and our people half their joy, by means of those hard words and dark expressions in which our news-papers do so much abound. I have seen many a prudent citizen after having read every article, inquire of his next neighbour what news the mail had brought. I remember in that remarkable year, when our country vas delivered from the greatest fears and apprehensio.is, and raised to the greatest height of gladness it had ever felt since it was a nation; I mean the year of Blenheim, I had the copy of a letter sent me out of the country, which was written from a young gentleman in the army to his father, a man of a good estate and plain fense: as the letter was very modishly chequered with this modern military eloquence, I shall present my reader with a copy of it. SIR, PON the junction of the French and Bavarian ar mies, they took post behind a great morafs, which • they thought impracticable. Our general the next day • sent a party of horse to reconnoitre them from a little • hauteur, at about a quarter of an hour's distance from • the army, who returned again to the camp unobserved through several defiles, in one of which they met with à party of French that had been marauding, and made • them all prisoners at discretion. The day after, a druin • arrived at our camp, with a message which he would communicate to none but the general; he was followed by a trumpet, who they say behaved himself very faucily, with a message from the Duke of Bavaria. The next morning our army, being divided into two corps, made a movement towards the enemy: you will hear in • the public prints how we treated them, with the other • circumstances of that glorious day. I had the good for tune to be in the regiment that pushed the Gens d'Armes. • Several French battalions, who fome fay were a corps de (reserve, made a show of reffiftance; but it only proved ' a gasconade, for upon our preparing to fill up a little • fossé, in order to attack them, they beat the chamade, 6 and sent us charte blanche. Their commandant, with . a great many other general officers, and troops without (number, are made prisoners of war, and will I believe give you a visit in England, the cartel not being yet 6 • settled. Not questioning but these particulars will be • very welcome to you, I congratulate you upon them, • and am your most dutiful fon, &c.' The father of the young gentleman upon the perusal of the letter found it contained great news, but could not guess what it was. He immediately communicated it to the curate of the parish, who upon the reading of it, being vexed to see any thing he could not understand, fell into a kind of paflion, and told him, that his son had sent him a letter that was neither fish, flesh, nor good red-herring. I wish, says he, the captain may be compos mentis, he talks of a saucy trumpet, and a drum that carries messages; then who is Charte Blanche? He muft either banter us, or he is out of his senses. The father, who always looked upon the curate as a learned man, began to fret inwardly at his son's usage, and producing a letter which he had written to him about three posts before, You see here, says he, when he writes for money he knows how to speak intelligibly enough; there is no man in England can express himself clearer, when he wants a new furniture for his horse. In short, the old man was so puzzled upon the point, that it might have fared ill with his son, had he not feen all the prints about three days after filled with the same terms of art, and that Charles only wrote like other men. L NO 166. MONDAY, September 10. 6.66.64.64.666 Quod nec. Fovis ira, nec ignis, Nec poterit ferrun, nec etlax abolere vetuftas. Ovid. Met. I. -Which nor dreads the rage Of tempefts, fire, or war, or wafting age. WELSTED. RISTOTLE tells us that the world is a copy or transcript of those ideas which are in the mind of the first Being, and that those ideas which are in the mind of man, are a transcript of the world: to this we may add, A that words are the transcript of those ideas which are in the mind of man, and that writing or printing are the transcript of words. As the Supreme Being has expressed, and as it were printed his ideas in the creation, men express their ideas in books, which by this great invention of those latter ages may last as long as the sun and moon, and perish only in the general wreck of nature. Thus Cowley in his poem on the resurrection, mentioning the destruction of the universe, has those admirable lines. Now all the wide extended sky, And Virgil's facred work shall die.' There is no other method of fixing those thoughts which arise and disappear in the mind of man, and transmitting them to the last periods of time; no other method of giving a permanency to our ideas, and preserving the knowledge of any particular person, when his body is mixed with the common mass of matter, and his soul retired into the world of spirits. Books are the legacies that a great genius leaves to mankind, which are delivered down from generation to generation, as presents to the pofterity of those who are yet unborn. All other arts of perpetuating our ideas continue but a short time; statues can last but a few thousands of years, edifices fewer, and colours still fewer than edifices. Michael Angelo, Fontana, and Raphael, will hereafter be what Phidias, Vitruvius, and Apelles are at present; the names of great ftatuaries, architects, and painters, whose works are loft. The several arts are expressed in moul. dering materials: nature finks under thein, and is not able to support the ideas which are impruft upon it. The circumstance which gives authors an advantage above all those great masters, is this, that they can multiply their originals; or rather can make copies of their works, to what number they please, which shall be as valuable as the originale themselves. This gives a great author something like a prospect of eternity, but at the same time deprives him of thofe other advantages which artists meet with. The artist finds greater returns in profit, as the author in fame. What an inestimable price a would a Virgil or a Homer, a Cicero or an Aristotle bear, were their works like a statue, a building, or a picture, to be confined only in one place, and made the property of a single person? If writings are thus durable, and may pass from age to age throughout the whole course of time, how careful should an author be of committing any thing to print that may corrupt pofterity and poison the minds of men with vice and error? Writers of great talents who employ their parts in propagating immorality, and seasoning vicious sentiments with wit and humour, are to be looked upon as the pefts of society, and the enemies of mankind: they leave books behind them (as it is said of those who die in distempers which breed an ill will towards their own fpecies) to scatter infection and destroy their pofterity. They act the counter-parts of a Confucius or a Socrates: and seem to have been sent into the world to deprave human nature, and fink it into the condition of brutality. I have seen fome Roman-catholic authors who tell us that vicious writers continue in purgatory so long as the fo influence of their writings continues upon pofterity: for purgatory, say they, is nothing else but a cleansing us of our lins, which cannot be said to be done away, so long as they continue to operate and corrupt mankind. The vicious author, say they, fins after death, and so long as he continues to fin, so long must he expect to be punithed. Though the Roman-catholic notion of purgatory be indeed very ridiculous, one cannot but think that if the foul after death has any knowledge of what passes in this world, that of an immoral writer would receive much more regret from the sense of corrupting, than satisfaction from the thought of pleasing his surviving admirers. To take off from the severity of this speculation, I shall conclude this paper with the story of an atheistical author, who at a time when he lay dangerously fick, and had desired the affiftance of a neighbouring curate, confessed to him with great contrition, that nothing fat more heavy at his heart than the sense of his having seduced the age by his writings, and that their evil influence was likely to continue even after his death. The curate upon further examination finding the penitent in the utmost agonies of despair, and being himself a man of learning, told him, that he hoped his case was not so desperate as he apprehended, since he found that he was so very sensible of his fault, and so fincerely repented of it. The penitent still urged the evil tendency of his book to fubvert all religion, and the little ground of hope there could be for one whose writings would continue to do mischief when his body was laid in ashes. The curate finding no other way to comfort him, told him, that he did well in being afflicted for the evil design with which he published his book; but that he ought to be very thankful that there was no danger of its doing any hurt. That his cause was fo very bad, and his arguments so weak, that he did not apprehend any ill effects of it. In short, that he might relt fatisfied his book could do no more mischief after his death, than it had done whilst he was living. To which he added, for his farther satisfaction, that he did not believe any besides his particular friends and acquaintance had ever been at the pains of reading it, or that any body after his death would ever enquire after it. The dying man had still so much the frailty of an author in him, as to be cut to the heart with these consolations; and without answering the good man, asked his friends about him, (with a peevishness that is natural to a fick person where they had picked up such a blockhead? And whether they thought him a proper person to attend one in his condi. tion? The curate finding that the author did not expect to be dealt with as a real and fincere penitent, but as a penitent of importance, after a short admonition withdrew; not questioning but he should be again sent for if the sickness grew desperate. The author however recovered, and has since written two or three other tracts with the same spirit, and very luckily for his poor soul, with the same success. с a |