kind of elegant composition. The epistolary style of Swift is thought, by many, to excel all others. It has purity, ease, expression, and force. Pope's letters are lively and delicate. Shenstone's are much read; but it may be doubted whether they have that peculiar and striking excellence, which should place them among the classics of our country.

The late Lord Chesterfield, though justly decried as a moral instructor, is admired as a writer of peculiar elegance. No man more closely and successfully imitated the French in every circumstance. Like them, he writes with perspicuity, vivacity, and that gracefulness which is sure to please, and which he so strenuously recommends. He is himself a proof of the efficacy of the graces; for, with all his merit, he was certainly superficial, and yet obtained a degree of fame which more solid writers have seldom possessed.

Much has been said on the epistolary style; as if any one style could be appropriated to the great variety of subjects which are treated of in letters. Ease, it is true, should distinguish familiar letters, written on the common affairs of life; because the mind is usually at ease while they are composed. But, even in these, there incidently arises a topic which requires elevated expression, and an inverted construction. Not to raise the style on these occasions, is to write unnaturally; for nature teaches us to express animated emotions of every kind in animated language.

The impassioned lover writes unnaturally, if he writes with the ease of Sevigné. The dependant writes unnaturally to a superior, in the style of fa

miliarity. The suppliant writes unnaturally, if he rejects the figures dictated by distress. Conversation admits of every style but the poetic, and what are letters but written conversation? The great rule is, to follow nature, and to avoid an affected man

-mer.

NO. CLXX. ON THE NECESSITY OF EXERCISE, AMUSEMENTS, AND AN ATTENTION TO HEALTH, IN A LIFE OF STUDY. IN A LETTER.

I HAPPENED accidentally to meet a fellowcollegian, with whom, before we were separated by the caprice of fortune, I was intimately acquainted. Surely it is he, said I; but alas, how changed! pale, emaciated, with hollow and lack-lustre eye, is this my old school-fellow, whose ruddy cheeks and cheerful countenance displayed health and happiness? What can have reduced my poor friend to so wretched a condition? Intemperance, or some dreadful disease, must have stolen away his youth, and hurried him to a premature old age.

While I was thus reflecting, he passed me without taking notice. He indeed seemed to be so entirely wrapped up in contemplation as to pay no regard to external objects. My curiosity and friendship were too much interested, to suffer him to leave me without giving some account of himself. I soon overtook him, and he no sooner recognised me, and perceived my surprise at his appearance, than he proceeded to assign the causes of it.

"You know, my friend," said he, " my first and "strongest passion was for literary fame. Flattered

❝ me.

"by my friends, and encouraged at my school, I "persuaded myself I was advancing in the career "of glory; and with all the ardour of enthusiasm, "devoted every moment of my life to the pursuit of "learning. Puerile diversions had no charms for A book was my sole delight, my constant 66 companion, and was never laid aside, but while "my mind was employed in composition. During "my residence at the university, I spent the time, "which my companions allotted to rural amuse"ments, in examining those repositories of ancient "learning, the public libraries. I saw indeed the "futility of scholastic logic, but a desire to qualify "myself for the public exercises, led me to the at"tentive perusal of Wallis and Saunderson. The "same motive engaged me in the dreary subtleties "of metaphysics. Such studies engrossed the greater 66 part of my first three years, with little advantage, "and no pleasure. The fatigue would have been ❝intolerable, had it not sometimes been alleviated "by the charms of poetry. My favourite Virgil "and Horace, and every polite writer of modern "times, afforded, in their turn, an agreeable recrea.

tion. My exercises were honourably distinguished, ❝ and praise to an ingenuous mind is the best reward "of learned labours.

"With my character for application and sobriety "(not to boast of my attainments) I found no diffi"culty in obtaining orders. The head of my house "procured me a curacy in a small country town.

Thither I went, not without my collection of "books, the use of which I would not have forefor a mitre. I had no other wish than to

gone

"improve myself in learning, and to perform the "duty of an ecclesiastic with decency and de❝votion. I was happy in the prospect of spend"ing my time uninterrupted by the intrusion of "my academical friends, whom youth and high "spirits would often lead to a noisy behaviour, little "consistent with meditation. My want of experience "concealed from me the difficulty of pursuing the "line of conduct which inclination pointed out. I "found it was necessary, to my good reception "among my parishioners, to give up the greatest "part of the day to a participation in their amuse❝ments. In vain was it that I laboured to excel in "the pulpit. There was not a man in the place "who had an idea of the dignity or utility of literary "excellence, and who would not most cordially "have hated even a Clarke or a Tillotson, if he had "never been in at the death of a hare, or drank his "bottle at the club. The parson, in their idea of "his character, was a jolly fellow in black, who “was to lead a careless life all the week, and preach

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against it on Sundays. I could not bring myself "to take delight in a fox-chace, and, though good"nature prevented me from shewing my dislike, I "could never meet any of the hunters with satis"faction. The little pleasure I took in the only "society that was to be obtained, still farther con"firmed me in my recluse mode of life. When my "resolution appeared unchangeable, I was suffered "to live as I pleased, with the character of an odd "but inoffensive man. In this unmolested retreat I "found time to go through a complete course of "ecclesiastical history. I acquired a sufficient

"knowledge of the oriental languages to enable me to read the polyglott. I wrote a great num"ber of sermons and theological treatises, and "made many corrections in the vulgar translation "of the Bible. So wholly engrossed was I by my હૃદ darling pursuits, that I seldom left my chamber. "In vain did the vernal sun invite. The music of a pack of hounds, which frequently passed my "window, had no charms in my ears. The rural "sports of every kind were tedious and insipid. To

66

my books I returned from every trifling avocation "with redoubled pleasure, and endeavoured to "repay the loss of an hour in the day, by devoting "a great portion of the night to study.

"It is really true, that my chief motive for appli"cation was a love of learning. Yet I will be so ❝ingenuous as to own, I sometimes formed a wish "that my small share of merit, if I had any, might "attract the notice of my superiors. There is a "time of life, when fame alone appears to be 66 an inadequate reward of great labour. It flat"ters that natural love of distinction which we "all possess, but it furnishes no convenience in the "time of want and infirmity. There was in the

neighbourhood a little living of one hundred a σε year, with a house and garden, in a style of de"cent elegance which becomes a scholar. The "patron was the squire of the next parish, who had "always treated me with singular respect. I was "foolish enough to suppose his regard for my cha-/ "racter would induce him to bestow his benefice on but I found, when it became vacant, he had

me;