"What," he continued, " says old Montaigne, who lived a varied life, and was a shrewd observer? 'The solitude which I love and recommend, is that which enables me to withdraw my affections and thoughts into myself. Local solitude rather sets me at large, and I can even more willingly embark in the business of the world when I am alone. Even at the Louvre, the throng makes me retire into myself. I am no enemy to courts, and have spent part of my life in great companies; but then it must be at my own time.' So far Montaigne; and let Montaigne speak for me." "I am sorry for it," said I, "considering how much you are wanted, and how much you might still achieve of honours and power; and as you are not rich, forgive me if I add, of fortune."

He shewed his dissent, and, after a pause, said, "This might have weighed some years ago; but I thank Heaven, I have at length completely reached that great desideratum in the pursuit of happiness the being able to concentrate, not only all my feelings, but all my ideas, and certainly all my wishes, within the pale of this domain. I scarcely ask myself how goes time, and still less the world; not because I am indifferent to my species (to all of whom I wish well), but because, from the simplicity of my pleasures and of my wants, the satiety of former objects (having fully enjoyed them),

and above all perhaps, the loss of many dear and excellent friends who encouraged and shared in those objects, I have wisely, I think, reduced every thing to my own circle of pursuits, and look not abroad for better. As to the loss of friends, I feel again with Sir William Temple, who you say is my model: When I consider how many noble and estimable men-how many lovely and agreeable women-I have outlived among my acquaintance, methinks it looks impertinent to be alive.""

Here he became a little affected, but resuming cheerfulness, he went on:-" As to fortune, you say well; I am not rich, except that I have enough, and richer therefore cannot be. I will not fall into the cant of pseudo-philosophy, and rail against the Court because I have left it; for it treated me better than I deserved. But having left it (I think for better things at my age) I call to mind the good yeoman of Kent, just before he slew Jack Cade:

'Lord! who would live turmoiled in the Court,
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these?
This small inheritance my father left me
Contenteth me, and 's worth a monarchy.
I seek not to wax great by other's waning,
Or gather wealth I care not with what envy;
Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,

And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.'"

"Of a truth," said I, "these lines are powerful in support of your principle, and I only hope that you will not, like him who uttered them, cut off my head for 'breaking into your garden ;' but even the philosopher Iden, you may remember, was ambitious to get knighted, and followed the Court which he had affected to despite."

"However this may be,” he replied, “ with the help of such philosophy, or, as I would rather say, resignation, as belongs to me, I feel that I have all really wanting to my desires or my tastes. I have, thank God (if I may venture in all humility to risk such a supposition), no very heinous transgressions on my conscience; I have no pain of body, nor discontent of mind; and I wish all men well, though I converse with few. Those few are at least honest; and if I want higher communications they are at hand every hour of the day, and every watch of the night, with a benignant, and I trust merciful though just Being, who watches all my actions, and before whom I know I am soon to appear."

دو

I will own to you, my Lord, these solemn words, set off by a still greater solemnity of voice and manner, left me for a moment without reply.

I felt pushed, and was not sorry at his proposal to vary the scene by walking to a summer-house

at a little distance, where, he said, he had ordered tea.

We did so, and from its windows beheld all the

glories of the setting sun. rather thoughtful repast;

We made a quiet and

after which, bending

our way through a mazy path in the wood, we returned to the house, under the guidance of the meek-eyed twilight, who now before us,

66

Slowly sail'd, and wav'd her banners gray."

And so ends my first day at Llirias.

"To-morrow to fresh fields and pastures new."

LETTER II.

MY DEAR LORD,

I am glad you liked my last, though you were disappointed. I fear I cannot give you more hope from the second day past with Atticus, than the first; but as you wish me to proceed I will.

Our evening was agreeable enough. The real beauty of his place, and his unequivocal happiness in it, made me abstain from all doubt of its lasting, or at least from being so rude as to tell him that I had any. We therefore became literary, and, of course, philosophical. Politics were banished for agriculture; of gardening we had had enongh; and my expectations were a good deal shaken, when I found that Atticus had a farm of 500 acres in his own hands, of which he was himself the bailiff.

A man, thought I, with such a responsibility, and out almost all day in such an interesting occupation, even were he not a votary of the Muses, or fond of the buskined Nymphs, can never complain of ennui, or a monotonous life.