"and grows again; the moon herself is loft "in Heaven; but thou art for ever the fame,

rejoicing in the brightness of thy courfe. "When the world is dark with tempefts; "when thunder rolls, and lightning flies, "thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, "and laughest at the ftorm. But to Offian "thou lookeft in vain; for he beholds thy "beams no more; whether thy yellow hair "flows on the eastern clouds, or thou trem"bleft at the gates of the weft. But thou art, "perhaps, like me, for a feason, and thy

16

years will have an end. Thou shalt fleep "in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, then, O Sun, in the ftrength of thy youth! Age is dark and "unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of "the moon when it fhines through broken "clouds; the blaft of the north is on the "plain, and the traveller fhrinks in the midst of his journey.”

G

N° 14.

SATURDAY, March 13, 1779.

Inertibus horis

Ducere follicite jucunda oblivia vita. HOR..

HERE are fome weakneffes, which, as

TH

they do not strike us with the malignity of crimes, and produce their effects by imperceptible progrefs, we are apt to confider as venial, and make very little fcruple of indulging. But the habit which apologizes for thefe, is a mischief of their own creation, which it be. hoves us early to refift. We give way to it at first, because it may be conquered at any time; and, at last, excufe ourselves from the conteft, because it has grown too ftrong to be over

3

come..

Of this nature is indolence, a failing, I had almost said a vice, of all others the least alarming, yet, perhaps, the moft fatal. Diffipation and intemperance are often the tran❤ fient effects of youthful heat, which time allays, and experience overcomes; but indo-lence" grows with our growth, and strength❝ens with our strength," till it has weakened.i every exertion of public and private duty; yet F. 6

fo

fo feducing, that its evils are unfelt, and its errors unrepented of.

It is a circumstance of peculiar regret, that this should often be the propensity of delicate and amiable minds. Men unfeeling and unfufceptible, commonly beat the beaten track with activity and refolution; the occupations they pursue, and the enjoyments they feel, feldom much disappoint the expectations they have formed; but perfons endowed with that nice perception of pleasure and pain which is annexed to fenfibility, feel fo much undescribable uneafinefs in their purfuits, and frequently fo little fatisfaction in their attainments, that they are too often induced to fit ftill, without attempting the one or defiring the

other.

The complaints which fuch perfons make of their want of that fuccefs which attends men of inferior abilities, are as unjust as unavailing. It is from the ufe, not the poffeffion of talents, that we get on in life: the exertion of very moderate parts outweighs the indecifion of the brighteft. Men poffeffed of the first, do things tolerably, and are satisfied; of the laft, forbear doing things well, because they have ideas beyond them.

When

When I first refolved to publish this paper, I applied to several literary friends for their aid: in carrying it on. From one gentleman in London, I had, in particular, very fanguine expectations of affiftance. His genius and abilities I had early opportunities of knowing, and he is now in a fituation most favourable to fuch productions, as he lives amidst the great and the bufy world, without being much occupied either by ambition or bufinefs. His compofitions at college, when I first became acquainted with him, were remarkable for elegance and ingenuity; and, as I knew he ftill fpent much of his time in reading the best writers, ancient and modern, I made no doubt of his having attained fuch farther improvement of ftyle and extenfion of knowledge, as would render him a very valuable contributor to the MIRROR.

A few days ago, more than four months after I had fent him my letter, I received the following answer to it:

London,

London, March, 1779.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

AM afhamed to look on the date of this letter, and to recollect that of yours. I will not, however, add the fin of hypocrify to my other failings, by informing you, as is often done in fuch cafes, that hurry of business, or: want of health, has prevented me from an- fwering your letter. I will frankly confefs,. that I have had abundance of leifure, and been perfectly well, fince I received it; I can s add, though, perhaps, you may not so easily. believe me, that I have had as much inclination as opportunity; but the truth is (you know my weakness that way), I have wifhed, refolved, and re-refolved to write, as I do by. many other things, without the power of ac complishing it. That disease of indolence,. which you and my other companions used to laugh at, grows ftronger and ftronger upon me; my symptoms, indeed, are mortal; for I. begin now to lofe the power of ftruggling againft. the malady, fometimes to fhut my ears against felf-admonition, and admit of it as a lawful in-dulgence.

2

Yours