N° 16. SATURDAY, March 20, 1779. T O prima vera gioventu de l'anno, D'erbe novelle, e di novelli amori; Tu torni ben, ma teco No tornano i fereni E fortunati di de le mie gioie. GUARINI. HE effects of the return of Spring have been frequently remarked, as well in relation to the human mind, as to the animal and vegetable world. The reviving power of this feafon has been traced from the fields to the herds that inhabit them, and from the lower claffes of beings up to man. Gladness and joy are defcribed as prevailing through univerfal nature, animating the low of the cattle, the carrol of the birds, and the pipe of the shepherd. I know not if it be from a fingular, or a cenfurable difpofition, that I have often felt in my own mind fomething very different from this gaiety, fuppofed to be the infeparable attendant of the vernal scene. Amidft the returning verdure of the earth, the mild ness nefs of the air, and the ferenity of the fky, I have found a ftill and quiet melancholy take poffeffion of my foul, which the beauty of the landscape, and the melody of the birds, rather foothed than overcame. Perhaps fome reafon may be given why this fort of feeling fhould prevail over the mind, in those moments of deeper pensiveness to which every thinking mind is liable, more at this time of the year than at any other. Spring, as the renewal of verdure and of vegetation, becomes naturally the season of remembrance. We are furrounded with objects new only in their revival, but which we acknowledge as our acquaintance in the years that are paft. Winter, which stopped the progreffion of nature, removed them from us for a while, and we meet, like friends long parted, with emotions rather of tenderness than of gaiety. This train of ideas once awaked, memory follows over a very extenfive field. And, in such a disposition of mind, objects of cheerfulness and delight are, from thofe very qualities, the most adapted to infpire that milder fort of fadnefs which, in the language of our native bard, is "pleafant and mournful to "the foul." They will infpire this, not only from the recollection of the paft, but from the profpect of the future; as an anxious parent, amidst the fportive gaiety of the child, often thinks of the cares of manhood and the forrows of age. This effect will, at leaft, be commonly felt by perfons who have lived long enough to see, and had reflection enough to obferve, the viciffitudes of life. Even those who have never. experienced fevere calamities, will find, in the review of their years, a thousand instances of fallacious promifes and difappointed hopes. The dream of childhood, and the project of youth, have vanished to give place to sensations of a very different kind. In the peace and beauty of the rural scene which Spring first unfolds to us, we are apt to recal the former state, with an exaggerated idea of its happiness, and to feel the prefent with increafed diffatiffaction. But the pencil of memory stops not with the reprefentation of ourselves; it traces alfo the companions and friends of our early days, and marks the changes which they have undergone. It is a dizzy fort of recollection to think over the names of our fchool-fellows, and and to confider how very few of them the maze of accidents, and the fweep of time, have left within our reach. This, however, is lefs pointed than the reflection on the fate of thofe whom affinity or friendship linked to our fide, whom distance of place, premature death, or (sometimes not a lefs painful confideration) eftrangement of affection, has disjoined from us for ever. I am not sure if the difpofition to reflections: of this fort be altogether a fafe or a proper one. I am aware, that, if too much indulged, or allowed to become habitual, it may difqualify the mind for the more active and bustling scenes of life, and unfit it for the enjoyments of ordinary fociety; but, in a certain degree, I am perfuaded it may be found useful. We are all of us too little inclined to look into our own minds, all apt to put too high a value on the things of this life. But a man under the impreffions I have defcribed, will be led to look into himself, and will fee the vanity of fetting his heart upon external enjoyment. He will feel nothing of that unfocial fpirit which gloomy and afcetic feverities infpire; but the gentle, and not unpleafing melancholy that will be diffused over his foul, will fill it with a calm and fweet benevolence, will elevate him much above any mean or felfish paffion. It will teach him to look upon the rest of the world as his brethren, travelling the fame road, and subject to the like calamities with himfelf; it will prompt his wish to alleviate and affuage the bitterness of their fufferings, and extinguish in his heart every fentiment of malevolence or of envy. Amidst the tide of pleasure which flows on a mind of little fenfibility, there may be much focial joy, without any focial affection; but, in a heart of the mould I allude to above, though the joy may be lefs, there will, I believe, be more happiness and more virtue. It is rarely from the precepts of the moralift, or the mere fenfe of duty, that we acquire the virtues of gentleness, difinterestednefs, benevolence, and humanity. The feelings must be won, as well as the reafon convinced, before men change their conduct. To them the world addreffes itself, and is heard: it offers pleasure to the prefent hour; and the promife of fatisfaction in the future is too often preached in vain. But he who can feel that luxury of penfive tenderness of which I have given fome faint fketches in this paper, |
