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want of politepefs to engross the one as to monopolize the other. XVII. The Journey of a Day; a Picture of Human Life. OBIDAH, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera

early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Indoftan. He was fresh and vigorous withi reft; he was animated with hope ; he was incited by. desire ; he walked swiftly forward over the vallies, and Saw the hills gradually rising before him. As he pafled along, his ears were delighted with the morning fong of the bird of paradise, he was fanned by the last fluta ters of the sinking breeze, and fprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and fome. times caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring: all bis fenses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart.

Thus he went on till the sun approaclied his meridian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength ; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He law, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a fign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling, but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without the least remission of his ardour, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, whom the heat had assembled in the shade, and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. '. At last the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with water-falls. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it were longer safe to forfake the known and common track ; but remembering

that

that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few. meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road.

Having thus calmed his .folicitude, he renewed his pace, though he fufpected that he was not gaining ground. This uncaliness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every senlation that might faoth or divert him.. He listened to every echo, he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect, he turned afide to every cascade, and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions. In these amulements, the hours passed away unaccounted, his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward left he fhould go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day, vanilhed from before him, and a sudden tempeft gathered round hiş head. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly ; be now saw how happiness is loft when ease is consulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to {eek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.

He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power, to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood' might open into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, and commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on with fuis fabré in his hand, for the beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration ; all the horroirs of darkness and solitude surrounded hin?'; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tunbled from the hills.

Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was every momeno drawing nearer to safety or to destruction. At length not fear but labour began to overcome him ; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down in resignation to liis fate, when he beheld through the brambles the glimmer of a taper. ' He advanced towards the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a bermit, he called humbly as the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude,

When the repast was over, .Tell me, said the her. mit, by what chance thou hast been brought hither ; E have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wil. derness, in which I never saw a man before.' Obidah ther related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation.

Son, said the hermit, let the errours and follies, the dangers and escape of this day, sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation ; we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the strait road of piety towards the mangions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with criines at a distance, but rely upon our own con. stancy, and venture to approach what we refolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and vigilance fubfides; we are then willing to enguire whether another advance cannot be made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with fcruple and hesitation; we enter thein, but enter timnorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through tliem without losing the ad of virtue, which we, for a while, keep in our and to which we propose to return.

But temps

tation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another ; we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconftancy, till the darkness of old age begins to invade lls, and diseale and anxiety obstruct-our way: then look back upon our lives with horrour, with forrow, with repentance ; and wifi, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my fon, who shall learn from thy example not to despair, but fhall remember, that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort w be made ; that reformation is never hopeless, nor fincere endeavours ever unaslifted, that the wander: er may at length retorn after all his errours; and tliat lio who implores strength and courage from above, hall find danger and difficulty give way before him. show, my son, to thy repose; commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning. calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life.!.

SEC SECTION IV.

1. Description of the Amphitheatre of Titusa POSTERITY admires, and will long admire, the awful

, remains of use amphitheatre of Titus, which fo well deserved the epithet of Colossal. It was a building of an elliptic figure, five hundred and fixty-four feet in length, and four hundred and fixty-seven in breadth ; founded on four core arches; and riling, with four fucceffive or. ders of architecture, to the height of one hundred and forty feet. The outside of the edifice was encrusted with marble, and decorated with itatues. The slopes of the vast concave which formed the inside, were filled and sur. rounded with fixty or eighty rows of seats of marble, covered with cushions, and capable of receiving with ease above fourícore thousand spectators. Sixty.four vomitories (for by that name the doors were very aptly diftin. guished) poured forth the immense multitude; and the entrances, paffages, and stair-cases, were contrived with such exquisite skill, that each person, whether of the senatorial, the equestrian, or the plebeian order, arrived at his destined place, without tronble or confusion,

Nothing was omitted which in any refpect could be fubservient to the convenience and pleasure of the fpectators. They were protected from the fun and rain by an ample canopy, occasionally drawn over their heads. The air was continually refreshed by the playing of fountains, and profusely impregnated by the grateful scent of aromatics. In the centre of the edifice, the arena or stage was strewed with the finest fand, and fiice cessively assumed the most different fornis. At one mo• ment, it seemed to rise out of the earth like the garden of the Hesperides; at another, it exhibited the rugged rocks and cavern's of Thrace.' The subterraneous pipes conveyed an inexhaustible supply of water; and what had just before appeared a level plain, miglit be suddenly converted into a wide lake, covered with armed vessels, and replenifhed with the monsters of the deep.

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