his\npains. The society, which, during that time, he was most solicitous to\nobtain, was that of priests and ecclesiastics of every description:\nhe was uneasy when they were not with him: nor was he always happy in\nhis choice of these spiritual comforters; for though, at times, he was\nattended by some of the most enlightened and orthodox divines of the\nage and country in which he lived, he was at others surrounded by those\nwhom nothing but the reduced and abject state of his faculties would\nhave suffered him to endure. But during even this terrible subversion\nof his intellectual powers, his love of glory still survived in its\noriginal radiance, and defied all the terrors both of hell and earth\nto destroy or diminish their force. Haller had embraced very deep and\nserious notions of the importance of Christianity to the salvation of\nthe soul, and the redemption of mankind, which, by the ardency of his\ntemper, and the saturnine disposition of his mind, were carried into a\nmistaken zeal and apprehension; and, instead of affording the comfort\nand consolation its tenets and principles are so eminently calculated to\ninspire, aggravated his feelings and destroyed his repose. In a letter\nwhich he wrote a few days before his death, to his great and good friend,\nthe celebrated Heyne, of Gottingen, in which he announces the deep sense\nhe entertained from his great age and multiplied infirmities, of his\nimpending dissolution, he expressed his firm belief of revelation, and\nhis faith in the mercy of God, and the intercession of Jesus Christ;\nbut hints his fears lest the manifold sins, and the various errors and\ntransgressions which the natural frailty of man must have accumulated\nduring a course of seventy years, should have rendered his soul too\nguilty to expect the promised mercy to repentant sinners, and earnestly\nrequests of him to inquire of his acquaintance Less, the virtuous\ndivine of that place, whether he could not furnish him with some pious\nwork that might tend to decrease the terrors he felt from the idea of\napproaching death, and relieve his tortured spirit from the apprehension\nof eternal punishment. The sentiments which occupied the mind of this\npious philosopher when the dreaded hour actually arrived, whether it was\ncomforted by the bright rays of hope, or dismayed into total eclipse by\nthe dark clouds of despair, those who surrounded his dying couch have not\ncommunicated to the world. Death, while it released both his body and\nhis mind from the painful infirmities and delusions under which they had\nso long and so severely suffered, left his fame, which, while living,\nhe had valued much dearer than his life, exposed to the cruel shafts of\nslander and malevolence. A young nobleman of the canton of Berne, either\nmoved by his own malice, or made an instrument of the malice of others,\nasserted in a letter, which was for a long time publicly exhibited in\nthe university of Gottingen, that Haller had in his last moments denied\nhis belief of the truth of Christianity. But those by whom he was then\nsurrounded, betray, by the propagation of this falsehood, the fears they\nentertain of the firm support which his approbation would have given to\nthat pure and pious system of religion, which they, it is well known,\nare so disposed to destroy. For certain it is, that Haller never doubted\nany of the attributes of the Deity, except his mercy; and this doubt was\nnot the offspring of infidelity, but a crude abortion of that morbid\nmelancholy which, during his latter days, settled so severely on his\ndistempered mind. The same dread which he entertained of death, has been\nfelt with equal if not greater horror, by minds as powerful and less\nsuperstitious. He candidly confessed the important and abstruse point\nupon which he had not been able to satisfy himself. His high sense of\nvirtue made even his own almost exemplary and unblemished life appear,\nin his too refined speculations, grossly vicious. Mercy, he knew, must\nunavoidably, be correlative with justice; and he unfortunately conceived\nthat no repentance, however sincere, could so purify the sinful, and, as\nhe imagined, deplorable corruption of his soul, as to render it worthy\nof divine grace. So utterly had the melancholy dejection of his mind\ndeprived him of a just sense of his character, and perfect knowledge of\nthe nature of the Almighty. The mournful propensity of this great man\nmust, if he had passed his days either in pious abstinence, or irrational\nsolitude, have hurried him rapidly into irrecoverable frenzy; but Haller\nenjoyed the patronage of the great, the conversation of the learned,\nthe company of the polite; and he not only suspended the effects of his\nmalady, and of the medicines by which he attempted to relieve it, by\nthese advantages, but by the sciences, which he so dearly loved and so\nsuccessfully cultivated. The horrible evil, however, bowed him down in\nspite of all his efforts, and particularly oppressed him whenever he\nrelaxed from his literary pursuits, or consulted his ghostly comforters\non the lost condition of his soul.\n\nSolitude, to a mind laboring under these erroneous notions of religion,\noperates like a rack, by which the imagination inflicts the severest\ntortures on the soul. A native of Geneva, a young man of very elegant\nmanners, and a highly cultivated mind, some time since consulted me\nupon the subject of a nervous complaint, which I immediately discovered\nto be the consequence of a mistaken zeal for religion, a disposition\nnaturally sedentary, and a habit which is too frequently indulged in\nsolitude by unthinking youth. These circumstances had already made the\nmost dreadful inroads both on his body and his mind. His emaciated\nframe was daily enfeebled by his paralyzed intellects, and he at length\nfell into a settled melancholy, which continued four years to defy the\npower of medicine, and finally destroyed his nervous system. A strong\nconviction of the heinous sin into which the blindness of his passion\nand evil example, had led him, at length flashed suddenly on his mind,\nand he felt, with the keenest compunctions of a wounded conscience, how\nimpious he must appear to the all-seeing eye of the great Creator.\nConsternation and dismay seized his guilty mind; and the sense of virtue\nand religion, which he was naturally disposed to entertain, served only\nto increase his horror and distraction. He would have sought a refuge\nfrom the arrows of remorse under the protecting shields of penitence\nand prayer, but a scrupulous apprehension interposed the idea that it\nwould be profanation in so guilty a sinner to exercise the offices of a\npure and holy religion. He at length, however, proceeded to confession;\nbut recollecting, after every disclosure, that he had still omitted\nmany of his transgressions, additional horror seized upon his mind and\ntortured his feelings on the irrecoverable condition of his guilty soul.\nAt intervals, indeed, he was able to perceive that the perturbations\nof his mind were the produce of his disorganized frame and disordered\nspirit; and he endeavored to recruit the one by air and exercise, and to\ndissipate the other by scenes of festivity and mirth: but his disorder\nhad fixed his fibres too deeply in his constitution to be eradicated by\nsuch slight and temporary remedies. From the inefficacious antidotes\nof social pleasure and worldly dissipation, he was induced to try the\ncalm and sedentary effects of solitary study; but his faculties were\nincapable of tasting the refined and elegant occupations of learning and\nthe muse; his powers of reasoning were destroyed; his sensibilities,\nexcepting on the subject of his complaint, were dried up; and neither the\nsober investigations of science, nor the more lively charms of poetry,\nwere capable of affording him the least consolation. Into so abject a\nstate, indeed, did his intellectual faculties at length fall, that he\nhad not, during one period, sufficient ability to compute the change\ndue to him from any piece of coin in the common transactions of life;\nand he confessed that he had been frequently tempted, by the deepness\nof his distress, to release both his body and his mind from their cruel\nsufferings, and \u201cto shake impatiently his great affliction off\u201d by self\ndestruction; but the idea of heaping new punishment on his soul, by the\nperpetration of this additional crime, continually interposed, and saved\nhim from the guilty deed. During this state of mental derangement, he\nfortunately met with a liberal minded and rational divine, who, free\nfrom the errors of priestcraft, and possessed of a profound knowledge of\nthe virtues of religion and the structure of the human mind, undertook\nthe arduous but humane and truly philosophic task, of endeavoring to\nbring back his mind to a rational sense of its guilt, and to a firm\nhope of pardon through the intercession of our Saviour. Religion, that\nsweet and certain comforter of human woes, at length effected a partial\nrecovery, and restored him to a degree of tranquillity and repose; but\nhe still continued to suffer, for years afterward, so great a misery\nfrom the shattered condition of his nerves, that he could not even\ncompose a letter upon the most trifling and indifferent subject without\nthe greatest labor and pain. As his feelings had never been hurt by any\nsense of injury received from mankind, he entertained no antipathy to\nhis species; but as he was conscious that his reduced state of health\nprevented him from keeping up any rational or pleasing intercourse\nwith them, he felt a sort of abhorrence to society, and refused, even\nwhen advised by his physicians and intimate friends, to mingle in its\npleasures, or engage in its concerns. The proposal, indeed, appeared\nas extravagant and absurd to his feelings, as if a man, almost choking\nunder the convulsion of a confirmed asthma, had been told that it was\nonly necessary for him to breathe freely in order to acquire perfect\nease. This deplorable state of health induced him to consult several\nItalian and English physicians; and being advised to try the effects of\na sea voyage, he set sail for Riga, where he safely arrived; but, after\na residence of six months, found himself unaltered, and precisely in the\nsame dreadful condition in which he had set sail. On his return, I was\ncalled in to his assistance. There were at this period but very few of\nthose gloomy and noxious vapors of superstition which had so tormented\nhis mind, remaining; but his body, and particularly his nervous system,\nwas still racked with agonizing pains. I had the good fortune to afford\nhim great relief; and when at times his sufferings were suspended, and\nhis spirits enlivened by pleasing conversation, he was certainly one\nof the most entertaining men, both as to the vivacity of his wit, the\nshrewdness of his observations, the powers of his reasoning, and the\nsolidity of his judgment, that I had ever known.\n\nThese instances clearly evince how dangerous solitude may prove to\nminds predisposed, by accident or nature, to indulge a misdirected\nimagination, either upon the common subjects of life, or upon the more\nimportant and affecting topic of religion; but it must not be concluded\nfrom the observations I have already made, that a rational retirement\nfrom the vices, the vanities, and the vexations of the world, is equally\nunfriendly, under all circumstances, to a sickly mind. The cool and quiet\nrepose which seclusion affords, is frequently the most advantageous\nremedy which can be adopted for the recovery of a disturbed imagination.\nIt would indeed be the height of absurdity to recommend to a person\nsuffering under a derangement of the nervous system, the diversions and\ndissipations of public life, when it is known, by sad experience, as well\nas by daily observation, that the least hurry disorders their frame,\nand the gentlest intercourse palpitates their hearts, and shakes their\nbrains, almost to distraction. The healthy and robust can have no idea\nhow violent the slightest touch vibrates through the trembling nerves\nof the dejected valetudinarian. The gay and healthy, therefore, seldom\nsympathize with the sorrowful and the sick. This, indeed, is one reason\nwhy those who, having lost the firm and vigorous tone of mind which is\nso essentially necessary in the intercourses of the world, generally\nabandon society, and seek in the softness of solitude a solace for their\ncares and anxieties; for there they frequently find a kind asylum,\nwhere the soul rests free from disturbance, and in time appeases the\nviolence of its emotions: for \u201cthe foster nurse of nature is repose.\u201d\nExperience, alas! sad experience, has but too well qualified me to treat\nof this subject. In the fond expectation of being able to re-establish\nmy nervous system, and to regain that health which I had broken down,\nand almost destroyed by intense application, I repaired to the Circle of\nWestphalia, in order to taste the waters of Pyrmont, and to divert the\nmelancholy of my mind by the company which resorts to that celebrated\nspring: but, alas! I was unable to enjoy the lively scene; and I walked\nthrough multitudes of the great, the elegant, and the gay, in painful\nstupor, scarcely recognizing the features of my friends, and fearful of\nbeing noticed by those who knew me. The charms of wit, and the splendors\nof youthful beauty, were to me as unalluring as age and ugliness, when\njoined to the deformities of vice, and the fatiguing prate of senseless\nfolly. During this miserable impotence of soul, and while I vainly sought\na temporary relief of my own calamity, I was hourly assailed by a crowd\nof wretched souls, who implored me to afford them my professional aid, to\nalleviate those pains which time, alas! had fixed in their constitutions\nand which depended more on the management and reformation of their own\nminds, than on the powers of medicine to cure. For--\n\n    I could not minister to a mind diseased,\n    Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,\n    Raze out the written troubles of the brain,\n    And, with a sweet oblivious antidote,\n    Cleanse the stuff\u2019d bosom of that perilous stuff\n    Which weighed upon the heart.\n\nTo avoid these painful importunities, I flew from the tasteless scenes\nwith abrupt and angry violence; and confining myself to the solitude of\nmy apartments, passed the lingering day in dreary dejection, musing on\nthe melancholy group from which I had just escaped. But my home did not\nlong afford me an asylum. I was on the ensuing day assailed by a host of\nhypochondriacs, attended by their respective advisers, who, while my own\nnervous malady was raging at its full height, stunned me with the various\ndetails of their imaginary woes, and excruciated me the whole day with\ntheir unfounded ails and tormenting lamentations. The friendly approach\nof night at length relieved me from their importunities; but my spirits\nhad been exhausted, my feelings so vexed, my patience so tried, and the\nsensibilities of my mind so aggravated, by the persecution I had endured,\nthat--\n\n    \u201cTir\u2019d nature\u2019s sweet restorer, balmly sleep,\u201d\n\nfled from my eyes; and I lay restless upon my couch, alive only to my\nmiseries, in a state of anguish more insupportable than my bitterest\nenemies would, I hope, have inflicted on me. About noon, on the ensuing\nday, while I was endeavoring to procure on the sofa a short repose,\nthe princess Orlow, accompanied by two other very agreeable Russian\nladies, whose company and conversation it was both my pride and my\npleasure frequently to enjoy, suddenly entered my apartment, to inquire\nafter my health, of the state of which they had received an account\nonly a few hours before; but such was the petulance of temper into\nwhich my disordered mind had betrayed me, that I immediately rose, and\nwith uncivil vehemence, requested they would not disturb me. The fair\nintruders instantly left the room. About an hour afterward, and while\nI was reflecting on the impropriety of my conduct, the prince himself\nhonored me with a visit. He placed himself on a chair close by the couch\non which I lay, and, with that kind affection which belongs to his\ncharacter, inquired, with the tenderest and most sympathizing concern,\ninto the cause of my disorder. There was a charm in his kindness and\nattention that softened, in some degree, the violence of my pains. He\ncontinued his visit for some time; and when he was about to leave me,\nafter premising that I knew him too well to suspect that superstition had\nany influence in his mind, said, \u201cLet me advise you, whenever you find\nyourself in so waspish and petulant a mood, as you must have been in when\nyou turned the princess and her companions out of the room, to endeavor\nto check the violence of your temper; and I think you will find it an\nexcellent expedient for this purpose, if, while any friend is kindly\ninquiring after your health, however averse you may be at the moment to\nsuch an inquiry, instead of driving him so uncivilly away, you would\nemploy yourself in a silent mental repetition of the Lord\u2019s prayer: it\nmight prove very salutary, and would certainly be much more satisfactory\nto your mind.\u201d No advice could be better imagined than this was to\ndivert the emotions of impatience, by creating in the mind new objects\nof attention, and turning the raging current of distempered thought into\na more pure and peaceful channel. Experience, indeed, has enabled me to\nannounce the efficacy and virtue of this expedient. I have frequently,\nby the practice of it, defeated the fury of petulant passions, and\ncompletely subdued many of those absurdities which vex and tease us in\nthe hours of grief and during the sorrows of sickness. Others also to\nwhom I have recommended it, have experienced from it similar effects.\nThe prince, \u201cmy guide, philosopher, and friend,\u201d a few weeks after he\nhad given me this wise and salutary advice, consulted me respecting the\ndifficulty he frequently labored under in suppressing the violence of\nthose transports of affection which he bore toward his young and amiable\nconsort, and which, in a previous conversation on philosophic subjects,\nI had seriously exhorted him to check, under a conviction, that a steady\nflame is more permanent and pure than a raging fire. He asked me with\nsome concern what expedient I could recommend to him as most likely to\ncontrol those emotions which happy lovers are so anxious to indulge. \u201cMy\ndear friend,\u201d I replied, \u201cthere is no expedient can surpass your own;\nand whenever the intemperance of passion is in danger of subverting the\ndictates of reason, repeat the Lord\u2019s prayer, and I have no doubt you\nwill foil its fury.\u201d\n\nWhen the mind is thus enabled to check and regulate the effects of the\npassions, and bring back the temper to its proper tone and rational\nbasis, the serenity and calmness of solitude assists the achievement,\nand completes the victory. It is then so far from infusing into the mind\nthe virulent passions we have before described, that it affords a soft\nand pleasing balm to the soul; and instead of being its greatest enemy,\nbecomes its highest blessing and its warmest friend.\n\nSolitude, indeed, as I have already observed, is far from betraying\nwell-regulated minds either into the miseries of melancholy, or the\ndanger of eccentricism. It raises a healthy and vigorous imagination\nto its noblest production, elevates it when dejected, calms it when\ndisturbed, and restores it, when partially disordered, to its natural\ntone. It is as in every other matter, whether physical or moral, the\nabuse of solitude which renders it dangerous; like every powerful\nmedicine, it is attended, when misapplied, with most mischievous\nconsequences: but when properly administered, is pleasant in its taste,\nand highly salutary in its effects. He who knows how to enjoy it can\n\n                          \u2026 truly tell\n    To live in solitude is with truth to dwell;\n    Where gay content with healthy temperance meets,\n    And learning intermixes all its sweets;\n    Where friendship, elegance, and arts unite\n    To make the hours glide social, easy, bright:\n    He tastes the converse of the purest mind:\n    Though mild, yet manly: and though plain, refined;\n    And through the moral world expatiates wide\n    Truth as his end, and virtue as his guide.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n_The influence of solitude on the passions._\n\n\nThe passions lose in solitude a certain portion of that regulating weight\nby which in society they are guided and controlled; the counteracting\neffects produced by variety, the restraints imposed by the obligations\nof civility, and the checks which arise from the calls of humanity,\noccur much less frequently in retirement than amidst the multifarious\ntransactions of a busy world. The desires and sensibilities of the\nheart having no real objects on which their vibrations can pendulate,\nare stimulated and increased by the powers of imagination. All the\npropensities of the soul, indeed, experience a degree of restlessness and\nvehemence greater than they ever feel while diverted by the pleasures,\nsubdued by the surrounding distresses, and engaged by the business of\nactive and social life.\n\nThe calm which seems to accompany the mind in its retreat is deceitful;\nthe passions are secretly at work within the heart; the imagination is\ncontinually heaping fuel on the latent fire, and at length the laboring\ndesire bursts forth, and glows with volcanic heat and fury. The temporary\ninactivity and inertness which retirement seems to impose, may check,\nbut cannot subdue the energies of spirit. The high pride and lofty\nideas of great and independent minds may be, for a while, lulled into\nrepose; but the moment the feelings of such a character are awakened by\nindignity or outrage, its anger springs like an elastic body drawn from\nits centre, and pierces with vigorous severity the object that provoked\nit. The perils of solitude, indeed, always increase in proportion as\nthe sensibilities, imaginations, and passions of its votaries are\nquick, excursive, and violent. The man may be the inmate of a cottage,\nbut the same passions and inclinations still lodge within his heart:\n_his_ mansion may be changed, but _their_ residence is the same; and\nthough they appear to be silent and undisturbed, they are secretly\ninfluencing all the propensities of his heart. Whatever be the cause\nof his retirement, whether it be a sense of undeserved misfortune, the\ningratitude of supposed friends, the pangs of despised love, or the\ndisappointment of ambition, memory prevents the wound from healing, and\nstings the soul with indignation and resentment. The image of departed\npleasures haunts the mind, and robs it of its wished tranquillity. The\nruling passion still subsists; it fixes itself more strongly on the\nfancy; moves with greater agitation; and becomes, in retirement, in\nproportion as it is inclined to vice or virtue, either a horrid and\ntormenting spectre, inflicting apprehension and dismay, or a delightful\nand supporting angel, irradiating the countenance with smiles of joy, and\nfilling the heart with peace and gladness.\n\n    Blest is the man, as far as earth can bless,\n    Whose measur\u2019d passions reach no wild excess;\n    Who, urged by nature\u2019s voice, her gifts enjoys,\n    Nor other means than nature\u2019s force employs.\n    While warm with youth the sprightly current flows,\n    Each vivid sense with vigorous rapture glows;\n    And when he droops beneath the hand of age,\n    No vicious habit stings with fruitless rage;\n    Gradual his strength and gay sensations cease,\n    While joys tumultuous sink in silent peace.\n\nThe extraordinary power which the passions assume, and the improper\nchannel in which they are apt to flow in retired situations, is\nconspicuous from the greater acrimony with which they are in general\ntainted in small villages than in large towns. It is true, indeed, that\nthey do not always explode in such situations with the open and daring\nviolence which they exhibit in the metropolis; but lie buried as it\nwere, and mouldering in the bosom with a more malignant flame. To those\nwho only observe the listlessness and languor which distinguish the\ncharacters of those who reside in small provincial towns, the slow and\nuniform rotation of amusements which fills up the leisure of their lives;\nthe confused wildness of their cares; the poor subterfuges to which they\nare continually resorting, in order to avoid the clouds of discontent\nthat impend in angry darkness, over their heads; the lagging current\nof their drooping spirits; the miserable poverty of their intellectual\npowers; the eagerness with which they strive to raise a card party; the\ntransports they enjoy on the prospect of any new diversion or occasional\nexhibition; the haste with which they run toward any sudden, unexpected\nnoise that interrupts the deep silence of their situation; and the\npatient industry with which, from day to day, they watch each other\u2019s\nconduct, and circulate reports of every action of each other\u2019s lives,\nwill scarcely imagine that any virulence of passion can disturb the\nbosoms of persons who live in so quiet and seemingly composed a state.\nBut the unoccupied time and barren minds of such characters cause the\nfaintest emotions, and most common desires, to act with all the violence\nof high and untamed passions. The lowest diversions, a cock fighting, or\na pony race, make the bosom of a country \u2019squire beat with the highest\nrapture; while the inability to attend the monthly ball fills the minds\nof his wife and daughter with the keenest anguish. Circumstances, which\nscarcely make any impression on those who reside in the metropolis,\nplunge every description of residents in a country village into all\nthe extravagances of joy, or the dejection of sorrow; from the peer to\nthe peasant, from the duchess to the dairy maid, all is rapture and\nconvulsion. Competition is carried on for the humble honors and petty\ninterests of a sequestered town, or miserable hamlet, with as much heat\nand rancor, as it is for the highest dignities and greatest emoluments\nof the state. Upon many occasions, indeed, ambition, envy, revenge, and\nall the disorderly and malignant passions, are felt and exercised with a\ngreater degree of violence and obstinacy amidst the little contentions of\nclaybuilt cottages, than ever prevailed amidst the highest commotions of\ncourts. Plutarch relates that when C\u00e6sar, after his appointment to the\ngovernment of Spain, came to a little town, as he was passing the Alps,\nhis friends, by way of mirth, took occasion to say, \u201cCan there here be\nany disputes for offices, any contentions for precedency, or such envy\nand ambition as we behold among the great in all the transactions of\nimperial Rome?\u201d The idea betrayed their ignorance of human nature; while\nthe celebrated reply of their great commander, that _he would rather be\nthe first man in this little town, than the second even in the imperial\ncity_, spoke the language, not of an individual, but of the species;\nand instructed them that there is no place, however insignificant, in\nwhich the same passions do not proportionately prevail. The humble\ncompetitors for village honors, however low and subordinate they may\nbe, feel as great anxiety for pre-eminence, as much jealousy of rivals,\nand as violent envy against superiors, as agitate the bosoms of the\nmost ambitious statesmen in contending for the highest prize of glory,\nof riches, or of power. The manner, perhaps, in which these inferior\ncandidates exert their passions may be less artful, and the objects of\nthem less noble, but they are certainly not less virulent. \u201cHaving,\u201d says\nEuphelia, who had quitted London, to enjoy the quietude and happiness\nof a rural village, \u201cbeen driven by the mere necessity of escaping from\nabsolute inactivity, to make myself more acquainted with the affairs\nand happiness of this place, I am now no longer a stranger to _rural\nconversation_ and employments; but am far from discerning in them more\ninnocence or wisdom than in the sentiments or conduct of those with whom\nI have passed more cheerful and more fashionable hours. It is common\nto reproach the tea table and the park, with giving opportunities and\nencouragement to scandal I cannot wholly clear them from the charge, but\nmust, however, observe, in favor of the modish prattlers, that if not by\nprinciple, we are at least by accident, less guilty of defamation than\nthe country ladies. For, having greater numbers to observe and censure,\nwe are commonly content to charge them only with their own faults or\nfollies, and seldom give way to malevolence, but such as arises from\ninjury or affront, real or imaginary, offered to ourselves. But in those\ndistant provinces, where the same families inhabit the same houses from\nage to age, they transmit and recount the faults of a whole succession.\nI have been informed how every estate in the neighborhood was originally\ngot, and find, if I may credit the accounts given me, that there is\nnot a single acre in the hands of the right owner. I have been told of\nintrigues between beaus and toasts, that have been now three centuries\nin their quiet graves; and am often entertained with traditional scandal\non persons of whose names there would have been no remembrance, had they\nnot committed somewhat that might disgrace their descendants. If once\nthere happens a quarrel between the principal persons of two families,\nthe malignity is continued without end; and it is common for old maids\nto fall out about some election in which their grandfathers were\ncompetitors. Thus malice and hatred descend here with an inheritance; and\nit is necessary to be well versed in history, that the various factions\nof the country may be understood. You cannot expect to be on good\nterms with families who are resolved to love nothing in common; and in\nselecting your intimates, you are, perhaps, to consider which party you\nmost favor in the barons\u2019 wars.\u201d\n\nResentments and enmities burn with a much more furious flame among\nthe thinly-scattered inhabitants of a petty village, than amidst the\never varying concourse of a great metropolis. The objects by which the\npassions are set on fire are hidden from our view by the tumults which\nprevail in a crowded city, and the bosom willingly loses the pains which\nsuch emotions excite when the causes which occasioned them are forgot:\nbut in country villages, the thorns by which the feelings have been hurt\nare continually before our eyes, and preserve on every approach toward\nthem, a remembrance of the injuries sustained. An extreme devout and\nhighly religious lady, who resided in a retired hamlet in Swisserland,\nonce told me, in a conversation on this subject, that she had completely\nsuppressed all indignation against the envy, the hatred, and the malice\nof her surrounding neighbors; for that she found they were so deeply dyed\nin sin, that a rational remonstrance was lost upon them; and that the\nonly vexation she felt from a sense of their wretchedness arose from the\nidea that her soul would at the last day be obliged to keep company with\nsuch incorrigible wretches.\n\nThe inhabitants of the country, indeed, both of the lower and middling\nclasses, cannot be expected to possess characters of a very respectable\nkind, when we look at the conduct of those who set them the example. A\ncountry magistrate, who has certainly great opportunities of forming the\nmanners and morals of the district over which he presides, is in general\npuffed up with high and extravagant conceptions of the superiority of\nhis wisdom, and the extent of his power; and raising his idea of the\ngreatness of his character in an inverse proportion to his notions of\nthe insignificance and littleness of those around him, he sits enthroned\nwith fancied pre-eminence, the disdainful tyrant, rather than the kind\nprotector of his neighbors. Deprived of all liberal and instructive\nsociety, confined in their knowledge both of men and things, the slaves\nof prejudice and the pupils of folly; with contracted hearts and degraded\nfaculties the inhabitants of a country village feel all the base and\nignoble passions, sordid rapacity, mean envy, and insulting ostentation\nmore forcibly than they are felt either in the enlarged society of the\nmetropolis, or even in the confined circle of the monastery.\n\nThe social virtues, indeed, are almost totally excluded from cloisters,\nas well as from every other kind of solitary institution: for when the\nhabits, interests, and pleasures of the species are pent up by any\nmeans within a narrow compass, mutual jealousies and exasperations\nmust prevail; every trifling immunity, petty privilege, and paltry\ndistinction, becomes an object of the most violent contention; and\nincreasing animosities at length reach to such a degree of virulence,\nthat the pious flock is converted into a herd of famished wolves, eager\nto worry and devour each other.\n\nThe laws of every convent strictly enjoin the holy sisterhood to\nlive in Christian charity and sincere affection with each other. I\nhave, however, when attending these fair recluses in my professional\ncharacter, observed many of them with wrinkles, that seemed rather the\neffect of angry perturbation, than of peaceful age, with aspects formed\nrather by envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, than by mild\nbenevolence and singleness of heart. But I should do injustice if I\ndid not declare, that I have seen some few who were strangers to such\nunworthy passions; whose countenances were unindented by their effects:\nand whose beauty and comeliness still shone in their native lustre and\nsimplicity. It was, indeed, painful to reflect upon the sufferings which\nthese lovely innocents must endure, until the thoughts of their lost\nhopes, defeated happiness, and unmerited wrongs, should have changed\nthe milky kindness of their virtuous dispositions into the gall-like\nbitterness of vexation and despair; until the brightness of their\ncharming features should be darkened by the clouds of discontent, which\ntheir continued imprisonment would create; and until their cheerful and\neasy tempers should be perverted by the corrosions of those vindictive\npassions which the jealous furies, with whom they were immured, and\nto whom they formed so striking a contrast, must in time so cruelly\ninflict. These lovely mourners, on entering the walls of a convent, are\nobliged to submit to the tyranny of an envious superior, or the jealousy\nof the older inmates, whose angry passions arise in proportion as they\nperceive others less miserable than themselves; and retiring, at the\nstated periods, from their joint persecution, they find that the gloomy\nsolitude to which they have flown, only tends to aggravate and widen\nthe wound it was expected to cure. It is, indeed, almost impossible\nfor any female, however amiable, to preserve in the joyless gloom of\nconventual solitude the cheering sympathies of nature. A retrospect of\nher past life most probably exhibits to her tortured fancy, superstition\nstinging with scorpion like severity her pious mind; love sacrificed\non the altar of family pride; or fortune ruined by the avarice of a\nperfidious guardian; while the future presents to her view the dreary\nprospect of an eternal and melancholy separation from all the enjoyments\nof society, and a continual exposure to the petulance and ill humor of\nthe dissatisfied sisterhood. What disposition, however mild and gentle\nby nature, can preserve itself amidst such confluent dangers? How is\nit possible to prevent the most amiable tenderness of heart, the most\nlively and sensible mind from becoming, under such circumstances, a prey\nto the bitterness of affliction and malevolence? Those who have had\nan opportunity to observe the operation of the passions on the habits,\nhumors, and dispositions of recluse females, have perceived with horror\nthe cruel and unrelenting fury with which they goad the soul, and with\nwhat an imperious and irresistible voice they command obedience to their\ninclination.\n\nThe passion of love, in particular, acts with much greater force upon the\nmind that endeavors to escape from its effects by retirement, than it\ndoes when it is either resisted or indulged.\n\nRetirement, under such circumstances, is a childish expedient; it is\nexpecting to achieve that, by means of a fearful flight, which it is\nfrequently too much for the courage and the constancy of heroes to\nsubdue. Retirement is the very nest and harbor of this powerful passion.\nHow many abandon the gay and jovial circles of the world, renounce even\nthe most calm and satisfactory delights of friendship, and quit, without\na sigh, the most delicious and highest seasoned pleasures of society, to\nseek in retirement the superior joys of love! a passion in whose high\nand tender delights the insolence of power, the treachery of friendship,\nand the most vindictive malice, is immediately forgot. It is a passion,\nwhen pure, that can never experience the least decay; no course of\ntime, no change of place, no alteration of circumstances, can erase or\nlessen the ideas of that bliss which it has once imprinted on the heart.\nIts characters are indelible. Solitude, in its most charming state,\nand surrounded by its amplest, powers, affords no resource against its\nanxieties, its jealous fears, its tender alarms, its soft sorrows, or its\ninspiringly tumultuous joys. The bosom that is once deeply wounded by the\nbarbed dart of real love, seldom recovers its tranquillity, but enjoys,\nif happy, the highest of human delights; and if miserable, the deepest\nof human torments. But, although the love-sick shepherd fills the lonely\nvallies, and the verdant groves, with the softest sighs, or severest\nsorrows, and the cells of the monasteries and convents resound with heavy\ngroans and deep-toned curses against the malignity of this passion,\nsolitude may perhaps, for a while suspend, if it cannot extinguish its\nfury. Of the truth of this observation, the history of those unfortunate,\nbut real lovers, Abelard and Eloisa, furnishes a memorable instance.\n\nIn the twelfth century, and while Louis the Gross filled the throne\nof France, was born in the retired village of Palais, in Brittany, the\ncelebrated Peter Abelard. Nature had lavished the highest perfections\nboth on his person and his mind: a liberal education improved to their\nutmost possible extent the gifts of nature; and he became in a few years\nthe most learned, elegant, and polite gentleman of his age and country.\nPhilosophy and divinity were his favorite studies: and lest the affairs\nof the world should prevent him from becoming a proficient in them,\nhe surrendered his birthright to his younger brethren, and travelled\nto Paris, in order to cultivate his mind under that great professor,\nWilliam des Champeaux. The eminence he attained as a professor, while\nit procured him the esteem of the rational and discerning, excited the\nenvy of his rivals. But, beside his uncommon merit as a scholar, he\npossessed a greatness of soul which nothing could subdue. He looked\nupon riches and grandeur with contempt; and his only ambition was to\nrender his name famous among learned men, and to acquire the reputation\nof the greatest doctor of his age. But when he had attained his seven\nand twentieth year of age, all his philosophy could not guard him\nagainst the shafts of love. Not far from the place where Abelard read\nhis lectures, lived a canon of the church of Notre Dame, named Fulbert,\nwhose niece, the celebrated Eloisa, had been educated under his own eye\nwith the greatest care and attention. Her person was well proportioned,\nher features regular, her eyes sparkling, her lips vermilion and well\nformed, her complexion animated, her air fine, and her aspect sweet and\nagreeable. She possessed a surprising quickness of wit, an incredible\nmemory, and a considerable share of learning, joined with great humility\nand tenderness of disposition: and all these accomplishments were\nattended with something so graceful and moving, that it was impossible\nfor those who saw her not to love her. The eye of Abelard was charmed,\nand his whole soul intoxicated in the passion of love, the moment he\nbeheld and conversed with this extraordinary woman; and he laid aside\nall other engagements to attend to his passion. He was deaf to the calls\nboth reason and philosophy, and thought of nothing but her company and\nconversation. An opportunity, fortunate for his love, but fatal to his\nhappiness, soon occurred. Fulbert, whose affection for his niece was\nunbounded, willing to improve to the highest degree the excellency of\nthose talents which nature had so bountifully bestowed on her, engaged\nAbelard as her preceptor, and received him in that character into his\nhouse. A mutual passion strongly infused itself into the hearts of both\npupil and preceptor. She consented to become his mistress, but, for a\nlong time, refused to become his wife. The secret of their loves could\nnot remain long concealed from the eyes of Fulbert, and the lover was\ndismissed from his house: but Eloisa flew with rapture to his arms, and\nwas placed under the protection of his sister, where she remained; until,\nfrom the cruel vengeance which her uncle exercised on the unfortunate\nAbelard, she was induced at his request to enter into the convent of\nArgenteuil, and he into the monastery of St. Gildas. In this cloister,\nthe base of which was washed by the waves of a sea less turbulent\nthan the passions which disturbed his soul, the unfortunate Abelard,\nendeavored by the exercises of religion and study, to obliterate all\nremembrance of his love; but his virtue was too feeble for the great\nattempt. A course of many years, however, had passed in penitence and\nmortification, without any communication between them, and further time\nmight possibly have calmed in a still greater degree the violence of\ntheir feelings; but a letter which Abelard wrote to his friend Philintus,\nin order to comfort him under some affliction which had befallen him, in\nwhich he related his affection for Eloisa with great tenderness, fell\ninto her hands, and induced her to break through the silence which had\nso long prevailed, by writing to him a letter, the contents of which\nrevived in his mind all the former furies of his passion. Time, absence,\nsolitude, and prayer, had in no degree diminished the amiable tenderness\nof the still lovely Eloisa, or augmented the fortitude of the unfortunate\nAbelard. The composing influence of religion seems to have made an\nearlier impression upon his feelings than it did upon those of Eloisa;\nbut he continually counteracted its effects, by comparing his former\nfelicity with his present torments; and he answered Eloisa\u2019s letter, not\nas a moral preceptor, or holy confessor, but as a still fond and adoring\nlover; as a man whose wounded feelings were in some degree alleviated by\na recollection of his former joys; and who could only console the sorrows\nof his mistress, by avowing an equal tenderness, and confessing the\nanguish with which their separation rent his soul. The walls of Paraclete\nresounded his sighs less frequently, and re-echoed less fervently with\nhis sorrows, than those of St. Gildas; for his continued solitude, so\nfar from affording him relief, had administered an aggravating medicine\nto his disease; and afforded that vulture, grief, greater leisure to\ntear and prey upon his disordered heart. \u201cReligion,\u201d says he, \u201ccommands\nme to pursue virtue since I have nothing to hope for from love; but\nlove still asserts its dominion in my fancy, and entertains itself with\npast pleasures; memory supplies the place of a mistress. Piety and duty\nare not always the fruits of retirement. Even in deserts, when the dew\nof heaven falls not on us, we love what we ought no longer to love.\nThe passions, stirred up by solitude, fill those regions of death and\nsilence; and it is very seldom that what ought to be is truly followed\nthere, and that God only is loved and served.\u201d\n\nThe letters of Eloisa were soft, gentle, and endearing; but they breathed\nthe warmest language of tenderness and unconquerable passion. \u201cI have\nyour picture,\u201d says she, \u201cin my room. I never pass by it without stopping\nto look at it; and yet when you were present with me, I scarce even\ncast my eyes upon it. If a picture, which is but a mute representation\nof an object, can give such pleasure, what cannot letters inspire?\nLetters have souls; they have in them all that force which expresses the\ntransports of the heart: they have all the fire of our passions; they\ncan raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present; they\nhave all the softness and delicacy of speech, and sometimes a boldness\nof expression even beyond it. We may write to each other; so innocent a\npleasure is not forbidden us. Let us not lose, through negligence, the\nonly happiness which is left to us, and the only one perhaps, which the\nmalice of our enemies can never ravish from us. I shall read that you\nare my husband, and you shall see me address you as a wife. In spite\nof all your misfortunes, you may be what you please in your letters.\nLetters were first invented for comforting such solitary wretches as\nmyself. Having lost the pleasure of seeing you, I shall compensate this\nloss by the satisfaction I shall find in your writings: there I shall\nread your most secret thoughts: I shall carry them always about me; I\nshall kiss them every moment. If you can be capable of jealousy, let it\nbe for the fond curiosity I shall bestow on your letters, and envy only\nthe happiness of those rivals. That writing may be no trouble to you,\nwrite always to me carelessly and without study: I had rather read the\ndictates of the heart than of the brain. I cannot live, if you do not\ntell me you always love me. You cannot but remember, (for what do not\nlovers remember?) with what pleasure I have passed whole days in hearing\nyou discourse; how, when you was absent, I shut myself up from every one\nto write to you; how uneasy I was till my letter had come to your hands;\nwhat artful management was required to engage confidants. This detail,\nperhaps, surprises you, and you are in pain for what will follow: but\nI am no longer ashamed that my passion has had no bounds for you; for\nI have done more than all this: I have hated myself that I might love\nyou. I came hither to ruin myself in a perpetual imprisonment, that I\nmight make you live quiet and easy. Nothing but virtue, joined to a love\nperfectly disengaged from the commerce of the senses, could have produced\nsuch effects. Vice never inspires any thing like this. How did I deceive\nmyself with the hopes that you would be wholly mine when I took the\nveil, and engaged myself to live for ever under your laws! For, in being\nprofessed, I vowed no more than to be yours only; and I obliged myself\nvoluntarily to a confinement in which you denied to place me. Death only\ncan make me leave the place where you have fixed me; and then too my\nashes shall rest here, and wait for yours, in order to show my obedience\nand devotedness to you to the latest moment possible.\u201d\n\nAbelard, while he strove, in his reply, to adhere to the dictates of\nreason, betrayed the lurking tenderness of his heart. \u201cDeliver yourself,\nEloisa,\u201d says he, \u201cfrom the shameful remains of a passion which has\ntaken too deep root. Remember that the least thought for any other than\nGod is an adultery. If you could see me here, pale, meagre, melancholy,\nsurrounded by a band of persecuting monks, who feel my reputation for\nlearning as a reproach of their stupidity and ignorance, my emaciated\nfigure as a slander on their gross and sensual corpulency, and my prayers\nas an example for their reformation, what would you say to the unmanly\nsighs, and unavailing tears, by which they are deceived? Alas! I am bowed\ndown by the oppressive weight of love, rather than contrition for past\noffences. Oh, my Eloisa, pity me, and endeavor to free my laboring soul\nfrom its captivity! If your vocation be, as you say, my wish, deprive me\nnot of the merit of it by your continual inquietudes: tell me that you\nwill honor the habit which covers you by an inward retirement. Fear God\nthat you may be delivered from your frailties. Love him, if you would\nadvance in virtue. Be not uneasy in the cloister, for it is the dwelling\nof saints; embrace your bands, they are the chains of Jesus, and he\nwill lighten them, and bear with you, if you bear them with humility\nand repentance. Consider me no more, I entreat you, as a founder, or as\na person in any way deserving your esteem; for your encomiums do but\nill agree with the multiplying weakness of my heart. I am a miserable\nsinner, prostrate before my Judge; and when the rays of grace break on my\ntroubled soul, I press the earth with my lips, and mingle my sighs and\ntears in the dust. Couldest thou survey thy wretched lover thus lost and\nforlorn, thou wouldest no longer solicit his affection. The tenderness of\nthy heart would not permit thee to interpose an earthly passion, which\ncan only tend to deprive him of all hopes of heavenly grace and future\ncomfort. Thou wouldest not wish to be the object of sighs and tears,\nwhich ought to be directed to God alone. Canst thou, my Eloisa, become\nthe confederate of my evil genius, and be the instrument to promote sin\u2019s\nyet unfinished conquest? What, alas! couldest thou not achieve with a\nheart, the weaknesses of which you so well know? But, oh! let me conjure\nyou, by all the sacred ties, to forget for ever the wretched Abelard, and\nthereby contribute to his salvation. Let me entreat you by our former\njoys, and by our now common misfortunes, not to abet my destruction. The\nhighest affection you can now show me, is to hide your tenderness from my\nview and to renounce me for ever. Oh, Eloisa! be devoted to God alone;\nfor I here release you from all engagements to me.\u201d\n\nThe conflict between love and religion tore the soul of Eloisa with pangs\nfar more violent and destructive. There is scarcely a line of her reply\nto Abelard, that does not show the dangerous influence which solitude had\ngiven to the concealed, but unsmothered, passion that glowed within her\nbreast. \u201cVeiled as I am,\u201d she exclaims, \u201cbehold in what a disorder you\nhave plunged me! How difficult it is to fight always for duty against\ninclination! I know the obligation which this sacred veil has imposed\non me; but feel more strongly the power which a long and habitual\npassion has gained over my heart. I am the victim of almighty love: my\npassion troubles my mind, and disorders my senses. My soul is sometimes\ninfluenced by the sentiments of piety which my reflections inspire, but\nthe next moment I yield myself up to the tenderness of my feelings,\nand to the suggestions of my affection. My imagination riots with wild\nexcursion in the scenes of past delights. I disclose to you one moment\nwhat I would not have told you a moment before. I resolve no longer\nto love you; I consider the solemnity of the vow I have made, and the\nawfulness of the veil I have taken; but there arises, unexpectedly, from\nthe bottom of my heart, a passion which triumphs over all these notions,\nand, while it darkens my reason, destroys my devotion. You reign in all\nthe close and inward retreats of my soul; and I know not how nor where\nto attack you with any prospect of success. When I endeavor to break the\nchains which bind me so closely to you, I only deceive myself, and all\nmy efforts serve only to confirm my captivity, and to rivet our hearts\nmore firmly to each other. Oh! for pity\u2019s sake, comply with my request;\nand endeavor by this means, to make me renounce my desires, by showing\nme the obligation I am under to renounce you. If you are still a lover,\nor a father, oh! help a mistress, and give comfort to the distraction\nof an afflicted child. Surely these dear and tender names will excite\nthe emotion either of pity or of love. Gratify my request; only continue\nto write to me, and I shall continue to perform the hard duties of my\nstation without profaning that character which my love for you induced\nme to assume. Under your advice and admonition I shall willingly humble\nmyself, and submit with penitence and resignation to the wonderful\nprovidence of God, who does all things for our sanctification; who, by\nhis grace purifies all that is vicious and corrupt in our natures; and,\nby the inconceivable riches of his mercy, draws us to himself against\nour wishes, and by degrees opens our eyes to discern the greatness of\nthat bounty which at first we are incapable of understanding. Virtue\nis too amiable not to be embraced when you reveal her charms, and vice\ntoo hideous not to be avoided when you show her deformities. When you\nare pleased, every thing seems lovely to me. Nothing is frightful\nor difficult when you are by. I am only weak when I am alone, and\nunsupported by you; and therefore it depends on you alone that I may be\nsuch as you desire. Oh! that you had not so powerful an influence over\nall my soul! It is your fears, surely, that make you thus deaf to my\nentreaties, and negligent of my desires: but what is there for you to\nfear? When we lived happily together you might have doubted whether it\nwas pleasure or affection that united me to you; but the place from which\nI now indite my lamentations must have removed that idea, if it ever\ncould find a place in your mind. Even within these gloomy walls, my heart\nsprings toward you with more affection than it felt, if possible, in the\ngay and glittering world. Had pleasure been my guide, the world would\nhave been the theatre of my joys. Two and twenty years only of my life\nhad worn away, when the lover on whom my soul doated was cruelly torn\nfrom my arms; and at that age female charms are not generally despised;\nbut, instead of seeking to indulge the pleasures of youth, your Eloisa,\nwhen deprived of thee, renounced the world, suppressed the emotions of\nsense, at a time when the pulses beat with the warmest ardor, and buried\nherself within the cold and cheerless region of the cloister. To you she\nconsecrated the flower of her charms; to you she now devotes the poor\nremains of faded beauty; and dedicates to heaven and to you, her tedious\ndays and widowed nights in solitude and sorrow.\u201d\n\nThe passion, alas! which Eloisa thus fondly nourished in her bosom, like\nan adder, to goad and sting her peace of mind, was very little of a\nspiritual nature; and the walls of Paraclete only re-echoed more fervent\nsighs than she had before breathed, and witnessed a more abundant flow\nof tears than she had shed in the cells of Argenteuil, over the memory\nof departed joys with her beloved Abelard. Her letters, indeed, show\nwith what toilsome but ineffectual anxiety she endeavored to chasten her\nmind, and support her fainting virtue, as well by her own reasoning and\nreflection, as by his counsels and exhortations; but the passion had\ntenaciously rooted itself at the very bottom of her heart; and it was\nnot until the close of life that she was able to repress the transports\nof her imagination, and subdue the wild sallies of her fond and fertile\nfancy. Personally separated from each other, she indulged a notion that\nher love could not be otherwise than pure and spiritual; but there are\nmany parts of letters which show how much she was deceived by this idea;\nfor in all the fancied chastity of their tender and too ardent loves,\n\n    \u201cBack thro\u2019 the pleasing maze of sense she ran,\n    And felt within the slave of love and man.\u201d\n\nThe wild and extravagant excesses to which the fancy and the feelings\nof Eloisa were carried, was not occasioned merely by the warm impulses\nof unchecked nature; but were forced, to the injury of virtue, and the\ndistraction of reason, by the rank hot bed of monastic solitude. The\nstory of these celebrated lovers, when calmly examined, and properly\nunderstood, proves how dangerous it is to recede entirely from the\npleasures and occupations of social life, and how deeply the imagination\nmay be corrupted, and the passions inflamed, during a splenetic and\nill-prepared retirement from the world. The frenzies which follow\ndisappointed love, are of all others the most likely to settle into\nhabits of the deepest melancholy. The finest sensibilities of the heart,\nthe purest tenderness of the soul, when joined with a warm constitution,\nand an ardent imagination, experience from interruption and control the\nhighest possible state of exasperation. Solitude confirms the feelings\nsuch a situation creates; and the passions and inclinations of a person\nlaboring under such impressions are more likely to be corrupted and\ninflamed by the leisure of retirement, than they would be even by\nengaging in all the lazy opulence and wanton plenty of a debauched\nmetropolis.\n\nThe affection which Petrarch entertained for Laura was refined, elevated,\nand virtuous, and differed, in almost every ingredient of it, from\nthe luxurious fondness of the unfortunate Eloisa; but circumstances\nseparated him from the beloved object; and he labored during many years\nof his life, under the oppression of that grievous melancholy which\ndisappointment uniformly inflicts. He first beheld her as she was going\nto the church of the monastery of St. Claire. She was dressed in green,\nand her gown was embroidered with violets. Her face, her air, her gait,\nappeared something more than mortal. Her person was delicate, her eyes\ntender and sparkling, and her eyebrows black as ebony. Golden locks waved\nover her shoulders whiter than snow, and the ringlets were woven by the\nfingers of love. Her neck was well formed, and her complexion animated\nby the tints of nature, which art vainly attempts to imitate. When she\nopened her mouth, you perceived the beauty of pearls, and the sweetness\nof roses. She was full of graces. Nothing was so soft as her looks, so\nmodest as her carriage, so touching as the sound of her voice. An air\nof gayety and tenderness breathed around her; but so pure and happily\ntempered, as to inspire every beholder with the sentiments of virtue;\nfor she was chaste as the spangled dewdrop on the thorn. Such was the\ndescription given of this divine creature by her enslaved lover. But,\nunfortunately for his happiness, she was at this time married to Hugues\nde Sade, whose family was originally of Avignon, and held the first\noffices there. Notwithstanding the sufferings he underwent from the\nnatural agitation of an affection so tender as that which now engrossed\nhis soul, he owns that Laura behaved to him with kindness so long as he\nconcealed his passion; but when she discovered that he was captivated\nwith her charms, she treated him with great severity; avoiding every\nplace it was likely he would frequent, and concealing her face under a\nlarge veil whenever they accidentally met. The whole soul of Petrarch was\noverthrown by this disastrous passion; and he felt all the visitation\nof unfortunate love as grievously as if it had been founded upon less\nvirtuous principles. He endeavored to calm and tranquillize the troubles\nof his breast by retiring to the celebrated solitude of Vaucluse, a\nplace in which nature delighted to appear under a form the most singular\nand romantic; \u201cBut, alas!\u201d says he, \u201cI knew not what I was doing. The\nresource was ill suited to the safety I sought. Solitude was incapable\nof mitigating the severity of my sorrows. The griefs that hung around\nmy heart, consumed me like a devouring flame. I had no means of flying\nfrom their attacks. I was alone, without consolation, and in the deepest\ndistress, without even the counsel of a friend to assist me. Melancholy\nand despair shot their poisoned arrows against my defenceless breast, and\nI filled the unsoothing and romantic vale with my sighs and lamentations.\nThe muse indeed, conveyed my sufferings to the world; but while the poet\nwas praised, the unhappy lover remained unpitied and forlorn.\u201d\n\nThe love which inspired the lays of Petrarch was a pure and perfect\npassion of the heart; and his sufferings were rendered peculiarly\npoignant by a melancholy sense of the impossibility of ever being united\nwith the object of it; but the love of Abelard and Eloisa was a furious\nheat of wild desire. This passion flows clear or muddied, peaceful or\nviolent, in proportion to the sources from which it springs. When it\narises from pure and unpolluted sources, its stream is clear, peaceful,\nand surrounded with delights: but when its source is foul, and its\ncourse improperly directed, it foams and rages, overswells its banks,\nand destroys the scenes which nature intended it to fertilize and adorn.\nThe different effects produced by the different kinds of this powerful\npassion, have, on observing how differently the character of the same\nperson appears when influenced by the one or the other of them, given\nrise to an idea that the human species are possessed of two souls; the\none leading to vice, and the other conducting to virtue. A celebrated\nphilosopher has illustrated this notion by the following story:\n\nA virtuous young prince, of an heroic soul, capable of love and\nfriendship, made war upon a tyrant, who was in every respect his reverse.\nIt was the happiness of our prince to be as great a conqueror by his\nclemency and bounty, as by his arms and military virtue. Already he had\nwon over to his party several potentates and princes, who had before\nbeen subject to the tyrant. Among those who still adhered to the enemy\nthere was a prince, who, having all the advantages of person and merit,\nhad lately been made happy in the possession and mutual love of the most\nbeautiful princess in the world. It happened that the occasion of the war\ncalled the new married prince to a distance from his beloved princess.\nHe left her secure as he thought, in a strong castle, far within the\ncountry; but, in his absence, the place was taken by surprise, and the\nprincess brought a captive to the quarters of the heroic prince. There\nwas in the camp a young nobleman the favorite of the prince; one who\nhad been educated with him, and was still treated by him with perfect\nfamiliarity. Him he immediately sent for, and with strict injunctions,\ncommitted the captive princess to his charge; resolving she should be\ntreated with that respect which was due to her rank and merit. It was the\nsame young lord who had discovered her disguised among the prisoners,\nand learnt her story; the particulars of which he now related to the\nprince. He spoke in ecstacy on this occasion; telling the prince how\nbeautiful she appeared even in the midst of sorrow; and though disguised\nunder the meanest habit, yet how distinguished by her air and manner from\nevery other beauty of her sex. But what appeared strange to our young\nnobleman was, that the prince, during this whole relation, discovered\nnot the least intention of seeing the lady, or satisfying that curiosity\nwhich seemed so natural on such an occasion. He pressed him, but without\nsuccess. \u201cNot see her, sir!\u201d said he wondering, \u201cwhen she is so much\nhandsomer than any woman you have yet seen!\u201d \u201cFor that very reason,\u201d\nreplied the prince, \u201cI would rather decline the interview; for should I,\nupon this bare report of her beauty, be so charmed as to make the first\nvisit at this urgent time of business, I may upon sight, with better\nreason, be induced, perhaps, to visit her when I am more at leisure;\nand so again and again, until at last I may have no leisure left for my\naffairs.\u201d \u201cWould you, sir, persuade me then,\u201d said the young nobleman,\nsmiling, \u201cthat a fair face can have such power as to force the will\nitself, and constrain a man in any respect to act contrary to what he\nthinks becoming him? Are we to hearken to the poets, in what they tell\nus of that incendiary love and his irresistible flames? A real flame, we\nsee, burns all alike; but that imaginary one of beauty hurts only those\nthat are consenting. It affects no otherwise than as we ourselves are\npleased to allow it. In many cases we absolutely command it, as when\nrelation and consanguinity are in the nearest degree. Authority and law\nwe see can master it; but it would be vain, as well as unjust, for any\nlaw to intermeddle or prescribe, was not the case voluntary, and our\nwill entirely free.\u201d \u201cHow comes it then,\u201d replied the prince, \u201cthat if\nwe are thus masters of our choice, and free at first to admire and love\nwhere we approve, we cannot afterward as well cease to love whenever we\nsee cause? This latter liberty you will hardly defend; for I doubt not\nyou have heard of many who, though they were used to set the highest\nvalue on liberty before they loved, yet, afterward, were necessitated\nto serve in the most abject manner, finding themselves constrained,\nand bound by a stronger chain than any of iron or of adamant.\u201d \u201cSuch\nwretches,\u201d replied the youth, \u201cI have often heard complain, who, if you\nwill believe them, are wretched indeed, without means or power to help\nthemselves. You may hear them in the same manner complain grievously of\nlife itself; but though there are doors enough at which to go out of\nlife, they find it convenient to keep still where they are. They are the\nvery same pretenders who, through this plea of irresistible necessity,\nmake bold with what is another\u2019s, and attempt unlawful beds; but the law,\nI perceive, makes bold with them in its turn, as with other invaders\nof property. Neither is it your custom, sir, to pardon such offences.\nSo that beauty itself, you must allow, is innocent and harmless, and\ncannot compel any one to do amiss. The debauched compel themselves, and\nunjustly charge their guilt on love. They who are honest and just can\nadmire and love whatever is beautiful, without offering at any thing\nbeyond what is allowed. How then is it possible, sir, that one of your\nvirtue should be in pain on any such account, or fear such a temptation?\nYou see, sir, I am sound and whole after having beheld the princess. I\nhave conversed with her; I have admired her in the highest degree; yet\nI am myself still, and in my duty, and shall be ever in the same manner\nat your command.\u201d \u201cIt is well,\u201d replied the prince; \u201ckeep yourself so:\nbe ever the same man, and look to your fair charge carefully, as becomes\nyou; for it may so happen, in the present situation of the war that\nthis beautiful captive may stand us in good stead.\u201d The young nobleman\nthen departed to execute his commission; and immediately took such care\nof the captive princess that she seemed as perfectly obeyed, and had\nevery thing which belonged to her in as great splendor as in her own\nprincipality, and in the height of her fortune. He found her in every\nrespect deserving, and saw in her a generosity of soul exceeding even her\nother charms. His studies to oblige her and to soften her distress, made\nher, in return, desirous to express her gratitude. He soon discovered the\nfeelings of her mind; for she showed, on every occasion, a real concern\nfor his interest; and when he happened to fall ill, she took such tender\ncare of him herself, and by her servants, that he seemed to owe his\nrecovery entirely to her friendship. From these beginnings, insensibly,\nand by natural degrees, as may easily be conceived, the youth fell\ndesperately in love. At first he offered not to make the least mention\nof his passion to the princess, for he scarce dared believe it himself.\nBut time, and the increasing ardor of his passion, subdued his fears,\nand she received his declaration with an unaffected trouble, and real\nconcern. She reasoned with him as a friend, and endeavored to persuade\nhim to subdue so improper and extravagant a flame. But in a short time\nhe became outrageous, and talked to her of _force_. The princess was\nalarmed by his audacity, and immediately sent to the prince to implore\nhis protection. The prince received the information with the appearance\nof more than ordinary attention; sent instantly for one of his first\nministers, and directed him to return with the princess\u2019 domestic, and\ntell the young nobleman that _force_ was not to be used to such a lady;\nbut that he might use _persuasion_, if he thought it was proper so to\ndo. The minister, who was of course the inveterate enemy of his prince\u2019s\nfavorite, aggravated the message, inveighed publicly against the young\nnobleman for the grossness of his misconduct, and even reproached him to\nhis face with having been a traitor to the confidence of his prince, and\na disgrace to his nation. The minister, in short, conveyed the message\nof his master in such virulent and angry terms, that the youth looked on\nhis case as desperate; fell into the deepest melancholy; and prepared\nhimself for that fate which he was conscious he well deserved. While he\nwas thus impressed with a sense of his misconduct, and the danger to\nwhich it had exposed him, the prince commanded him to attend a private\naudience. The youth entered the closet of the prince covered with the\ndeepest confusion. \u201cI find,\u201d said he, \u201cthat I am now become dreadful to\nyou indeed, since you can neither see me without shame, nor imagine me\nto be without resentment. But away with all these thoughts from this\ntime forward! I know how much you have suffered on this occasion. I know\nthe power of love; and am no otherwise safe myself, than by keeping out\nof the way of beauty. I alone am to blame; for it was I who unhappily\nmatched you with that unequal adversary; who gave you that impracticable\ntask; who imposed on you that hard adventure, which no one yet was ever\nstrong enough to accomplish.\u201d \u201cIn this, sir, as in all else,\u201d replied the\nyouth, \u201cyou express that goodness which is so natural to you. You have\ncompassion, and can allow for human frailties; but the rest of mankind\nwill never cease to upbraid me: nor shall I ever be forgiven, even were I\nable ever to forgive myself. I am reproached by my nearest friends; and I\nmust be odious to all mankind wherever I am known. The least punishment\nI can think due to me is banishment for ever from your presence; for I\nam no longer worthy of being called your friend.\u201d \u201cYou must not think of\nbanishing yourself for ever,\u201d replied the prince: \u201cbut trust me, if you\nwill retire only for a while, I shall so order matters, that you shall\nreturn with the applause even of those who are now your enemies, when\nthey find what a considerable service you shall have rendered both to\nthem and me.\u201d Such a hint was sufficient to revive the spirits of the\ndespairing youth. He was transported to think that his misfortunes could\nbe turned in any way to the advantage of his prince. He entered with\njoy into the scheme his royal friend had contrived for the purpose of\nrestoring him to his former fame and happiness, and appeared eager to\ndepart and execute the directions that were given to him. \u201cCan you then,\u201d\nsaid the prince, \u201cresolve to quit the charming princess?\u201d \u201cO, sir,\u201d\nreplied the youth, with tears in his eyes, \u201cI am now well satisfied that\nI have in reality within me two distinct separate souls. This lesson of\nphilosophy I have learnt from that villanous sophister love; for it is\nimpossible to believe that, having one and the same soul, it should be\nactually both good and bad; passionate for virtue and vice, desirous of\ncontraries. No; there must of necessity be two; and when the good soul\nprevails, we are happy; but when the bad prevails, we are miserable. Such\nwas my case. Lately the ill soul was wholly master, and I was miserable;\nbut now the good prevails, by your assistance, and I am plainly a new\ncreature, with quite another apprehension, another reason, and another\nwill.\u201d\n\nHe who would be master of his appetites, must not only avoid temptation,\nbut vigilantly restrain the earliest shoots of fancy, and destroy the\nfirst blooms of a warm imagination. It is the very nature of confidence\nto be always in danger. To permit the mind to riot in scenes of fancied\ndelights, under an idea that reason will be able to extinguish the\nflames of desire, is to nurse and foster the sensual appetites, which,\nwhen guided by the cool and temperate voice of nature alone, are seldom\nraised to an improper height. The natural current of the blood, even in\nthe warmest constitutions, and under the most torrid zone, would keep an\neven, temperate course, were it not accelerated by such incentives. Youth\nindeed despises this species of reasoning, and imputes it to the sickness\nof satiety, or the coldness of old age. I have, however, in general,\nobserved, that those who seek these incitements to what they improperly\ncall love, possess a rayless eye, a hollow cheek, a palsied hand, a\npallid countenance; and these symptoms of faded splendour and withered\nstrength, unquestionably prove that they have not consulted nature in\ntheir gay pursuits; for nature has not planted any propensities in the\nhuman frame which lead it to early ruin, or premature decay. The blame\nwhich is so unjustly thrown upon temperament and constitution, belongs\nto the indulgence of false and clamorous passions, those which sensual\nfancies, and lascivious ideas have raised to the destruction of chastity\nand health.\n\nMonastic institutions produce, in this respect, incalculable mischiefs.\nThe sexes, whom these religious prisons seclude from the free and\nunconfined intercourses of society, suffer their imaginations to riot\nwithout restraint or discipline, in proportion to the violence imposed\non their actions. A thousand boyish fancies, eager appetites and warm\ndesires, are perpetually playing truant, and the chastity of the soul\nis corrupted. To effect the conquest of the passion of love, it is\nabsolutely necessary that the evil suggestions of the imagination should\nbe first silenced; and he who succeeds in quelling the insurrections\nof that turbulent inmate, or in quieting its commotions, achieves an\nenterprise at once difficult and glorious. The holy Jerome checked the\nprogress of many disorderly passions which he found rising in his breast;\nbut the passion of love resisted all his opposition, and followed him,\nwith increasing fury, even into the frightful cavern to which he retired\nto implore, in humble prayer and solitary abstraction, the mercies of\nhis God. The solitude, however remote, to which the demon of sensuality\nis admitted, is soon crowded with legions of tormenting fiends. John,\nthe anchorite of the deserts of Thebais, wisely addressed his solitary\nbrethren, \u201cIf there be any among you who in his pride, conceives that\nhe has entirely renounced the devil and all his works, he should learn\nthat it is not sufficient to have done this merely by his lips, by having\nresigned his worldly dignities, and by dividing his possessions among\nthe poor; for, unless he has also abandoned his sensual appetites, his\nsalvation cannot be secure. It is only by purifying our bosoms from the\npernicious influence of this master passion, that we can ever hope to\ncounteract the machinations of satan, and to guard our hearts from his\ndangerous practices. Sin always introduces itself under the guidance\nof some guilty passion; some fond desire; some pleasing inclination,\nwhich we willingly indulge, and by that means suffer the enemy of peace\nto establish his unruly dominion in our souls. Then tranquillity and\nreal happiness quit their abode in our hearts, and all is uproar and\nanarchy within. This must be the fate of all who permit an evil spirit\nto seat itself on the throne of their hearts, and to scatter around\nthe poisonous seeds of wild desire and vicious inclinations.\u201d But love\nonce indulged in bright and rapturous fancies, fills the mind with\nsuch high and transporting ideas of supreme bliss, that the powers\nof reason are seldom, if ever, capable of making head against its\nfascinations. The hermit and the monk, who, from the nature of their\nsituations, cannot taste its real charms, ought, if it were for that\nreason alone, to stifle at their birth the earliest emotions of this\ninspiring passion; for the indulgence of it must prove fatal to the\nvirtue, and of course destructive to the peace of every recluse. The\nimpossibility that such characters can listen with any propriety to\nthe dictates of this delightful passion, shows in the strongest manner\nthe impolicy and absurdity of those institutions, on the members of\nwhich celibacy is enjoined. The happiness of every individual, as well\nas the civil and religious interests of society, are best promoted by\ninducing the endearments of sense to improve the sympathies, tenderness,\nand affections of the human heart. But these blessings are denied to\nthe solitary fanatic, who is condemned to endure the suppression of\nhis passions, and prevented from indulging without endangering his\nprinciples, both the desires of sense, and the dreams of fancy. He\ncannot form that delightful union of the sexes, where sentiments of\nadmiration are increased by prospects of personal advantage; where\nprivate enjoyment arises from a sense of mutual merit; and the warmest\nbeams of love are tempered by the refreshing gales of friendship. The\ngrosser parts of this innate and glowing passion can alone occupy his\nfancy; and the sentiments it instils, instead of refining his desires,\nand meliorating his affections, tend, through the operation of his soul\nand corrupted imagination, to render his appetites still more depraved.\nHe is as ignorant of its benefits as he is of its chaste and dignified\npleasures; and totally unacquainted with its fine sensibilities, and\nvaried emotions, his bosom burns with the most violent rage; his mind\nwallows in images of sensuality; and his temper frets itself, by unjustly\naccusing the tempter as the author of his misery. If the luxurious\ncogitations of such a character were dissipated by the pleasures and\npursuits of busy life; if the violence of his passions were checked by\nlaborious exercises; and if habits of rational study enabled him to vary\nthe uniformity of retirement, and to substitute the excursions of mental\ncuriosity, and moral reflections, instead of that perpetual recurrence\nof animal desire by which he is infected, the danger we have described\nwould certainly be reduced; but without such aids, his self-denials, his\npenitence, his prayers, and all the austere discipline of the monkish\nand ascetic school, will be ineffectual. Celibacy, indeed, instead of\nassisting, as their disciples mistakingly conceive, to clear the soul\nfrom its earthly impurities, and to raise it to divine brightness and\nsublimity, drags it down to the basest appetites and lowest desires.\nBut matrimony, or that suitable and appropriate union of the sexes\nwhich prevails under different circumstances, according to the manner\nand custom of different societies, leads, when properly formed, to the\nhighest goal of human bliss.\n\nThe mischievous effects which the celibacy and solitude of monastic\ninstitutions produce on that passion which arises so spontaneously\nbetween the sexes in the human heart, will appear unavoidable, when it\nis considered how absurdly the founders of these religious retreats have\nfrequently endeavored to guard against the danger. The partitions which\ndivide virtues from their opposite vices are so slender and conjoined,\nthat we scarcely reach the limits of the one before we enter to a certain\ndegree, the confines of the other. How ridiculous, therefore, is it\nto conceive, that frequent meditation on forbidden pleasures, should\nbe at all likely to eradicate impure ideas from the mind. And yet the\nEgyptian monastics were enjoined to have these rules constantly in their\ncontemplation: first, that their bosoms must remain unagitated by the\nthoughts of love; that they should never permit their fancies to loiter\non voluptuous images; that female beauty, in its fairest form, and most\nglowing charms, should be incapable of exciting in their hearts the least\nsensation; and that, even during the hours of sleep, their minds should\ncontinue untainted by such impure affections. The chastity of these\nsolitary beings was, on some occasions, actually tried by experiment; but\nthe consequences which resulted from such irrational discipline, were\ndirectly the reverse of those it was intended to produce. The imagination\nwas vitiated, and the inclination rendered so corrupt, that neither\nthe examples nor the precepts of the more enlightened ages were able\nto correct their manners, or reclaim them from the machinations of the\nunclean spirit. Numberless indeed, and horrid, are the instances recorded\nby Ruffinus, and other writers, of the perversions of all sense and\nreason, of all delicacy and refinement, of all virtue and true holiness,\nwhich prevailed in the ascetic solitudes of every description, while the\nnuptial state was held incompatible with the duties of religion, and the\nsexes separated from each other, that they might more piously, and with\nless interruption, follow its dictates. Some of the fathers of the church\ndefined female celibacy to be the only means of living a chaste and godly\nlife amidst the impurities of a sinful world, and regaining, during the\nperdition of gross mortality, the resemblance of the soul\u2019s celestial\norigin. The holy, happy tie of matrimony they considered as a cloak to\nthe indulgence of impure desires, and launched their anathemas against it\nas an hateful institution. Even the eloquent and pious Chrysostom says,\n\u201cthat a double purpose was intended to be attained by the institution of\nmarriage, _viz._ the propagation of the species, and the gratification\nof sexual affection; but that, as population had sufficiently covered\nthe face of the earth, the first had become no longer necessary; and\nthat it was the duty of the sexes rather to conquer their affections\nby abstinence and prayer, than indulge them under so thin a disguise.\u201d\nThe human soul, he admits, must, in a state of celibacy, subsist under\na perpetual warfare and the faculties be in continual ferment; but\ncontends, that piety exists in proportion to the difficulties which the\nsufferer surmounts. The holy fathers seem, from the whole strain of\ntheir exhortations and reasonings, to have considered female chastity\nin a very serious point of view; and there can be no doubt but that it\nis the brightest jewel and most becoming ornament of the sex; but these\nreverend teachers were so blinded by their zeal, that they lost all\nsight of nature, and mistakingly conceived that the Great Creator had\nplanted affections in our hearts, and passions in our breasts, only to\ntry our tempers in suppressing their turbulence, rather than promote\nour happiness, and to answer the ends of his creation, by a sober and\nrational indulgence of them.\n\nBut nature will not be argued out of her rights; and these absurd\ndoctrines introduced into every monastic institution throughout Europe\na private intercourse, hostile, from its evil example to the interests\nboth of morality and religion. The nuns of the convent of Argenteuil,\nwho chose Eloisa for their Abbess, were in all probability, influenced\nin their choice by the recollections of her former frailty, and their\nknowledge of the present ruling passion of her heart; they meant to\nprovide the abbey with a superior who, if she were not inclined to\npromote, would feel no disposition to interrupt their intrigues. The fact\ncertainly was, that during the time Eloisa presided over the convent,\nthe conduct of the nuns was so extremely licentious, that Sugger, abbot\nof St. Dennis, complained of their irregularities to Pope Honorius, in\nsuch a manner as to induce his holiness to give the abbot possession of\nit; and he immediately expelled the negligent prioress and her intriguing\nsisters, and established in their place a monastery of his own order.\nStrong suspicions may, perhaps, prevail against the virtue and integrity\nof Eloisa\u2019s character, from the dissoluteness which existed in this\nsociety; but she was certainly not included by name in the articles of\naccusation which the abbot of St. Dennis transmitted upon this subject\nto the court of Rome; and there is every reason to believe that these\nirregularities were carefully concealed from her knowledge. When this\nlovely victim was presented with the veil, some persons who pitied her\nyouth, and admired her beauty, represented to her the cruel sacrifice she\nwould make of herself by accepting it: but she immediately exclaimed, in\nthe words of Cornelia, after the death of Pompey the great--\n\n    \u201cOh my loved lord! our fatal marriage draws\n    On thee this doom, and I the guilty cause:\n    Then while thou go\u2019st th\u2019 extremes of fate to prove,\n    I\u2019ll share that fate, and expiate thus my love!\u201d\n\nand accepted the fatal present with a constancy not to have been expected\nin a woman who had so high a taste for pleasures which she might still\nenjoy. It will therefore, be easily conceived, that her distress, on\nbeing ignominiously expelled from this retreat, was exceedingly severe.\nShe applied to Abelard to procure her some permanent asylum, where\nshe might have the opportunity of estranging herself from all earthly\nweaknesses and passions; and he, by the permission of the bishop of\nTroyes, resigned to her the house and the chapel of Paraclete, with its\nappendages, where she settled with a few sisters, and became herself the\nfoundress of a nunnery. Of this monastery she continued the superior\nuntil she died; and whatever her conduct was among the licentious nuns of\nArgenteuil, she lived so regular in this her new and last retreat, and\nconducted herself with such exemplary prudence, zeal, and piety, that all\nher former failings were forgot, her character adored by all who knew\nher, and her monastery in a short time enriched with so great a variety\nof donations, that she was celebrated as the ablest cultivator of the\nvirtues of forgiveness and Christian charity then existing. The bishop\nof the district behaved to her as if she had been his own daughter; the\nneighboring priors and abbots treated her with all the tenderness and\nattention of a real sister: and those who were distressed and poor,\nrevered her as their mother. But all her cares, and all her virtues,\ncould not protect her against the returning weakness of her heart.\n\u201cSolitude,\u201d says she, \u201cis insupportable to a mind that is ill at ease;\nits troubles increase in the midst of silence, and retirement heightens\nthem. Since I have been shut up within these walls, I have done nothing\nbut weep for our misfortunes: this cloister has resounded with my cries,\nand like a wretch condemned to eternal slavery, I have worn out my days\nin grief and sighing.\u201d\n\nThe useful regulations imposed by the wisdom of St. Benedict upon the\nvotaries of monastic retirement, were soon neglected. Abstinence and\nprayer were succeeded by luxury and impiety. The revenues of the several\norders had, by the increased value of property, become so great, that\nthey were expended in purchasing a remission of those duties which\ntheir founders had enjoined. The admission of the poor laity relieved\nthe initiated members from the toil of cultivating the demesne lands,\nand produced a system of indolence and laziness. They exchanged their\nlong fast and unsavory diet, for frequent feasts, and the richest\nrepasts; substituted indolent pride for laborious humility; and lost\nentirely their original piety and virtue. Abelard, indeed, and some few\nother abbots of the tenth century, endeavored to restore the ancient\ndiscipline, but they were reviled and persecuted with the most vindictive\nmalice by their contemporaries. The duke of Brittany, in order to secure\nAbelard from the rage with which he was pursued, for exercising qualities\nwhich ought to have procured him admiration and esteem, gave him the\nconvent of St. Gildas, as an asylum from their hatred. The high character\nwhich this monastery comparatively enjoyed for regularity and good\norder, excited a hope that he might there find rest from his vexations,\nand consolation for his griefs. But instead of finding it the seat of\nwisdom and piety, and the mansion of tranquillity, he discovered the\nmost dissolute manners and abandoned conduct prevailing in every part of\nthe convent. His mild and rational attempts to reclaim these disorderly\nbrethren, were so far from producing the desired effect upon their minds,\nthat it only provoked their rage, and gave new edge to their malice.\nFoiled in their endeavors, by conspiracy and calumny, to dispossess him\nof his situation, they attempted, several times at their common repasts,\nto infuse poison into his victuals: and at length, dreadful to relate!\nactually administered, in the sacramental cup, the poisoned chalice to\nhis lips, but which he was miraculously prevented from tasting. It is,\nindeed, impossible to read the description he has given of his dreadful\nsituation in this wild and savage community, without shuddering at the\nidea how much an irrational solitude tends to corrupt the manners and\ndeprave the heart. \u201cI live,\u201d says he, in his letter to Philintus, \u201cin a\nbarbarous country, the language of which I do not understand. I have no\nconversation but with the rudest people. My walks are on the inaccessible\nshore of a sea which is perpetually stormy. My monks are only known by\ntheir dissoluteness, and living without any rule or order. Ah! Philintus,\nwere you to see my habitation, you would rather think it a slaughter\nhouse than a convent. The doors and walks are without any ornament except\nthe heads of wild boars, the antlers of stags, the feet of foxes and the\nhides of other animals, which are nailed up against them. The cells are\nhung with the skins of victims destroyed in the chase. The monks have not\nso much as a bell to wake them, and are only roused from their drowsiness\nby the howling of dogs and the croaking of ravens. Nothing disturbs\ntheir laziness or languor but the rude noises of hunting; and their only\nalternatives are riot and rest. But I should return my thanks to heaven\nif that were their only fault. I endeavor in vain to recall them to their\nduty; they all combine against me; and I only expose myself to continual\nvexations and dangers. I imagine I see every moment a naked sword hanging\nover my head. Sometimes they surround me, and load me with the vilest\nabuse; and even when they abandon me, I am still left to my own dreadful\ntormenting thoughts.\u201d This single example would be sufficient to prove\nthe extraordinary dominion which solitude has over the human mind. It\nis, indeed, unless it be managed with great good sense, the complete\nnursery of mischief. The mind is without those numerous incentives to\naction which are continually occurring in the busy world; and nothing\ncan contribute to produce irregular and disorderly passions more than\nthe want of some pursuit by which the heart is interested and the mind\nemployed. The minds of idle persons are always restless; their hearts\nnever at perfect ease; their spirits continually on the fret; and their\npassions goaded to the most unwarrantable excess.\n\nIdleness, even in social life, inflicts the severest torments on the\nsoul; destroys the repose of individuals; and, when general, frequently\nendangers the safety of the state. Timotheus, an Egyptian monk, surnamed\nthe Cat, a short time after the Eutychian Controversy, in the year\n457, felt an ambition to fill the episcopal and patriarchal chair.\nThe splenetic restlessness which prevailed among the monks in their\nseveral monastic solitudes, seemed to present to his observing eye\nproper instruments for the execution of his scheme. He was conscious,\nfrom his profound knowledge of the human character, that if men who\nhad so long remained in uneasy and dissatisfied indolence, could be\nprovoked to activity, their zeal would be as turbulent as their former\nlife had been lazy and supine; and that their dispositions might be\neasily turned to the accomplishment of his wishes. The better to effect\nhis purpose, he clothed himself in a white garment, crept silently in\nthe dead of night to the cells of his companions, and, through a tube,\nwhich concealed his voice while it magnified the sound of it, hailed\nevery monk by his name. The sound seemed to convey the voice of heaven\nto the superstitious ears of the awakened auditors; and the sagacious\nand enterprising trumpeter did not fail to announce himself as an\nambassador of heaven, sent in the name of the Almighty to command the\nmonks to assemble immediately, to consult on the most likely mode of\ndeposing the Nestorian heretic Proterus, and of raising the favored\nand orthodox Timotheus to the episcopal throne. The idea of being thus\nelected to execute this pious rebellion, roused all the sleeping powers\nof these solitary and hitherto idle fanatics; they rose tumultuously\nat the sacred signal; proclaimed him as a heaven elected patriarch;\nsolicited him with friendly violence, not to refuse the promised boon;\nand burning with all the ardor of expected success, marched, in a\nfew days under the banner of the imposter, to Alexandria, where they\ninspired the members of other monasteries with their own delusion, and\ncreated throughout Egypt the wildest and most tremendous commotions.\nThe populace caught the religious frenzy, and joined in vast numbers the\nmonastic rout. Assisted by this desperate rabble, Timotheus proceeded\nto the principal church of Alexandria, where he was, by a preconcerted\narrangement, pompously received by two deposed bishops, and ordained the\nmetropolitan of the whole Egyptian territory. Proterus was astonished\nat this sudden irruption, and hurled his anathemas with great art and\ndexterity against the impious audacity of the obscure monastic who had\nthus dared to depart from the humility of his station, and to invade\nwith his indolent brethren, the rights of sovereignty; but being well\naware of the fury with which this description of men generally act when\nthey are once set in motion, and being informed of the vast multitude by\nwhich they had been joined, he thought it prudent to quit his palace, and\nto retire to the sacred shelter of the church of St. Quirinus. Heathens\nand barbarians had heretofore respected this venerable sanctuary; but,\nupon the present occasion, it was incapable of giving safety to its aged\nrefugee. The furious troops of the holy imposter burst with irresistible\nviolence through the walls of this consecrated edifice, and with their\ndaggers drank the blood of the innocent pontiff, even upon that altar,\nthe very sight of which ought to have paralyzed the hand of guilt. His\nsurrounding and numerous friends, particularly six ecclesiastics of\ngreat eminence, learning, and piety, shared the fate of their unhappy\nmaster, and were found, when the dreadful massacre was over, clinging\nwith fondness, in the arms of death, round his mangled body. But it was\nnecessary for the murderers to calumniate the purity of that life which\nthey had thus violently and injuriously destroyed. They accordingly\ndragged the corpse of this virtuous patriarch to the most public part\nof the city, and, after the grossest abuse of his character, and most\nscandalous misrepresentation of his conduct, hung it on an elevated\ncross, and exposed it to the brutal insults of the misguided and deluded\npopulace. To complete this unmanly outrage, they at length committed the\ntorn and mangled remains of this excellent prelate to the flames, and\nhurled his ashes, amidst the most opprobrious and insulting epithets,\ninto the darkened air; exclaiming with horrid imprecations, that the\nmortal part of such a wretch was not entitled to the right of sepulchre,\nor even the tears of friends. So furious and undaunted, indeed, were\nall the oriental monks, when once roused from their monastic lethargy,\nthat even the soldiers of the Greek emperors cautiously avoided meeting\nthem in the field. The fury by which they were actuated was so blind,\nthat the pious Chrysostom, the warmest and most zealous advocate for\nmonastic institutions, trembled at his approach. This celebrated father\nof the church was born in the year 344, of one of the first families of\nthe city of Antioch, and added new lustre to their fame by his virtues\nand his eloquence. Having finished his studies with wonderful success,\nunder Libanus, the greatest rhetorician of the age, he devoted himself to\nthe study of the law; but religion having planted itself deeply in his\nmind, he quitted all secular concerns, and retired into solitude among\nthe mountains in the vicinity of the city, where, in the dreary caves, he\ndevoted two entire years to penitence and prayer. Ill health, however,\nobliged him to return to Antioch; he began to preach the Word, and was\nsoon followed by a host of disciples. The life of this excellent pastor\nwas an example to his whole flock. He endeavored to drive away the wolves\nfrom the folds, and sent missionaries even into Scythia, to convert its\ninhabitants to Christianity. These missions, and his various charities,\nrequired either considerable revenues or the most rigid economy; and\nthe holy patriarch was contented to live in the extremest poverty, that\nhe might have the better opportunity of relieving the sufferings of his\nfellow creatures. The character and conduct of this virtuous pontiff soon\ngained him the hearts of his people, and he set himself earnestly to\nreform the many abuses which at this time prevailed at Constantinople.\nThe severity and vehemence, however, with which he declaimed against\nthe pride, the luxury, and the rapacity of the great; the zeal with\nwhich he endeavored to reform the vices and misconduct of the clergy;\nand the eagerness he discovered for the conversion of heretics, created\nhim a multitude of enemies; and Eutropius, the favorite of the Emperor\nArcadius; Gainas, the tyrant to whom he had refused protection for the\nArians; Theophilus, of Alexandria, the patron of the Origenists; and\nthe disciples of Arius, whom he banished from Constantinople, entered\ninto a conspiracy against him; and an occasion soon happened, which gave\nthem the opportunity of taking ample vengeance. The intrepid preacher,\nconvinced that while he declaimed against vice in general, the peculiar\nvices which prevailed in the court of the Empress Eudoxia, and the\npersonal misconduct of the Empress herself, called aloud for his severest\nanimadversions, he took every opportunity of exposing them to the public\nabhorrence. The resentment of the court encouraged the discontent of\nthe clergy and monks of Constantinople, who had been very severely\ndisciplined by the zeal of the archbishop. He had condemned from the\npulpit the domestic females of the clergy of Constantinople, who, under\nthe name of servants or sisters, afforded a perpetual occasion either\nof sin or scandal. The silent and solitary ascetics, who had secluded\nthemselves from the world, were entitled to the warmest appprobation of\nChrysostom; but he despised and stigmatized, as the disgrace of their\nholy profession, the crowd of degenerate monks, who from some unworthy\nmotives of pleasure or profit, so frequently infested the streets of the\nmetropolis. To the voice of persuasion, the archbishop was obliged to\nadd the lesson of authority; and in his visitation through the Asiatic\nprovinces, he deposed thirteen bishops of Lydia and Phrygia; and declared\nthat a deep corruption of simony and licentiousness had infected the\nwhole episcopal order. These bishops also entered into the confederacy\nabove mentioned, and the excellent Chrysostom was studiously represented\nas the intolerable tyrant of the eastern church. This ecclesiastical\nconspiracy was managed by the archbishop of Alexandria, who, by the\ninvitation of Eudoxia, landed at Constantinople with a stout body of\nEgyptian mariners, to encounter the populace, and a train of dependant\nbishops, to secure, by their voices, a majority of a synod. The synod\nwas convened in the suburbs of Chalcedon, and was called the Oak; in\nwhich Chrysostom, was accused of treason against the empress; rudely\narrested, and driven into exile; from whence, however, he was in two\ndays recalled; but, upon a repetition of his imputed offences, was again\nbanished to the remote and desolate town of Cucusus among the ridges\nof mount Taurus, in the Lesser Armenia. On his way to this place, he\nwas detained by sickness at Cesarea, and at length confined to his bed.\nThe bishop of Cesarea, who had long entertained a secret enmity against\nhim, unmoved by his fallen fortunes and helpless state, stirred up the\nlazy monks of the surrounding monasteries to vengeance against him. The\nfury with which they issued from their respective cells was incredible;\nlike the sleeping powder of the present age, they burst into immediate\nconflagration and explosion at the touch of that hand by which they were\nfired, and directing their heated animosity against the dying Chrysostom,\nsurrounded his house and threatened, that if he did not immediately\ndepart, they would involve it in flames, and bury him in its ruins. The\nsoldiers of the garrison were called out to protect the life of this\nvirtuous ecclesiastic; and, on their arrival at the scene of action,\nvery courteously requested the enraged monks to be quiet and depart; but\nthe request was treated with contempt and defiance; and it was by the\nhumane resolution of Chrysostom himself that this tumult was quelled;\nfor, rather than the blood of his fellow creatures should be shed on\nhis account, he desired a litter might be procured, into which, in his\nalmost expiring state, he was roughly laid, and, by his departure from\nthe city, escaped the fury which thus assailed his life. It is evident,\nfrom these facts, that the irrational solitude of monastic institutions,\nparticularly that which prevailed in the early ages of Christianity\nin the eastern parts of the converted world, instead of rendering the\nvotaries of it mild, complacent and humane, filled their minds with the\nwildest notions, and the most uncharitable and acrimonious passions,\nand fostered in their hearts the most dangerous and destructive vices.\nIt is truly said, by a very elegant writer and profound observer of men\nand manners, that monastic institutions unavoidably contract and fetter\nthe human mind; that the partial attachment of a monk to the interest of\nhis order, which is often incompatible with that of other citizens, the\nhabit of implicit obedience to the will of a superior, together with the\nfrequent return of the wearisome and frivolous duties of the cloister,\ndebase his faculties, and extinguish that generosity of sentiment and\nspirit which qualifies men for thinking and feeling justly, with respect\nto what is proper in life and conduct; and that father Paul of Venice\nwas, perhaps, the only person educated in a cloister, that ever was\naltogether superior to its prejudices, or who viewed the transactions of\nmen, and reasoned concerning the interests of society, with the enlarged\nsentiments of a philosopher, with the discernment of a man conversant\nin affairs, and with the liberality of a gentleman. Depraved, however,\nas this order of men has ever been, it was to their prayers and masses\nthat all the princes and potentates of more than half the discovered\nregions of the earth confided their salvation, and expected from their\nintercession, divine favor from the fountain of all goodness and truth.\nBut the fears which these artful and intriguing ecclesiastics raised\nin the weak or guilty minds of their contemporaries, instead of being\nquieted by the conciliatory and comforting doctrines of the gospel of\nChrist, were converted to the purposes of their own sordid avarice, and\nmade subservient to the enjoyment of their vices, and the advancement\nof their power. They inculcated the notion, that the surest passport to\neternal bliss was to overwhelm them with riches, and to indulge them with\nextraordinary privileges; and every haughty noble, or despotic sovereign,\nwho was anxious to gratify his own wanton pleasures, and capricious\nvices, at the expense of his people\u2019s prosperity and happiness,\nendeavored to reconcile himself to his offended God, by bribing these\nambitious and greedy monastics to grant them absolution for their deepest\ncrimes. Their history exhibits, in full view, the melancholy truth, that\ntheir hearts were corrupted by the worst passions that disgrace humanity,\nand that the discipline of the convent was seldom productive of a single\nvirtue. Enthusiasts, indeed, of every description, whose sentiments\nand feelings are continually at war with the dictates of nature, and\nwho renounce all the pleasing sympathies, gentle endearments, kind\nconnexions, and rational enjoyments of life, are not likely to entertain\nany great anxiety for the interest or happiness of others, or to feel the\nleast commiseration for their sorrows. Occupied by sordid and selfish\npursuits, they must hate and despise a society, to the lively enjoyments\nof which they look back with such keen regret. When the mind, alas! has\nnumbed its sense of social joys, and become a stranger to the delightful\ncharms of sweet domestic love; when all affection for the world and\nits concerns has been studiously expelled from the bosom, and no kind\nfeeling or social inclination suffered to fill the vacant heart; when\nman has separated himself from his species, and has not united his soul\nwith his Creator, he has lost all power of being happy himself, or of\ncommunicating happiness to others.\n\nThe bishop exceeded the inferior clergy in every kind of profligacy,\nas much as in opulence and power; and, of course, their superintending\nand visitorial authority was not exerted to lessen or restrain the\nprevalence of those vices which their evil example contributed so greatly\nto increase. Time and chance sometimes produce extraordinary events;\nand if a really pious, vigilant, and austere prelate arose amidst the\ngeneral dissoluteness of the age, his single effort to reclaim these\nsolitary ecclesiastics was seldom attended with success. These fathers,\nindeed, frequently scrutinized with great minuteness into the practices\nof the convents; and as they were not so able to detect the guilt of\nincontinency, as some philosophers of the present age pretend to be, by\nthe lines and features of the face, they proceeded upon evidence less\ndelicate, perhaps, but certainly more demonstrative and unerring.\n\nThe celebrated Boccace has, by his witty and ingenious tales, very\nseverely satirized the licentiousness and immorality which prevailed\nduring his time in the Italian monasteries; but, by exposing the\nscandalous lives, and lashing the vices, of the monks, nuns, and other\norders of the Catholic clergy, he has been decried as a contemner of\nreligion, and as an enemy to true piety. Contemporary historians have\nalso delivered the most disgusting accounts of their intemperance and\ndebauchery. The frailty, indeed, of the female monastics was even an\narticle of regular taxation; and the holy father did not disdain to fill\nhis coffers with the price of their impurities. The frail nun, whether\nshe had become immured within a convent, or still resided without its\nwalls, might redeem her lost honor, and be reinstated in her former\ndignity and virtue, for a few ducats. This scandalous traffic was\ncarried to an extent that soon destroyed all sense of morality, and\nheightened the hue of vice. Ambrosius, bishop of Camadoli, a prelate\nof extraordinary virtue, visited various convents in his diocese, but,\non inspecting their proceedings, he found no traces of virtue, or even\nof decency remaining in any one of them; nor was he able, with all the\nsagacity he exercised on the subject, to reinfuse the smallest particle\nof these qualities into the degenerated minds of the sisterhood.\n\nThe reform of the nunneries was the first step that distinguished the\ngovernment of Sextus IV. after he ascended the papal throne, at the close\nof the fifteenth century. Bossus, a celebrated canon, of the strictest\nprinciples, and most inflexible disposition, was the agent selected by\nhis holiness for this arduous achievement. The Genoese convents, where\nthe nuns lived in open defiance of all the rules of decency and precepts\nof religion, were the first objects of his attention. The orations which\nhe publicly uttered from the pulpit, as well as the private lectures\nand exhortations which he delivered to the nuns from the confessional\nchair, were fine models, not only of his zeal and probity, but of his\nliterature and eloquence. They breathed, in the most impressive manner,\nthe true spirit of Christian purity; but his glowing representations\nof the bright beauties of virtue, and the dark deformities of vice\nmade little impression upon their corrupt hearts. Despising the open\ncalumnies of the envious, and the secret hostilities of the guilty, he\nproceeded, in spite of all discouragement and opposition, in his highly\nhonorable pursuit; and at length, by his wisdom and assiduity, beheld\nthe fairest prospects of success daily opening to his view. The rays of\nhope, however, had scarcely beamed upon his endeavors, when they were\nimmediately overclouded by disappointment. The arm of magistracy, which\nhe had wisely called upon to aid the accomplishment of his design, was\nenervated by the venality of its hand; and the incorrigible objects of\nhis solicitude having freed themselves by bribery from the terror of the\ncivil power, contemned the reformer\u2019s denunciation of eternal vengeance\nhereafter, and relapsed into their former licentiousness and depravity.\nA few, indeed, among the great number of nuns who inhabited these guilty\nconvents, were converted by the force of his eloquent remonstrances,\nand became afterward highly exemplary by the virtue and piety of their\nlives; but the rest abandoned themselves to their impious courses; and\nthough more vigorous methods were, in a short time, adopted against the\nrefractory monastics, they set all attempts to reform them at defiance.\nThe modes, perhaps, in which their vices were indulged, changed with\nthe character of the age; and as manners grew more refined, the gross\nand shameful indulgences of the monks and nuns were changed into a more\nelegant and decent style of enjoyment. Fashion might render them more\nprudent and reserved in their intrigues; but their passions were not less\nvicious, nor their dispositions less corrupt.\n\nThe disorderly manners of these solitary devotees were among the\nprincipal causes that produced the reformation. There is a point beyond\nwhich even depravity cannot go in corrupting the manners of the age.\nThe number and power of the monastics, or, as they were at that time\ncalled, the regular clergy, was certainly great, and their resistance\nto the approaches of reformation obstinate; but the temper of the times\nhad changed, and the glorious and beneficial event was at length\naccomplished. The Catholics viewed the dismemberment of their church\nas a fatal stroke to their interest and power; but it has since been\nconfessed, by every candid and rational member of this communion to be\nan event which has contributed to advance morals to a higher degree of\nperfection than they had ever before attained since the introduction of\nChristianity, and to restore the discipline of the church to some portion\nof its original purity.\n\nThe pure spirit of the gospel of Christ breathes forth a holy religion,\nfounded on meekness, charity, kindness, and brotherly love; but\nfanaticism, when joined to a systematic and irrational solitude, only\nproduces the rank and poisonous fruits we have already described. The\ntrivial, querulous, and intolerant superstitions, which, during so\nmany ages, eclipsed the reason and morals of mankind, and obscured, in\nclouds of lust and cruelty, the bright rays of evangelical truth, were\nthe sad effects of irrational solitude. The best affections of nature\nwere perverted or suppressed; all the gentle offices of humanity were\nneglected; moral sentiments despised; and the angel voice of piety\nunheard, or converted into the violent vociferations of hatred, and the\ncries of persecution. The loud clangors of pretended orthodoxy resounded\nwith sanguinary hostilities from shore to shore; the earth was deluged\nwith the blood of those who dared to deny, or even to doubt the absurd\nand idle dogmas which the monks every where invented: and their horrid\nbarbarities were attempted to be justified by propagating the notion that\nseverity with heretics was the only mode of preserving the true faith.\nOh! how blind is human folly! How obdurate are hearts vitiated by pride!\nHow can that be the true faith which tears asunder every social tie;\nannihilates all the feelings of nature; places cruelty and horror on the\nthrone of humanity and love, and scatters ferocious fury and insatiable\nhatred through the paths of life? But we may now indulge a pleasing hope,\nthat the period is at hand, when the sacred temple of religion, purified\nby the labors of learned and truly pious men, from the foul stains with\nwhich fanaticism and ambition have so long defaced it, shall be restored\nto its own divine simplicity; and only the voice of gentleness, of love,\nof peace of virtue, and of goodness, be heard within its walls. Then\nwill every Christian be truly taught the only means by which his days\nmay be useful and his life happy; and Catholics, Lutherans, Calvinists,\nProtestants, and every really religious class of men, will unite in acts\nof sincere benevolence and universal peace. No austere, gloomy, and\ndispiriting duties: no irrational penances and unnatural mortification,\nwill be enjoined; no intolerant cruelties be inflicted; no unsocial\ninstitutions established; no rites of solitary selfishness be required;\nbut reason and religion in divine perfection, will reassume their reign;\nand unaffected and sincere devotion will occupy every mind; the Almighty\nwill be worshipped _in spirit_ and _in truth_; and we shall be convinced\nthat \u201cthe wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest; but that\nthe work of righteousness is peace, and the effect of righteousness,\nquietude and assurance for ever.\u201d To effect this, a rational retirement\nfrom the tumults of the world will be occasionally necessary, in order to\n_commune with our own hearts, and be still_, and to dispose our minds to\nsuch a train of thinking, as shall prepare us, when the giddy whirl of\nlife is finished for the society of more exalted spirits.\n\n    Oh! would mankind but make fair truth their guide,\n    And force the helm from prejudice and pride,\n    Were once these maxims fix\u2019d, that God\u2019s our friend,\n    Virtue our good, and happiness our end,\n    How soon must reason o\u2019er the world prevail,\n    And error, fraud and superstition fail!\n    None would hereafter, then, with groundless fear,\n    Describe th\u2019 Almighty cruel and severe;\n    Predestinating some, without pretence,\n    To heaven; and some to hell, for no offence;\n    Inflicting endless pains for transient crimes,\n    And favoring sects or nations, men or times.\n    To please him, none would foolishly forbear,\n    Or food, or rest, or itch in shirts of hair:\n    Or deem it merit to believe, or teach,\n    What reason contradicts or cannot reach.\n    None would fierce zeal for piety mistake,\n    Or malice, for whatever tenet\u2019s sake;\n    Or think salvation to one sect confin\u2019d,\n    And heaven too narrow to contain mankind.\n    No more would brutal rage disturb our peace,\n    But envy, hatred, war, and discord cease;\n    Our own and others\u2019 good each hour employ,\n    And all things smile with universal joy;\n    Fair virtue then, with pure religion join\u2019d,\n    Would regulate and bless the human mind,\n    And man be what his Maker first design\u2019d.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n_Of the danger of idleness in solitude._\n\n\nIdleness is truly said to be the root of all evil; and solitude certainly\nencourages in the generality of its votaries this baneful disposition.\nNature has so framed the character of man, that his happiness essentially\ndepends on his passions being properly interested, his imagination\nbusied, and his faculties employed; but these engagements are seldom\nfound in the vacant scenes and tedious hours of retirement from the\nworld, except by those who have acquired the great and happy art of\nfurnishing their own amusements; an art which, as we have already shown,\ncan never be learnt in the irrational solitude of caves and cells.\n\nThe idleness which solitude is so apt to induce, is dangerous in\nproportion to the natural strength, activity, and spirit of the mind;\nfor it is observed, that the highest characters are frequently goaded\nby that restlessness which accompanies leisure, to acts of the wildest\noutrage and greatest enormity. The ancient legislators were so conscious\nthat indolence, whether indulged in solitude or in society, is the nurse\nof civil commotion, and the chief instigator of moral turpitude, that\nthey wisely framed their laws to prevent its existence. Solon, observing\nthat the city was filled with persons who assembled from all parts on\naccount of the great security in which the people lived in Attica,\nthat the country withal was poor and barren, and being conscious that\nmerchants, who traffic by sea, do not use to transport their goods where\nthey can have nothing in exchange, turned the attention of the citizens\nto manufactures; and for this purpose made a law, that he who was three\ntimes convicted of idleness, should be deemed _infamous_; that no son\nshould be obliged to maintain his father if he had not taught him a\ntrade; that trade should be accounted _honorable_; and that the council\nof the Areopagus should examine into every man\u2019s means of living, and\nchastise the idle with the greatest severity. Draco conceived it so\nnecessary to prevent the prevalency of a vice to which man is by nature\nprone, and which is so destructive to his character, and ruinous to his\nmanners, that he punished idleness with death. The tyrant Pisistratus, as\nTheophrastus relates, was so convinced of the importance of preventing\nidleness among his subjects, that he made a law against it, which\nproduced at once industry in the country, and tranquillity in the city.\nPericles, who, in order to relieve Athens from a number of lazy citizens,\nwhose lives were neither employed in virtuous actions, nor guarded from\nguilt by habits of industry, planted colonies in Chersonesus, Naxos,\nAndros, Thrace, and even in Italy, and sent them thither; for this\nsagacious statesman saw the danger of indulging this growing vice, and\nwisely took precautions to prevent it. Nothing, indeed, contributes more\nessentially to the tranquillity of a nation, and to the peaceful demeanor\nof its inhabitants, than those artificial wants which luxury introduces;\nfor, by creating a demand for the fashionable articles, they engage the\nattention, and employ the hands of a multitude of manufacturers and\nartificers, who, if they were left in that restless indolence which the\nwant of work creates, would certainly be unhappy themselves, and in\nall probability would be fomenting mischief in the minds of others. To\nsuspend only for one week, the vast multitudes that are employed in the\nseveral mechanical trades and manufactories in Great Britain, would be\nto run the risk of involving the metropolis of that great, flourishing,\nand powerful country, once more in flames; for it would be converting\nthe populace into an aptly disposed train of combustible matter, which\nbeing kindled by the least spark of accidental enthusiasm, by the heat\nof political faction, or, indeed, by their own internal fermentation,\nwould explode into the most flagrant enormities. Nature, it is said,\nabhors a _vacuum_; and this old peripatetic principle may be properly\napplied to the intellect, which will embrace any thing, however absurd\nor criminal, rather than be wholly without an object. The same author\nalso observes, that every man may date the predominance of those desires\nthat disturb his life, and contaminate his conscience, from some unhappy\nhour when too much leisure exposed him to their incursions; for that _he_\nhas lived with little observation, either on himself or others, who does\nnot know that to be idle is to be vicious. \u201cMany writers of eminence in\nphysic,\u201d continues this eminent writer, whose works not only disclose\nhis general acquaintance with life and manners, but a profound knowledge\nof human nature, \u201chave laid out their diligence upon the consideration\nof those distempers to which men are exposed by particular states of\nlife; and very learned treatises have been produced upon the maladies\nof the camp, the sea, and the mines. There are, indeed, few employments\nwhich a man accustomed to academical inquiries and medical refinements,\nwould not find reason for declining, as dangerous to health, did not\nhis learning or experience inform him, that almost every occupation,\nhowever inconvenient or formidable, is happier and safer than _a life\nof sloth_. The necessity of action is not only demonstrable from the\nfabric of the body, but evident from observation of the universal\npractice of mankind; who for the preservation of health in those whose\nrank or wealth exempts them from the necessity of lucrative labors, have\ninvented sports and diversions, though not of equal use to the world\nwith manual trades, yet of equal fatigue to those who practice them,\nand differing only from the drudgery of the husbandman or manufacturer,\nas they are acts of choice, and therefore performed without the painful\nsense of compulsion. The huntsman rises early, pursues his game through\nall the dangers and obstructions of the chase, swims rivers, and scales\nprecipices, till he returns home, no less harassed than the soldier,\nand has, perhaps, sometimes incurred as great hazard of wounds and\ndeath; yet he has no motive to excite his ardor; he is neither subject\nto the command of a general, nor dreads the penalties of neglect or\ndisobedience: he has neither profits nor honors to expect from his perils\nand conquests: but acts with the hope of mural or civic garlands, and\nmust content himself with the praise of his tenants and companions. But\nsuch is the constitution of man, that _labor is its own reward_; nor\nwill any external incitements be requisite, if it be considered how\nmuch happiness is gained, and how much misery escaped, by frequent and\nviolent agitation of the body. Ease is the most that can be hoped from a\nsedentary and inactive habit; but ease is a mere neutral state, between\npain and pleasure. The dance of spirits, the bound of vigor, readiness\nof enterprise, and defiance of fatigue, are reserved for him that braces\nhis nerves, and hardens his fibres; that keeps his limbs pliant with\nmotion; and, by frequent exposure fortifies his frame against the common\naccidents of cold and heat. With ease, however, if it could be secured,\nmany would be content; but nothing terrestrial can be kept at a stand.\nEase, if it is not rising into pleasure, will be settling into pain;\nand whatever hopes the dreams of speculation may suggest, of observing\nthe proportion between retirement and labor, and keeping the body in a\nhealthy state by supplies exactly equal to its weight, we know that, in\neffect, the vital powers, unexcited by motion, grow gradually languid,\ndecay, and die. It is necessary to that perfection of which our present\nstate is capable, that the mind and body should both be kept in action;\nthat neither the faculties of the one nor the other should be suffered to\ngrow lax or torpid for want of use; that neither health can be purchased\nby voluntary submission to ignorance, nor knowledge cultivated at the\nexpense of that health, which must enable it either to give pleasure to\nits possessor, or assistance to others. It is too frequently the pride of\nstudents, to despise those amusements which give to the rest of mankind\nstrength of limbs and cheerfulness of heart. Solitude and contemplation\nare, indeed, seldom consistent with such skill in common exercises or\nsports, as is necessary to make them practised with delight; and no\nman is willing to do that of which the necessity is not pressing, when\nhe knows that his awkwardness but makes him ridiculous. I have always\nadmired the wisdom of those by whom our female education was instituted,\nfor having contrived that all women, of whatever condition, should be\ntaught some arts of manufacture, by which the vacuities of recluse and\ndomestic leisure may be filled up. These arts are more necessary, as\nthe weakness of their sex, and the general system of life, debar ladies\nfrom many enjoyments, which, by diversifying the circumstances of men,\npreserve them from being cankered by the rust of their own thoughts. I\nknow not how much of the virtue and happiness of the world may be the\nconsequence of this judicious regulation. Perhaps the most powerful\nfancy might be unable to figure the confusion and slaughter that would\nbe produced by so many piercing eyes and vivid understandings, turned\nloose upon mankind, with no other business than to sparkle and intrigue,\nto perplex and destroy. For my own part, whenever chance brings within\nmy observation a knot of misses busy at their needles, I consider myself\nas in the school of virtue; and though I have no extraordinary skill\nin plain work, or embroidery, look upon their operations with as much\nsatisfaction as their governess, because I regard them as providing a\nsecurity against the most dangerous ensnarers of the soul, by enabling\nthem to exclude idleness from their solitary moments, and with idleness,\nher attendant train of passions, fancies, chimeras, fears, sorrows,\nand desires. Ovid and Cervantes will inform them that love has no power\nbut on those whom he catches unemployed: and Hector, in the Iliad, when\nhe sees Andromache overwhelmed with tears, sends her for consolation\nto the loom and the distaff. Certain it is, that wild wishes, and vain\nimaginations, never take such firm possession of the mind, as when it is\nfound empty and unemployed.\u201d\n\nIdleness, indeed, was the spreading root from which all the vices and\ncrimes of the oriental nuns so luxuriantly branched. Few of them had any\ntaste for science, or were enabled by the habits either of reflection, or\nindustry to charm away the tediousness of solitude, or to relieve that\nweariness which must necessarily accompany their abstracted situation.\nThe talents with which nature had endowed them were uncultivated; the\nglimmering lights of reason were obscured by a blind and headlong zeal;\nand their temper soured by the circumstances of their forlorn conditions.\nCertain it is, that the only means of avoiding unhappiness and misery in\nsolitude, and perhaps in society also, is to keep the mind continually\nengaged in, or occupied by, some laudable pursuit. The earliest\nprofessors of a life of solitude, although they removed themselves far\nfrom the haunts of men, among \u201ccaverns deep and deserts idle,\u201d where\nnature denied her sons the most common of her blessings, employed\nthemselves in endeavoring to cultivate the rude and barren soil during\nthose intervals in which they were not occupied in the ordinary labors\nof religion; and even those whose extraordinary sanctity confined them\nthe whole day in their cells, found the necessity of filling up their\nleisure, by exercising the manual arts for which they were respectively\nsuited. The rules, indeed, which were originally established in most of\nthe convents, ordained that the time and attention of a monk should never\nbe for a moment vacant or unemployed: but this excellent precept was\nsoon rendered obsolete; and the sad consequences which resulted from its\nnon-observance, we have already, in some degree, described.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n_Conclusion._\n\n\nThe anxiety with which I have endeavored to describe the advantages\nand the disadvantages which, under particular circumstances, and in\nparticular situations, are likely to be experienced by those who devote\nthemselves to solitary retirement, may perhaps, occasion me to be viewed\nby some as its romantic panegyrist, and by others as its uncandid censor.\nI shall therefore endeavor, in this concluding chapter, to prevent a\nmisconstruction of my opinion, by explicitly declaring the inferences\nwhich ought, in fairness, to be drawn from what I have said.\n\nThe advocates for a life of uninterrupted society will, in all\nprobability, accuse me of being a morose and gloomy philosopher; an\ninveterate enemy to social intercourse; who, by recommending a melancholy\nand sullen seclusion, and interdicting mankind from enjoying the\npleasures of life, would sour their tempers, subdue their affections,\nannihilate the best feelings of the heart, pervert the noble faculty of\nreason, and thereby once more plunge the world into that dark abyss of\nbarbarism, from which it has been so happily rescued by the establishment\nand civilization of society.\n\nThe advocates for a life of continual solitude will most probably, on the\nother hand, accuse me of a design to deprive the species of one of the\nmost pleasing and satisfactory delights, by exciting an unjust antipathy,\nraising an unfounded alarm, depreciating the uses, and aggravating the\nabuses, of solitude; and by these means endeavoring to encourage that\nspirit of licentiousness and dissipation which so strongly mark the\ndegeneracy, and tend to promote the vices of the age.\n\nThe respective advocates for these opinions, however, equally mistake\nthe intent and view I had in composing this treatise. I do sincerely\nassure them, that it was very far from my intention to cause a relaxation\nof the exercise of any of the civil duties of life; to impair in any\ndegree, the social dispositions of the human heart; to lessen any\ninclination to rational retirement: or to prevent the beneficent practice\nof _self-communion_, which solitude is best calculated to promote.\nThe fine and generous philanthropy of that mind which, entertaining\nnotions of universal benevolence, seeks to feel a love for, and to\npromote the good of, the whole human race, can never be injured by an\nattachment to domestic pleasures, or by cultivating the soft and gentle\naffections which are only to be found in the small circles of private\nlife, and can never be truly enjoyed, except in the bosom of love, or\nthe arms of friendship: nor will an occasional and rational retirement\nfrom the tumults of the world lessen any of the noble sympathies of the\nhuman heart: but on the contrary, by enlarging those ideas and feelings\nwhich have sprung from the connexions and dependencies which its votary\nmay have formed with individuals, and by generalizing his particular\ninterests and concerns, may enable him to extend the _social principle_\nand increase the circle of his benevolence.\n\n    God loves from whole to parts; but human soul\n    Must rise from _individual_ to _whole_.\n    Self love but serves the virtuous mind to wake,\n    As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake;\n    The centre mov\u2019d, a circle straight succeeds;\n    Another still, and still another spreads;\n    Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace;\n    His country next; and next, all human race.\n\nThe chief design of this work was, to exhibit the necessity of combining\nthe uses of solitude with those of society; to show, in the strongest\nlight, the advantages they may mutually derive from each other; to\nconvince mankind of the danger of running into either extreme; to teach\nthe advocate for uninterrupted society, how highly all the social virtues\nmay be improved, and its vices easily abandoned, by habits of solitary\nabstraction; and the advocate for continual solitude, how much that\nindocility and arrogance of character which is contracted by a total\nabsence from the world, may be corrected by the urbanity of society, and\nby the company and conversation of the learned and polite.\n\nPetrarch, while in the prime of life, and amidst the happiest exertions\nof his extraordinary genius, quitted all the seducing charms of society,\nand retired from love and Avignon, to indulge his mind in literary\npursuits, and to relieve his heart, from the unfortunate passion by which\nit was enthralled. No situation, he conceived, was so favorable for these\npurposes as the highly romantic and delightful solitude of Vaucluse. It\nwas situated within view of the Mediterranean sea, in a little valley,\ninclosed by a semicircular barrier of rocks, on a plain as beautiful\nas the vale of Tempe. The rocks were high, bold, and grotesque; and the\nvalley was divided by a river, along the banks of which were meadows\nand pastures of a perpetual verdure. A path on the left side of the\nriver, led, by gentle windings, to the head of this vast amphitheatre.\nAt the foot of the highest rock, and directly in front of the valley,\nwas a prodigious cavern, hollowed by the hand of nature, from whence\narose a spring almost as celebrated as that of Helicon. The gloom of the\ncavern, which was accessible when the waters were low, was tremendous.\nIt consisted of two excavations; the one forming an arch of sixty feet\nhigh; and the other, which was within, of thirty feet. In the centre of\nthis subterraneous rock was an oval basin, of one hundred and eight feet\ndiameter, into which that copious stream which forms the river Sorgia\nrises silently, without even a jet or bubble. The depth of this basin\nhas eluded all attempts to fathom it. In this charming retreat, while he\nvainly endeavored, during a period of twenty years, to forget, he enabled\nhimself to endure the absence of his beloved Laura, and to compare,\nwith the highest satisfaction, the pure pleasures of rural retirement\nwith the false joys of a vicious and corrupted court, the manners and\nprinciples of which, indeed, he had always had good sense enough to\ndiscover and despise. But this solitude, with all its charms, could not\nat length prevent him from returning to the more splendid and busy scenes\nof public life. The advantages he had derived from a retreat of twenty\nyears, would, he conceived, enable him to mix with the world without the\ndanger of being corrupted by its vices; and after reasoning with himself\nfor some time in this way, he suddenly abandoned the peaceful privacy of\nVaucluse, and precipitated himself into the gayest and most active scenes\nof a luxurious city. The inhabitants of Avignon were amazed to behold\nthe hermit of Vaucluse, the tender fugitive from love, the philosophic\ncontemner of society, who could scarcely exist, except in the midst of\nromantic rocks and flowery forests, shining all at once the bright star\nof the fashionable hemisphere, and the choice spirit of every private and\npublic entertainment.\n\n    We\u2019re sadly ignorant, when we hope to find\n    In shades a med\u2019cine for a troubled mind;\n    Wan grief will haunt us wheresoe\u2019er we go,\n    Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow:\n    There pale inaction pines his life away,\n    And satiate, curses the return of day;\n    There love, insatiate, rages wild with pain,\n    Endures the blast, or plunges in the main;\n    There superstition broods o\u2019er all her fears\n    And yells of demons in the zephyr hears\n    He who a hermit is resolv\u2019d to dwell,\n    And bids a social life a long farewell,\n    Is impious.\n\nIt has already been observed, upon the authority of a very accurate and\nprofound observer of nature, that a very extraordinary temperament of\nmind and constitution of body are required to sustain, with tranquillity\nand endurance, the various fatigues of continued solitude; and certain\nit is, that a human creature who is constantly pent up in seclusion,\nmust, if he be not of a very exalted character, soon become melancholy\nand miserable. Happiness, like every other valuable quality, cannot be\ncompletely possessed, without encountering many dangers, and conquering\nmany difficulties. The prize is great, but the task is arduous. A healthy\nbody, and vigorous mind, are as essentially necessary to the enterprise,\nas equal courage and fortitude are to its success. The bold adventurer,\nwho, destitute of these resources, quits the bays and harbors of society,\nshallow, rocky, and dangerous, as they undoubtedly are, and commits\nhimself to the wild and expansive sea of solitude, will sink into its\ndeep and disastrous bed without a hold to save him from destruction. The\nfew instances we have already given, to which many more might easily be\nadded, furnish unequivocal testimony of the truth of this grand precept,\n_it is not good for man to be alone_: which was given by the great Author\nof nature, and imprinted in characters sufficiently legible on the human\nheart.\n\n    God never made a solitary man:\n    \u2019Twould jar the concord of his general plan.\n    Should man through nature solitary roam,\n    His will his sovereign, every where his home,\n    What force would guard him from the lion\u2019s jaw?\n    What swiftness save him from the panther\u2019s paw?\n    Or should fate lead him to some safer shore,\n    Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar,\n    Where liberal nature all her charms bestows,\n    Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows,\n    Still discontented, though such glories shone\n    He\u2019d sigh and murmur to be there alone.\n\nContent cannot be procured, except by social intercourse, or a judicious\ncommunion with those whom congenial tastes, and similar talent and\ndispositions, point out for our companions. The civilization of man,\nfrom whence the species derive such happy consequences, results entirely\nfrom a proper management of the _social principles_; even the source\nof his support, the melioration of the otherwise rude and unprofitable\nearth, can only be attained by social combination. How erroneous a\nnotion, therefore, must the minds of those men have formed of \u201ctheir\nbeing\u2019s end and aim,\u201d and how strong must their antipathies to the\nspecies be, who like a certain celebrated French hermit, would choose a\nstation among the craters of Vesuvius, as a place which afforded them\ngreater security than the society of mankind! The idea of being able\nto produce our own happiness from the stores of amusement and delight\nwhich we ourselves may possess, independently of all communication\nwith, or assistance from others, is certainly extremely flattering to\nthe natural pride of man; but even if this were possible, and that a\nsolitary enthusiast could work up his feelings to a higher and more\nlasting degree of felicity, than an active inhabitant of the world, amid\nall its seducing vices and enchanting follies, is capable of enjoying,\nit would not follow that society is not the province of all those whom\npeculiar circumstances have not unfitted for its duties and enjoyments.\nIt is, indeed, a false and deceitful notion, that a purer stream of\nhappiness is to be found in the delightful bowers of solitude than in\nthe busy walks of men. Neither of these stations enjoy exclusively this\nenvied stream: for it flows along the vale of peace, which lies between\nthe two extremes; and those who follow it with a steady pace, without\ndeviating too widely from its brink on either side, will reach its\nsource, and taste it at its spring. But devious, to a certain degree,\nmust be the walk; for the enjoyments of life are best attained by being\nvaried with judgment and discretion. The finest joys grow nauseous to\nthe taste when the cup of pleasure is drained to its dregs. The highest\ndelight loses its attraction by too frequent recurrence. It is only by a\nproper mixture and combination of the pleasures of society with those of\nsolitude, of the gay and lively recreations of the world with the serene\nand tranquil satisfactions of retirement, that we can enjoy each in its\nhighest relish. Life is intolerable without society; and society loses\nhalf its charms by being too eagerly and constantly pursued. Society,\nindeed, by bringing men of congenial minds and similar dispositions\ntogether, uniting them by a community of pursuits, and a reciprocal\nsympathy of interests, may greatly assist the cause of truth and virtue,\nby advancing the means of human knowledge and multiplying the ties of\nhuman affections; and so far as the festive board, the lively dance,\nthe brilliant coterie, and other elegant and fashionable pastimes,\ncontribute to these ends, they are truly valuable, and deserve, not only\nencouragement, but approbation. On this principle, the various clubs\nwhich are formed by artizans, and other inferior orders in society, ought\nto be respected. The mind, in order to preserve its useful activity\nand proper tone, must be occasionally relaxed, which cannot be so\nbeneficially effected as by means of associations founded on the pursuit\nof common pleasure. A friendly meeting, or a social entertainment,\nexhilarates the spirits, exercises the faculties of the mind; calls\nforth the feelings of the heart, and creates, when properly formed and\nindulged, a reciprocity of kindness, confidence, and esteem. It softens\nthe severity of virtue, while it strengthens and enforces its effects.\nI therefore sincerely exhort my disciples not to absent themselves\nmorosely from public places, nor to avoid the social throng; which\ncannot fail to afford to judicious, rational, and feeling minds, many\nsubjects both of amusement and instruction. It is true, that we cannot\nrelish the pleasures, and taste the advantages of society, without being\nable to give a patient hearing to the tongue of folly, to excuse error,\nto bear with infirmity, to view mediocrity of talents without scorn,\nand illiberality of sentiment without retort; to indulge frivolity of\nbehavior, and even to forgive rudeness of manners: but the performance of\nthese conditions meets with its own reward; for it is scarcely credible,\nhow very much our own tempers and dispositions are meliorated, and our\nunderstandings improved, by bearing with the different tempers, and\nhumoring the perverse dispositions of others; we experience by such a\nconduct the high delight of pleasing others, and the great advantage of\nimproving ourselves.\n\nDelightful, however, as social pleasures naturally are to the human\nmind; necessary as they certainly are, under proper regulations, to the\npreservation of the spirits; and beneficial as they may undoubtedly be\nrendered, by judicious choice and wise reflection, it is not every person\nwho withdraws himself from the highly colored scenes of public life,\nto the shades of privacy and retirement, that deserves the imputation\ngenerally cast on such characters, of being inclined to sullenness and\nmisanthropy. There are many who seek the retreats of solitude, for the\nvery purpose of rendering their efforts more useful to society; many\nwho relinquish the endearments of private friendship, and the applauses\nof public approbation, only the more nobly to deserve them; and many,\nwhose souls are so bitterly tormented by the anguish of misfortune,\nand the sickness of sorrow, that they find no relief from society, and\nrecede from its scenes to avoid giving disturbance to that gayety which\nthey are incapable of enjoying, and to prevent their fractious feelings\nfrom molesting any but themselves. There are others who retire from the\nworld to pursue objects the most glorious to the individual, and most\nuseful to mankind; the attainment of which can only be hoped for from the\nadvantages which solitude affords. Glowing with a sublime and generous\nspirit, they sacrifice the joys of life, the charms of society, and even\nthe advantages of health, to show their attachment to the species; and,\nimmured from the sight of this world, toil, with indefatigable industry,\nfor its benefit, without expecting any other reward than the satisfaction\nresulting from the sense of having promoted the interest, and advanced\nthe happiness of their fellow creatures. So also,\n\n    Sage reflection, bent with years;\n    Conscious virtue, void of fears;\n    Muffled silence, wood-nymph shy;\n    Meditation\u2019s piercing eye;\n    Halcyon peace on moss reclin\u2019d;\n    Retrospect, that sears the mind;\n    Rapt, earth-gazing reverie;\n    Blushing, artless modesty;\n    Health, that snuffs the morning air;\n    Full-ey\u2019d truth, with bosom bare;\n    Inspiration, nature\u2019s child,\n    Seek the solitary wild.\n\nThe state of the mind, if properly consulted, will discover whether\nsolitude may be safely indulged. The bosom that, amidst the gay delights\nand luxurious pleasures of the world, feels a rising discontent and\nuneasiness, may try the retreats of solitude without danger: and if,\nafter a certain period, an attachment to its mild and tranquil scenes\ncontinues, and the heart enjoys that quietude and content which it\nbefore so vainly wished to experience, society may be advantageously\nrelinquished. The patient may, under such circumstances, safely indulge\nthe natural inclinations of the mind, and gratify the habitual feelings\nof his heart: he may then exclaim in the language of the poet,\n\n    \u201cOh! snatch me swift from those tumultuous scenes,\n    To lonely groves and sweetly verdant greens,\n    To where religion, peace, and comfort dwell,\n    And cheer with heavenly rays the lonely cell:\n    To where no ruffling winds, no raging seas,\n    Disturb the mind amidst its pensive ease:\n    Each passion calm; where mild affections shine,\n    The soul-enjoying quietude divine:\n    Unknown in private or in public strife,\n    Soft sailing down the placid stream of life:\n    Aw\u2019d by no terrors, by no cares perplex\u2019d;\n    My life a gentle passage to the next.\u201d\n\nBut when that delightful tranquillity of mind, which an excess of social\npleasure has impaired or destroyed, is not restored to its original\npurity by the uninterrupted quietude of seclusion, it may fairly be\nconcluded, that there is some natural and constitutional defect, that\ndefeats the remedy, and prevents the soul from tasting that serenity\nwhich is so essential to the enjoyment of human happiness. Under such\ncircumstances it is dangerous to indulge the pleasures of solitude; the\nsufferer should fly back to society; cultivate the duties of active life,\nand solicit, with temperate indulgence, its more agreeable enjoyments.\nFor, although the pleasures and occupations of the world cannot eradicate\nthis species of intellectual disease, they may, by being judiciously\nfollowed, suspend its progress, and alleviate its pangs. That case must\nalways be desperate, when the antidote is too weak to reach the poison,\nor to counteract its operation. A pious resignation to his fate can alone\nafford relief.\n\n    \u201cOh! as it pleases thee, thou Power Supreme,\n    To drive my bark thro\u2019 life\u2019s more rapid stream,\n    If lowering storms my destin\u2019d course attend,\n    And ocean rage \u2019til this black voyage shall end,\n    Let ocean rage, and storms indignant roar,\n    I bow submissive and resign\u2019d adore:\n    Resign\u2019d adore, in various changes tri\u2019d;\n    Thy own lov\u2019d Son my anchor and my guide:\n    Resign\u2019d adore, whate\u2019er thy will decree;\n    My faith in Jesus, and my hope in Thee;\n    And humbly wait \u2019til, through a sea of woes,\n    I reach the wish\u2019d-for harbor of repose.\u201d\n\nThere are, however, circumstances under which it is absolutely necessary\nto retire from the world, in order to avoid the recurrence of sentiments\nand feelings that are pregnant with unhappiness. To a mind that feels\nunconquerable disgust of the manners and maxims of a world which it\ncannot reform; to a heart that turns with horror from the various sights\nthe world exhibits of human wo, which he is incapable of relieving;\nto a bosom that is stung by the various vices which he cannot prevent\nor restrain, and which are hourly practised among the sons of men,\nretirement becomes an obligation which the justice that every good\nman owes to his own felicity demands. The impulse of solitude may in\nsuch cases be conscientiously indulged, in the firmest confidence of\nits rectitude. It is a retreat necessary to the preservation, not only\nof happiness but of virtue; and the world itself may be benefited by\nits effects. Removed from the sad scenes of inactivity, wretchedness,\nand guilt, the tender feelings of pity are regulated with composure;\nthe mind views its own operations with nicer discrimination; the high\nsense of virtue is rendered less indignant; and the hatred against vice\nmore temperate and discerning. The violent emotions which created the\ndisgusting pain gently subside; and as our reflections on the condition\nof human nature prevail, the soul feels how incumbent it is to endeavor\nto bear with the follies, to alleviate the miseries, and to reform the\nvices of mankind; while the leisure and quietude which solitude affords,\nenables a man, who has thus retired, to point out the most likely means\nof accomplishing the ends which his lonely meditation, and philanthropic\nfeelings, have generally inspired.\n\n    \u201cWith aspect mild, and elevated eye,\n    Behold him seated on a mount serene,\n    Above the fogs of sense, and passion\u2019s storm.\n    All the black cares and tumults of this life,\n    Like harmless thunder breaking at his feet,\n    Excite his pity, nor impair his peace.\n    Earth\u2019s genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave,\n    A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees,\n    Bewilder\u2019d in the vale; in all unlike,\n    His full reverse in all! What higher praise\n    What stronger demonstration of the right?\n    Himself too much he prizes to be proud,\n    And nothing thinks so great in man as man.\n    Too dear he holds man\u2019s interest to neglect\n    Another\u2019s welfare, or his right invade.\n    Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav\u2019n,\n    Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe;\n    But looks with gentle pity round, to find\n    How he can best relieve another\u2019s wo,\n    Or hush the vicious passions into peace.\u201d\n\nThose who have passed their lives in the domestic privacies of\nretirement; who have been only used to the soft and gentle offices of\nfriendship, and to the tender endearments of love; who have formed their\nnotion of virtue from those bright images which the purity of religion,\nthe perfection of moral sentiments, and the feelings of an affectionate\nheart, have planted in their minds, are too apt to yield to the\nabhorrence and disgust they must unavoidably feel on a first view of the\nartificial manners and unblushing vices of the world. Issuing from the\ncalm retreats of simplicity and innocence, and fondly hoping to meet with\nmore enlarged perfection in the world, their amiable, just and benevolent\ndispositions are shocked at the sour severities, the sordid selfishness,\nthe gross injustice, the base artifices, and the inhuman cruelties,\nwhich deform the fairest features of social life, and disgrace the best\nfamed fabric of human polity. Revolting, however, as this disappointment\nmust certainly be, and grievously as the feelings of such characters be\nwounded on their entering the world, it is a cowardly desertion of their\nduty to shrink from the task, and withdraw their services from their\nfellow creatures. Constituted as society is, human happiness, and the\nimprovement of the species, materially depend upon the active concurrence\nof every individual in the general scheme of nature; and the man who\nwithholds his assistance to promote the public good, loosens or destroys\na link in that chain of things, by which the whole is intended to be kept\ntogether and preserved. The doctrine, therefore cannot be too forcibly\ninculcated, that is indispensably incumbent on every individual so to\naccommodate himself to the manners of his contemporaries, and the temper\nof the times, that he may have an opportunity of promoting the happiness\nof others, while he increases, his own; of extending the scale of human\nknowledge by his social industry; of relieving distress by his bounty;\nand of exhibiting the deformities of vice, and the beauties of virtue,\nboth by his precept and example. And this sacred obligation, by which\nevery good man feels himself so firmly bound to promote the welfare and\nhappiness of his fellow creatures, of course enjoins him to shun, with\nequal perseverance, the giddy multitude in their pursuits of lawless\npleasure, and to avoid the thoughtless votaries, and baneful orgies, of\nwit, intemperance, and sensual debauchery. This is best effected by every\nindividual forming a rational scheme of domestic enjoyment, and engaging\nin some useful occupation, in which neither the frivolous pursuits of the\nvainly busy, the ostentatious parade of the richly proud, the faithless\npleasures of the unthinking gay, the insatiable anxieties of avarice, nor\nthe distracting compunctions of vice, shall form any part; but in which,\nwith a few amiable and faithful friends, he shall pass the intervals of\nvirtuous industry, or charitable exertion, in the bosom of a fond and\ncheerful family, whose mutual endearments and affections will confer on\neach other the highest happiness human nature is capable of enjoying.\n\n    Active in indolence, abroad who roam\n    In quest of happiness, which dwells at home,\n    With vain pursuits fatigued, at length will find\n    Its real dwelling is a virtuous mind.\n\nRetirement, however, when it is not inconsistent with our duties to\nsociety, or injurious to those family interests which it is one of our\nprincipal foundations of happiness to promote, is capable of producing\nthe most beneficial effects on our minds. The self-communion which must\naccompany a wise and rational solitude, not only fosters and confirms our\nvirtuous inclinations, but detects and expels those latent vices which\nhave secretly crept into and corrupted the heart. It induces a habit of\ncontemplation, which invigorates the faculties of the soul; raises them\nto the highest energies, and directs them to purposes more elevated and\nnoble than it was possible for them, amidst the business and pleasures\nof public life, to attain. It tends, indeed, to unfold the powers of the\nmind to so great an extent, that we are ashamed of having thought that\nour talents were confined within the limits we had prescribed, and blush\nat the ignorance and cowardice by which we were deceived. The activity of\ngenius is unlimited, and the measure of its effects depends entirely upon\na steady exertion of its powers. A courageous and persevering industry\nis capable of surmounting every difficulty, and of performing the\nhighest achievements. A sense of intellectual weakness so far from being\nindulged, ought to be combated with fortitude and resolution, until\nit is completely destroyed. The human mind, like a noble tree, extends\nits branches widely round, and raises them to the skies, in proportion\nas the soil on which it grows is more or less cultivated and manured:\nbut not being fixed to any certain spot, its growth may be improved to\nany size, by transplanting it to the soil in which it most delights to\ndwell. By that firm reliance on its natural strength, that indefatigable\nexertion of its improved powers, that steady observance of its successful\noperations, that warm and active zeal for excellence to which it is\ninvited by the advantages, and encouraged by the opportunities, which\nseclusion affords, it will ascend from one stage of improvement to\nanother, from acquisition to acquisition; and, by a gradual and steady\nprogress, reach a comprehensive elevation, as great and surprising as it\nwas once thought visionary and unattainable. To these sublime and noble\neffects of human intellect, solitude is the sincerest guide and most\npowerful auxiliary; and he who aspires to mental and moral excellence,\nwhose soul is anxious to become both great and good, will, of course,\nseek its inspiring shades.\n\nSolitude, indeed, under any circumstances, can only become injurious\nby being carried to excess, or by being misapplied; and what is there\nthat will not, by being abused, or misapplied, be rendered equally\ninjurious? The highest advantages society is capable of conferring, the\nloftiest flights of fancy, the best affections of the heart, the greatest\nstrength of body, the happiest activity of the mind, the elements of fire\nand water, the blessings of liberty, and, in short, all the excellent\ngifts of Providence, as well as all the ingenious contrivances of man,\nmay, by these means be perverted, their uses destroyed, their ends and\nobjects defeated, and their operations and effects rendered extensively\nmischievous and detrimental.\n\nThe general disadvantages which solitude is certainly capable of\nproducing, cannot be lessened by conceding to its adversaries, that it\nis, when sought under unfavorable circumstances, inauspicious to human\nhappiness. It would be overstepping the sacred boundaries of truth, and\nviolating the rights of candor, not to admit that irrational solitude\nfrequently overclouds the reason, contracts the understanding, vitiates\nthe manners, inflames the passions, corrupts the imagination, sours\nthe temper, and debases the whole character of its votaries. Nor is it\nnecessary to deny, that many of them instead of employing the delightful\nleisure which retirement affords, to hush the jarring passions, to\nchastise the fancy, to elevate and adorn the mind, and to reform and\nmeliorate the heart, have been too often occupied in the most frivolous\npursuits, and in the indulgence of the most sordid and criminal desires.\n\nBut these instances in which the pure and peaceful retreats of solitude\nhave been tainted and disturbed by the vicious and turbulent desires of\nthe world, only demonstrate the infirm, corrupt, and imperfect nature\nof the species, and not in the smallest degree, depreciate the value of\nthose high advantages which result from occasional and well regulated\nsolitude.\n\nIt is said, by a celebrated German writer, in a poetical personification\nof solitude, that she holds in one hand a cup of bliss, in which she\npresents unceasing sweets to the lips of the happy; and in the other\ngrasps an envenomed dagger, which she plants with increasing tortures in\nthe bosom of the wretched; but this must be considered as the language\nof the muse, and mere flight of poetic fancy; except, indeed, so far as\nit tends to enforce the idea, that virtue will always be happy, and vice\nforever miserable; for retirement, while it pours the balm of comfort\ninto the aching bosom of the unfortunate, and offers a cordial, cheering\nas nectar, to the drooping spirits of the wise and virtuous, only\noperates as a corrosive, agonizing poison, on the constitutions of the\nweak and vicious.\n\nIt is a gross mistake, to suppose that the pleasures of social life are\nincompatible with the benefits to be derived from solitude. They may not\nonly be intermingled with, but made mutually to aid and augment each\nother. Solitude may surely be enjoyed without undergoing an exile from\nthe world; and society may be freely mixed with, without absolutely\nrenouncing the pleasures of retirement. The circumstances of life,\nindeed, call loudly on every mind to interchange the pursuits of activity\nand scenes of quietude and repose. The alliance of solitude and society\nis necessary to the perfection not only of the intellectual character,\nbut to the corporeal constitution of man. To conclude that the duties of\nlife must necessarily be neglected by devoting a portion of our time to\nsolitude, is much more erroneous than to conclude that those duties are\nnot always fulfilled amidst the pleasures or business of society.\n\nDaily observation proves most clearly, that many of the charms, and some\nof the benefits, of rural retreat, may be enjoyed without retiring to\nany very considerable distance from the metropolis, the seat of social\njoys and interested activity. Petrarch, during his residence in the city\nof Parma, though extremely flattered by the friendship shown him, was\nglad to steal from public life as often as he could, and to indulge the\nhigh delight he naturally felt in wandering through the fields and woods\nwhich surrounded the metropolis. One day, led by his love of exercise,\nhe passed the river of Lenza, which is three miles from Parma, and found\nhimself in the territory of Rhegio, in a forest which is called Sylva\nPlana, or Low Wood: though it is situated upon a hill, from whence are\ndiscovered the Alps, and all Cisalpine Gaul. Aged oaks, whose heads\nseemed to touch the clouds, sheltered the avenues of the forest from\nthe rays of the sun: while the fresh breezes which descended from the\nneighboring mountains, and the little rivulets which brawled along its\nskirts, tempered the meridian heats of the day, and preserved to the\nearth, even in the greatest droughts, a soft verdure, enamelled with the\nfinest flowers. Birds of every kind warbled forth their rural songs from\nthe thick coverts, while deer, and every animal of the chase, sported\nthrough the purlieus. In the middle of this beautiful forest nature had\nformed a romantic theatre, which, from its enchanting decorations, she\nseemed to have designed for the residence of the muses. The charms\nof this delightful retreat struck the mind of Petrarch with a sort of\ninspiration, and revived so strongly his original taste for solitude\nthat on his return to Parma, he endeavored to procure some spot near\nthe environs of the city, to which he might occasionally retire from\nthe fatigues of his archdeaconry, and indulge his mind in the blessings\nof innocence, and the delights of rural repose. The industry of his\ninquiries soon furnished him with a small cottage, exactly suited to his\nwishes, situated at the end of the city, near the abbey of St. Anthony.\nTo this place he fondly and frequently retired, whenever he could escape\nfrom the duties of his church, and the invitations of his friends. The\nsuperiority of his talents had at this time attracted the attention\nand applause of mankind; and his engaging manners secured to him the\nrespect and esteem of the nobles of Parma, who besieged him with the\nmost friendly and flattering importunities to partake of their daily\nparties of pleasure. Petrarch, however, had formed notions of happiness\nvery foreign to those which result from the society of luxurious lords\nor fashionable females, to whom, in general poetry afforded no delight,\nnor philosophy instruction; and the companions to whom he could afford\nneither amusement nor information, were not likely to afford him much\nsatisfaction. The quiet and simple pleasures of retirement were more\ndelightful to his mind than all the elegances and splendors of Parma; but\nthis partiality to retirement did not induce him to renounce the rational\nsociety which a few select friends, with whom he had closely connected\nhimself, was occasionally capable of affording him. \u201cSo conveniently,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cis this delightful cottage situated, that I enjoy all the\nadvantages of rural retirement, and yet retain within my reach all the\npleasures with which this gay and elegant city abounds. The society of\na few select friends recreates my mind whenever it is distracted by the\nanxieties of study, or stagnated by the stilness of solitude; and when\nI am satiated with the pleasures of the town, I fly with rapture to the\nsweet repose, and to all the interesting and endearing occupations of\nthis charming retreat. Oh! may the kindness of fortune long indulge me\nin the enjoyment of this neutral state; this happy alternation of rural\ntranquillity and convivial solace! a state of felicity to which neither\nthe anchorites of Egypt, nor the philosophers of Greece, ever attained.\nIn this humble abode, let me quietly pass the remainder of my days,\nunseduced by the charms of greatness, and uninterrupted by the pleasures\nof the world. Fly, all ye vain delusions and fantastic dreams, from\nthis cottage of content, and seek your native territories, the palaces\nof princes, and the altars of ambition!\u201d The voice of wisdom and virtue\ncalls aloud on every man to adopt the scheme of happiness which Petrarch\nso successfully practised. By thus dividing our time between the busy\ncares and innocent amusements of public life, and the studious and\ntranquil pleasures of retirement, between the gay pursuits of personal\ngratifications, and the more noble and elevated exercises of intellect,\nwe may avoid the dangers of contracting, on the one hand, a passion for\nlight and frivolous dissipation, and on the other a joyless disposition\nto misanthropic severity; and may shun the most, if not all the evil\nconsequences which either solitude or society is capable of producing,\nwhich when indulged irrationally, or indiscreetly, in general prove the\nScylla or Charybdis of our lives.\n\nThese are the observations which it has occurred to me to make upon the\nadvantages or disadvantages with which those important means of human\nhappiness are respectively pregnant. I can truly say, that I have felt,\nwhenever the cares of life, and the duties of my profession, have allowed\nme leisure to retire, the most sublime and satisfactory enjoyment from\nsolitude; and I sincerely wish that every one who is disposed to taste\nit, may receive the same comfort and pleasure from its charms. But I\nexhort them, while they enjoy the sacred blessings of repose, not to\nneglect the social virtues, the consolations of friendship, or the\nendearments of love; but so manage the wants of nature, and arrange\nthe business and concerns of life, as to find an adequate portion of\nleisure for the noble duties of retirement, as well as for company and\nconversation of the world. May they in short, enjoy the admiration\nand esteem of their friends, and a complacent approbation of their\nown conduct, without losing that relish for the pleasures of rational\nretirement, by which alone these high advantages are most likely to be\ngained.\n\nTo love all mankind, and to promote, to the utmost of our power, the\nhappiness of all those with whom we are more intimately connected, is\nthe highest injunction both of morality and religion. But this important\nduty certainly does not require that we should surrender ourselves with\nservile obedience, or abject submission, to any one, however superior\nhe may be, either in talents, in station, or in merit. On the contrary,\nit is the duty of every one, not only to cultivate the inclination, but\nto reserve the power of retiring occasionally from the world, without\nindulging a disposition to renounce its society or contemn its manners.\n\nWhile we assert, with manly resolution, the independent spirit of human\nnature, our happiness may be considerably augmented, by extracting from\nthe multitudinous affairs of the world, the various enjoyments and wise\ninstructions it is capable of affording. Society is the school of wisdom,\nand solitude the temple of virtue. In the one we learn the art of living\nwith comfort among our fellow creatures, and in the other, of living\nwith quietude by ourselves. A total retreat from the world would place\nus aside from that part which Providence chiefly intended us to act; but\nwithout occasional retreat it is certain that we must act that part very\nill. There will be neither consistency in the conduct, nor dignity in the\ncharacter, of one who sets apart no share of his time for meditation and\nreflection. \u201cIn the heat and bustle of life,\u201d says an eloquent preacher,\n\u201cwhile passion is every moment throwing false colors on the objects\naround us, nothing can be viewed in a just light. If you wish that reason\nshould exert her native power, you must step aside from the crowd into\nthe cold and silent shade. It is thus that with sober and steady eye\nshe examines what is good or ill, what is wise or foolish, in human\nconduct: she looks back on the past; she looks forward to a future: and\nforms plans not for the present moment only, but for the whole life. How\nshould that man discharge any part of his duty aright, who never suffers\nhis passions to cool? And how should his passions cool, who is engaged,\nwithout interruption, in the tumults of the world? This incessant stir\nmay be called the _perpetual drunkenness of life_. It raises that eager\nfermentation of spirit, which will be ever sending forth the dangerous\nfumes of rashness and folly. Whereas he who mingles rational retreat\nwith worldly affairs, remains calm and master of himself. He is not\nwhirled round, and rendered giddy by the agitation of the world: but from\nthat sacred retirement, in which he has been conversant among higher\nobjects, comes forth into the world with manly tranquillity, fortified by\nprinciples which he has formed, and prepared for whatever may befal.\u201d\n\n    Sweet solitude! when life\u2019s gay hours are past,\n    Howe\u2019er we range, in thee we fix at last.\n    Tossed through tempestuous seas, the voyage o\u2019er,\n    Pale we look back and bless the friendly shore.\n    Our own strict judges, our past life we scan\n    And ask if glory hath enlarged the span;\n    If bright the prospect we the grave defy,\n    Trust future ages, and contented die.\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n[1] Dissertatio Physiologica de irritabilitate quam publice defendet.\nJoh. Georgius Zimmerman. Goett. 4to. 1751.\n\n[2] The following is a correct list of his writings, in the order in\nwhich they appear to have been published:\n\n     1. Dissertatio Inauguralis de Irritabilitate, 4to. Gottingen,\n        1751.\n\n     2. The life of Professor Haller, 8vo. Zurich, 1755.\n\n     3. Thoughts on the earthquake which was felt on the 9th of\n        December, 1755, in Swisserland, 4to. 1756.\n\n     4. The Subversion of Lisbon, a Poem, 4to. 1776.\n\n     5. Meditations on Solitude, 8vo. 1756.\n\n     6. Essay on National Pride, 8vo. Zurich, 1764.\n\n     7. Treatise on Experience in Physic, 8vo. Zurich, 1764.\n\n     8. Treatise on the Dysentery, 8vo. Zurich, 1767.\n\n     9. Essay on Solitude, 4to. 1773.\n\n    10. Essay on Lavator\u2019s Phisiognomy. Hanover, 1778.\n\n    11. Essays, consisting of agreeable and instructive Tales, 8vo.\n        1779.\n\n    12. Conversations with the king of Prussia.\n\n    13. Treatise on Frederick the Great, 1788.\n\n    14. Select views of the Life, Reign and Character of Frederick\n        the Great.\n\n    15. A variety of works published in the Helvetic Journal and in\n        the Journals of the Physiological Society at Zurich.\n\n    16. A Work on Zoology.\n\n[3] The king only survived the departure of his physician five weeks; he\ndied on the 11th of August, 1786.\n\n[4] H\u0153nigsberg.","title":"Solitude: With the Life of the Author. In Two Parts","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":115726}