LETTER XVI. ON HORACE'S LOVE OF SOLITUDE. WHEN the course of our study carries us to the Epistles of Horace, I generally meet with some particular passage in every lesson which engages my attention, and fixes itself upon my mind, either on account of the elegance of the expression, or the value of the sentiment. In the epistle of yesterday he spoke of his country-seat as a situation which restored him to himself; his meaning is, that in this place of solitude and retirement, he could follow his meditations, and be happy in his own company; which was not the case with him when at Rome; Villice, sylvarum et mihi me reddentis agelli. \ Can any thing be more characteristic of a scholar and a man of genius than these few words? There never was a good, or a wise, or an ingenious man, who did not frequently wish to be thus put in possession of himself, in some scene of peace and quietness. In the life of a city, amidst the variety of impertinent objects, and the hurry of company, a thoughtful mind is withdrawn from itself, and under continual interruption. It is common for a man to lose his companion in a croud, and it is not uncommon for him to lose himself in the same way. When the mind is daily conversing with others, it has no opportunity of conversing with itself: these two employments differ, as the gentle murmuring of the solitary brook differs from the noise and agitation of a gale at sea. It is always a sign that the mind has some good in it, when it grows fond of retirement. The foolish and thoughtless part of mankind fly daily to others, because they have nothing entertaining in themselves: they have no interest in the subjects of religion or science of any kind, no imagery of their own to dwell upon; whence it happens, that they are never so effectually lost as when they find themselves. Wise men have little entertainment in company, because what is called company, and that even good company, is so often composed of the ignorant, the illiterate, the vain, and the thoughtless, who have all fled from themselves to find one another. If you would apply this sentiment of Horace to yourself, let it teach you, while you are young, to lay in the seeds of instruction and learning; that hereafter you may have a furnished mind to look in upon, and may find more than you lose when you go out of company. Thus you will know a pleasure by experience, which never can be known from any description of it; that of feasting upon mental matter; of pursuing truth without interruption; and of expanding and perfecting the ideas that have been laid up in the memory. This pleasure has been known and spoken of with rapture and enthusiasm in all ages by philosophers, poets, orators, and divines: and he is a miserable empty being, who dies without understanding it. Few men have ever been fit to be in the world, who did not love better to find themselves out of it. LETTER XVII. ON THE EFFECT OF LEARNING UPON THE MANNERS. Two lines of Ovid are quoted in Lilly's Syntaxis, which deserve the attention of every scholar, Adde quod ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes, There is in most tempers a natural ferocity which wants to be softened; and the study of liberal arts and sciences will generally have this happy effect in polishing the manners. When the mind is daily attentive to useful learning, a man is detached from his passions, and taken as it were out of himself; and the habit of being so abstracted makes the mind more manageable, because the passions are out of practice. Besides, the arts of learning are the arts of peace, and furnish no encouragements to an hostile disposition. There is a dreadful mistake too current among young people, and which their own inexperience is apt to cherish and commend in one another, that a boy is of no consequence, and makes no figure, unless he is quarrelsome, and renders himself a terror to his companions. They call this honour and spirit: but it is false honour, and an evil spirit; it does not command any respect, but begets hatred and aversion; and as it cannot well consist with the purposes of society, it leads a person into a sort of solitude, like that of the wild beast in the desert, who must spend his time by himself, because he is not fit for company. If any difference arises, it should be conducted with reason and moderation: scholars should contend with wit and argument, which are the weapons proper to their profession. Their science is a science of defence; it is like that of fencing with the foil, which has a guard or button upon the point, that no offence may be given: when the sword is taken up instead of the foil, fencing is no longer an exercise of the school, but of the field. If a gentleman with a foil in his hand appears heated, and in a passion with his adversary, he exposes himself by acting out of character; because this is a trial of art and not of passion. The reason why people are soon offended, is only this, that they set too high a value upon themselves: a slight reflection can never be a great offence, but when it is offered to a great person; and if a man is such in his own opinion, he will measure an offence, as he measures himself, far beyond its value. If we consult our religion upon this subject, it teaches us, that no man is to value himself for any qualifications of mind or body; that he has numberless sins for which he ought to humble himself daily in the sight of God; and that it is his duty to think all others better than himself. If God humbled himself to exalt us, true greatness must consist in abasing ourselves, and giving honour to our company. What we call complaisance, gentility, or good breeding, affects to do this; and is the imitation of a most excellent virtue. If we obtain the good opinion of men by the shadow of a virtue, the reality will entitle us to the praise of God, which is the only true and lasting honour. LETTER XVIII. ON TRUE AND FALSE HONOUR. You wonder I should speak against honour, when it is the principle upon which every gentleman ought to act. I grant it; but there are two sorts of honour; the one genuine, the other spurious; the one is the honour of wise men, the other of fools. Honour, in its best sense, is the regard which a virtuous man hath to the preservation of his character: it is, properly speaking, the modesty of the mind, or moral modesty, which is shocked with the imputation of an unworthy action. But then you will observe, that the person who pretends to be a man of honour, must first be well informed concerning the nature of good and evil; without which he may be shocked at any appearance of goodness in himself, and glory in his shame; which is a very common case. False honour may always be distinguished by these two marks; first, that it is a very irritable principle; and secondly, that it makes the opinion or fashion of the world the only rule of its conduct. The honour which preserves a man is good; the honour which inflames him is bad; and if he has no rule, but the custom of his company, whereby to judge of good and evil, his company may be very bad, and very much mistaken, and then he will be led into great absurdities, and act more like a madman than a gentleman. According to this idea of honour, a man hates what his company hates; and thus it happens, that we find a sort of honour among |