he will do well to husband it with a little frugal humility: The last thing he must do, (and if he does nothing else I should hope it would be sufficient) is to take down his Bible from the shelf, and look out for the parable of the Pharisee and Publican; it is a short story and soon read, but the moral is so much to his purpose, that he may depend upon it, if that does not correct his pride, his pride is incorrigible, and all the Observers in the world will be but waste paper in his service.

NUMBER LVII.

Μακάριος ὅστις ουσίαν καὶ νοῦν ἔχει
Χρῆται γὰρ ουτος εις ἄ δεῖ ταύτη καλῶς
Οὕτω μαθεῖν δεῖ πάντα καὶ πλοῦτον φίρειη. .
Ασχημοσύνης γὰρ γίνετ ̓ ἐνίοις αἴτιος.

MENANDER. CIRCULATORE.

Abundance is a blessing to the wise;
The use of riches in discretion lies:
Learn this, ye men of wealth-a heavy purse
In a fool's pocket a heavy curse.

THERE are so many striking advantages in the possession of wealth, that the inheritance of a great estate, devolving upon a man in the vigour of mind and body, appears to the eye of speculation as a lot of singular felicity.

There are some countries, where no subject can properly be said to be independent; but in a constitution so happily tempered as our's, that blessing seems peculiarly annexed to affluence. The English landed gentleman, who can set his foot upon his own soil, and say to all the world-This is my

freehold; the law defends my right: Touch it who dare!

is surely as independent as any man within the rules of society can be, so long as he encumbers himself by no exceedings of expence beyond the compass of his income: If a great estate therefore gives a man independence, it gives him that, which all, who do not possess it, seem to sigh for.

When I consider the numberless indulgencies, which are the concomitants of a great fortune, and the facility it affords to the gratification of every generous passion, I am mortified to find how few, who are possessed of these advantages, avail themselves of their situation to any worthy purposes: That happy temper, which can preserve a medium between dissipation and avarice, is not often to be found, and where I meet one man, who can laudably acquit himself under the test of prosperity, I could instance numbers, who deport themselves with honour under the visitation of adversity. Man must be in a certain degree the artificer of his own happiness; the tools and materials may be put in to his hands by the bounty of Providence, but the workmanship must be his own.

I lately took a journey into a distant county, upon a visit to a gentleman of fortune, whom I shall call Attalus. I had never seen him since his accession to a very considerable estate; and as I have met with few acquaintance in life of more pleasant qualities, or a more social temper than Attalus, before this great property unexpectedly devolved upon him, I flattered myself that fortune had in this instance bestowed her favours upon one who deserved them; and that I should find in Attalus's society the pleasing gratification of seeing all those maxims, which I had hitherto revolved in my mind as matter of speculation only, now brought forth into

actual practice; for amongst all my observations. upon human affairs, few have given me greater and more frequent disappointment, than the almost general abuse of riches. Those rules of liberal œconomy, which would make wealth a blessing to its owner and to all he were connected with, seem so obvious to me, who have no other interest in the subject than what meditation affords, that I am apt to wonder how men can make such false estimates of the true enjoyments of life, and wander out of the way of happiness, to which the heart and understanding seem to point the road too plainly to admit of a mistake.

With these sanguine expectations I pursued my journey towards the magnificent seat of Attalus, and in my approach it was with pleasure I remarked the beauty of the country about it; I recollected how much he used to be devoted to rural exercises, and I found him situated in the very spot most favoráble to his beloved amusements; the soil was clean, the hills easy, and the downs were chequered with thick copses, that seemed the finest nurseries in nature for a sportsman's game: When I entered upon his ornamented demesne, nothing could be more enchanting than the scenery; the ground was finely shaped into hill and vale; the horizon every where bold and romantic, and the hand of art had evidently improved the workmanship of nature with consummate taste; upon the broken declivity stately groves of beech were happily disposed; the lawn was of the finest verdure gently sloping from the house; a rapid river of the purest transparency ran through it, and fell over a rocky channel into a noble lake within view of the mansion; behind this upon the northern and eastern flanks I could discern the tops of very stately trees, that sheltered a

spacious enclosure of pleasure-ground and gardens, with all the delicious accompaniments of hot-houses and conservatories.

It was a scene to seize the imagination with rapture; a poet's language would have run spontaneously into metre at the sight of it: What a subject,' said I within myself, is here present for those ingenious bards, who have the happy talent of describing nature in her fairest forms! Oh! that I could plant the delightful author of The Task in this very spot! perhaps whilst his eye-in a fine phrensy rolling-glanced over this enchanting prospect, he might burst forth into the following, or something like the following, rhapsody-'

Blest above men, if he perceives and feels
The blessings he is heir to, He! to whom
His provident forefathers have bequeathed
In this fair district of their native isle
A free inheritance, compact and clear.
How sweet the vivifying dawn to him,
Who with a fond paternal eye can trace
Beloved scenes, where rivers, groves and lawns
Rise at the touch of the Orphean hand,
And Nature, like a docile child, repays
Her kind disposer's care! Master and friend
Of all that blooms or breathes within the verge
Of this wide-stretcht horizon, he surveys
His upland pastures white with fleecy flocks,
Rich meadows dappled o'er with grazing herds,
And vallies waving thick with golden grain.

Where can the world display a fairer scene?
And what has Nature for the sons of men
Better provided than this happy isle;
Mark! how she's girded by her watery zone,
Whilst all the neighb'ring continent is trench'd
And furrow'd with the ghastly seams of war:
Barriers and forts and arm'd battalions stand
On the fierce confines of each rival state,
Jealous to guard, or eager to invade;
Between their hostile camps a field of blood,
Behind them desolation void and drear,

Where at the summons of the surly drum
The rising and the setting sun reflects

Nought but the gleam of arms, now here, now there
Flashing amain, as the bright phalanx moves:
Wasteful and wide the blank in Nature's map,
And far far distant where the scene begins
Of human habitation, thinly group'd

Over the meagre earth; for there no youth,
No sturdy peasant, who with limbs and strength
Might fill the gaps of battle, dares approach;
Old age instead, with weak and trembling hand
Feebly solicits the indiguant soil

For a precarious meal, poor at the best.

Oh, Albion! oh, blest isle, on whose white cliffs Peace builds her halcyon nest, thou, who embrac'd By the uxorious ocean sit'st secure,

Smiling and gay and crown'd with every wreath,
That Art can fashion or rich Commerce waft
To deck thee like a bride, compare these scenes
With pity not with scorn, and let thy heart,
Not wanton with prosperity, but warm
With grateful adoration, send up praise
To the great Giver-thence thy blessings come.
The soft luxurious nations will complain
Of thy rude wintry clime, and chide the winds
That ruffle their fine forms; trembling they view
The boisterous barrier that defends thy coast,
Nor dare to pass it till their pilot bird,
The winter-sleeping swallow, points the way;
But envy not their suns, and sigh not thou
For the clear azure of their cloudless skies;
The same strong blast, that beds the knotted oak
Firm in his clay-bound cradle, nerves the arm
Of the stout hind, who fells him to the ground.
These are the manly offspring of our isle;
Their's are the pure delights of rural life,
Freedom their birth-right and their dwelling peace;
The vine, that mantles o'er their cottage roof,
Gives them a shade no tyrant dares to spoil.
Mark! how the sturdy peasant breasts the storm,
The white snow sleeting o'er his brawny chest;
He heeds it not, but carols as he goes
Some jocund measure or love-ditty, soon
In sprightlier key and happier accent sung
To the kind wench at home, whose ruddy cheeks