make them eagerly fly from it. The pursuits and pleasures of a man of folitude are confined within a very narrow. sphere, and have in them very little variety: he walks out to view the fame profpect till it becomes indifferent to him; he fits by the same stream till he hears not its murmurs; he walks thro' the fame garden till the flowers lose their bloom; he ftrays through the fame grove till the trees lose their verdure, and the birds their harmony; he reads the fame authors till they are divested of their spirit; he looks at the fame pic. tures till their colours fade, and the expreffion vanithes; and he hastens back to that world he has before quitted with fatiety; or, if that be impoffible, repines at fate for dooming him to a tasteless round of dull infipidity.

The peevisoniss so natural to mankind is another reafon for the excessive praises they beftow on a life of folitude. Their impatience being continually whetted by the little rubs and accidents of life, which are more trequently the effects of their own folly and imprudence than the malice or knavery of their neighbours, gives theni a disguft to their fellow creatures, and embitters every pleasure they might enjoy. Such persons frequently retire to folitude in a pet not only against the world but themselves: and far be it from any man to remonstrate against their proceedings; they are the plagues of fociety, and it is but just that they should rid it of them, and become only their own tormentors: for their acrimonious temper, having no other prey, will corrode itself; and, like Milton's Sin, they will be continually furrounded by a cry "of barking hell-hounds of their own production, which will inceffantly gnaw

their entrails.

perance,

I cannot better conclude this essay,

than with an account of a conversation between a Prelate of our Church and a Carthufian Monk, near Vienna, as I find it related in a late book of Travels: "His Lordship having taken a walk one day to the top of a mountain, a few miles from the City of Vienna, he heard a bell ring at fome little distance, and, directing his way by the found, he came to a Convent of Chartreux, in a pleasant situation, just under the brow of the hill, One of the Monks conducted him to his cell, and shewed him his garden, from which there was a delightful profpect of the country below; the declivities of the rugged mountain were covered with trees to the very bottom; in the blue skirts of the horizon was a long range of very v diftant hills; and the country (ying be. tween a vaft plain richly cultivated, with the Danube winding through it in three streams, as far as the eye could follow it. Charined with the situation which afford, ed fuch an uncommon view, he expreffed himself in terms of the highest admira. tion to the Carthusian who attended him, affirming that the eye could never be weary of beholding fuch a fight.-Sir (faid he), this may be very fine to you, but it is infipid to me, who have no enjoyment of it. Do not mistake me, as if I were a libertine in my heart, and wanted to return to the pleasures of the world: no, I am a ferious man, but out of society the mind stagnates, and becomes indifferent to every thing; and whatever the faculties may be, they lofe their vigour and grow useless. I have a disposition to be delighted with all works of art and ingenuity, and am naturally fond of every study. Sometimes I wander upon the mountain and gather plants, of which there is a great variety, both scarce and curious: I wish to understand them, and to know their uses, but having no books to instruct me, and no perfon at hand to show them, I throw them away again. I work at mechanics, and have all the implements proper for turning; but having nobody of the like mind, I neglect what I have made, and grow fick of my amusement. I love reading, but I h. e no books, nor am allowed any but a few polemical works of the schoolmen in my cell, which afford me little information, and have long fince wearied out my attention. I find my reaton forsaking me at times, and know that I fhall foon lose it entirely.. The cafe is the fame with most of my brethren who rarely preserve their faculties to fixty years of age. When we mifs a brother, brother, our Prior tells us he is gone to some neighbouring convent, and we never fee him more.

Such was the description given by this Monk of a life of folitude, and fuch will it always be found by those who retire to lead a fequeftered life. Let it not be imagined that I would therefore recom mend being continually plunged in the hurry and bustle of the world, or in scenes of diffipation and noife: the really pru

Bishop's Court, OA. 2, 1758.

THIS brings my worthy friend and brother H intelligence of my being fafe arrived in the Land of Man, after having traversed that of my native country to the amount of a thousand miles and upward, and, though not in quite fo little as a thousand hours, were dispatched in so short a time, as to appear upon a retrofpect like a dream. The pleasure of feeing my friends was so tranfient, and all my movements from place to place fo frequent and various, that I could not well be fure, fometimes, where I had or had not been. I was willing, if poffible, to shew my respects to each and every one I had reason to believe would be glad to see me; but little thought, when I fet out, I should be so crampt for time, as to be able only to spend a few hours with fome of my best beloved; at I parfonage in particular. And really, had I not been there the day I was, as the neceffity of my times and appointments grew more and more preffing as I advanced northward, I don't know whether I might not have found myself at Doncaster before I had discovered my unfortunate flips.

So many being out of London at dif ferent diftances and countries, occafioned me much retrograde motion and after all my care and resolution to miss none, yer, in the whirl of my circuit, some, I find now, have escaped me; and, amongst others, my good friend and late pupil Mr. Hilleleden, whom I as much purposed and depended on waiting upon as I did of feeing England at all: but fome. how to it was, that we knew not, I fappofe, till 'twas too late, where to find each other. Poffibly we might be very pear in London; but I could not learn of any body. I called at Mr. Brom.

field's in Chancery-lane; where I had only a short answer there was no fuch perfon there by which I understood he was moved. So that train of intelligence dropped, and I was foon in other distant parts: and the day before I was on my return, and routes all fixed, and partion. larly for my being at Aukland, I by great chance heard my friend was at Harden, where, by the stay I made with you, and my making three more visits befides on that day, you may be able to pronounce for me my incapacity to return fo far back as Harden. And yet how far I may have credit now I'm a foreigner, I can't say; but I regret it sensibly, to think I did not, could not, get a fight of my foster son and his confort. Hitchin, you must think, would have some hold of me, and yet I scarce set down in above three or four houses; and in Bedfordshire, always on the wheel. When a man quits his country, he may e'en as well keep out once for all; fince the greatest part of a fummer won't fuffice to give every friend a look, or much more than a look on any: and has produced the compliment from those I even staid longest with, that they "wished they had not feen me." So great a rarity is an Anglo-Manks man. I should have come fooner in the spring, say fome-or staid longer, say others or not have lett England at all, say a third. To the first, my circuit for confirmation detained me to the second, Michaelmas winds make the fea road rugged to the third, the lot is caft into the lap, but the difpofal is, &c. Upon the whole, I should fcarce have come when I did, but for fetting my worthy pupil Mr. Heywood fafe in his friend's hands, and fixing him in those of a better tutor: otherwile but for that particular occafion, I don't know but