darkness, and he rolls his dismal course through< out the sky. A young hero exulting in his strength, and rushing towards his foes, exclaims,

My beating soul is high! My fame is bright be'fore me, like the streak of light on a cloud when the broad sun comes forth, red traveller of the sky!' On another occasion, says a hero, I have met the battle in my youth. My arm could not • lift the spear when first the danger rose; but my soul brightened before the war as the green nar. row vale, when the sun pours his streamy beams, before he hides his head in a storm!'

But it would exceed the proper bounds of this paper, were I to bring together all the passages which might illustrate my remarks. Without, therefore, quoting the beautiful address to the Sun, which finishes the second book of Temora, or that at the beginning of Carricthura, I shall conclude with laying before my readers that sublime passage at the end of Carthon, where the aged bard, thrown into melancholy by the remembrance of that hero, thus pours himself forth :

I feel the sun, O Malvina! leave me to my rest. The beam of Heaven delights to shine on • the grave of Carthon; I feel it warm around.

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy beams, O Sun? thy everlasting light! Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky: The moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave, but thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of • the mountain fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks, and grows again; the moon herself is lost in Heaven; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark

with tempest; when thunder rolls, and lightning 'flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou

• lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no mɩre ; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. • Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds; the blast of the north is on the plain, and the traveller shrinks in the midst of his 'journey.'

G.

N° 14. SATURDAY, MARCH 13, 1779.

- Inertibus horis

Ducere sollicita jucunda oblivia vita.

HOR.

THERE are some weaknesses, which, as they do not strike us with the malignity of crimes, and produce their effects by imperceptible progress, we are apt to consider as venial, and make very little scruple of indulging. But the habit, which apologizes for these, is a mischief of their own creation, which it behoves us early to resist. We give way to it at first, because it may be conquered at any time; and, at last, excuse ourselves from the contest, because it has grown too strong to be overcome.

Of this nature is indolence, a failing, I had almost said a vice, of all others the least alarming, yet, perhaps, the most fatal. Dissipation and intemperance are often the transient effects of youthful heat, which time allays, and experience overcomes; but indolence grows with our growth, and strengthens

with our strength,' till it has weakened every exertion of public and private duty; yet so seducing, that its evils are unfelt, and its errors unrepented of. It is a circumstance of peculiar regret, that this should often be the propensity of delicate and amiable minds. Men unfeeling and unsusceptible, commonly beat the beaten track with activity and resolution; the occupations they pursue, and the enjoyments they feel, seldom much disappoint the expectations they have formed; but persons endowed with that nice perception of pleasure and pain which is annexed to sensibility, feel so much undescribable uneasiness in their pursuits, and frequently so little satisfaction in their attainments, that they are too often induced to sit still, without attempting the one or desiring the other.

The complaints which such persons make of their want of that success which attends men of inferior abilities, are as unjust as unavailing. It is from the use, not the possession of talents, that we get on in life: the exertion of very moderate parts outweighs the indecision of the brightest. Men possessed of the first, do things tolerably, and are satisfied; of the last, forbear doing things well, because they have ideas beyond them.

When I first resolved to publish this paper, I applied to several literary friends for their aid in carrying it on. From one gentleman in London, I had, in particular, very sanguine expectations of assistHis genius and abilities I had early opportunities of knowing, and he is now in a situation

ance.

most favourable to such productions, as he lives amidst the great and the busy world, without being much occupied either by ambition or business. His compositions at college, when I first became acquainted with him, were remarkable for elegance and ingenuity; and, as I knew he still spent much of his time in reading the best writers, ancient and modern, made no doubt of his having attained such farther improvement of style, and extension of knowledge, as would render him a very valuable contributor to the MIRROR.

A few days ago, more than four months after I had sent him my letter, I received the following answer to it.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

London, 1st March, 1779.

I AM ashamed to look on the date of this letter, and to recollect that of yours. I will not, however, add the sin of hypocrisy to my other failings, by informing you, as is often done in such cases, that hurry of business, or want of health, has prevented me from answering your letter. I will frankly confess, that I have had abundance of leisure, and been per fectly well since I received it; I can add, though, perhaps, you may not so easily believe me, that I have had as much inclination as opportunity; but the truth is (you know my weakness that way), I have wished, resolved, and re-resolved to write, as I do by many other things, without the power of accomplishing it. That disease of indolence, which you and my other companions used to laugh at, grows stronger and stronger upon me; my symp. toms, indeed, are mortal; for I begin now to lose

the power of struggling against the malady, sometimes to shut my ears against self-admonition, and admit of it as a lawful indulgence.

Your letter, acquainting me of the design of publishing a periodical paper, and asking my assistance in carrying it on, found me in one of the paroxysms of my disorder. The fit seemed to give way to the call of friendship. I got up from my easy chair, walked two or three turns through the room, read your letter again, looked at the Spectators, which stood, neatly bound and gilt, in the front of my book-press, called for pen, ink, and paper, and sat down, in the fervour of imagination, ready to com. bat vice, to encourage virtue, to form the manners, and to regulate the taste of millions of my fellowfubjects A field fruitful and unbounded lay before me; I began to speculate on the prevailing vices and reigning follies of the times, the thousand topics which might arise for declamation, satire, ridicule, and humour; the picture of manners, the shades of character, the delicacies of sentiment. I was bewildered amidst this multitude and variety of subjects, and sat dreaming over the redundancy of matter and the ease of writing, till the morning was spent, and my servant announced dinner.

I arose, satisfied with having thought much on subjects proper for your paper. I dined, if you will allow me the expression, in company with those thoughts, and drank half a bottle of wine after dinner to our better acquaintance. When my man took away, I returned to my study, sat down at my writing-table, folded my paper into proper margins, wrote the word Mirror a-top, and filling my pen again, drew up the curtain, and prepared to delineate the scene before me. But I found things not quite in the situation I had left them; the groupes were more confused, the figures less striking, the colours