times tempted to stop by the mufic of the birds, which the heat had assembled in the fhade; and fometimes amufed himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either fide, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began to decline from its firft 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 confider whether it were longer safe to forfake the known and common track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greateft violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he refolved to pursue the new path, which he fuppofed 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 suspected that he was not gaining ground. This uneafinefs of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every fenfation that might footh or divert him. He liftened to every echo; he mounted every hill for a fresh profpect; he turned afide to every cascade; and pleafed himself with tracing the courfe of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions. In thefe amuse ments, the hours pafsed away unaccounted; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He flood penfive and confufed, afraid to go forward left he should go wrong, yet confeious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the fky was overfpread with clouds; the day vanithed from before him; and a fudden tempeft gathered round his

head. He was now roufed by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness is loft when cafe is confulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to feek fhelter in the grove; and despised the petty curiofity 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.

Не

He now refolved to do what yet remained in his power, to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some ifsue where the wood might open into the plain. He proftrated himself on the ground, and commended his life to the Lord of Nature. rofe with confidence and tranquillity, and' prefsed on with refolution. The beafts of the defert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration. All the horrors of darkness and folitude furrounded him: the winds roared in the woods; and the torrents tumbled from the hills.

Thus forlorn and diftrefsed, he wandered through the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to fafety or to deftruction. At length, not fear, but la bour began to overcome him; his breath grew fhort, and his knees trembled; and he was on the point of lying down in refignation to his 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 hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admifsion. The old man fet before him fuch provifions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.

When the repast was over, "Tell me," faid the hermit, "by what chance thou haft been brought hither? I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, in which I never faw a man before."Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation.

"Son," faid the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the dangers and escape of this day, fink deep into thy heart. Remember, my fon, that human life is the journey of a day. We rife in the morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation; we fet forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while in the direct road of piety towards the manfions of reft. In a fhort time, we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find fome mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the fame end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance; but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we refolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of eafe, and repofe in the fhades of fecurity. Here the heart foftens, and vigilance fubfides; we are then willing to inquire 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 them, but enter timorous and trembling; and always hope to pafs through them without lofing the road of virtue, which, for a while, we keep in our fight, and to which we purpose to return. But temptation fucceeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we in time lofe the happiness of innocence, and folace our difquiet with fenfual gratifications. By de

grees, we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational defire. We entangle ourselves in bufinefs, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconftancy; till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obftruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with forrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly with, that we had not forfaken the ways of virtue. Happy are they, my fon, who fhall learn from thy example, not to defpair; but fhall remember, that, though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made: that reformation is never hopeless, nor fincere endeavours ever unafsifted; that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who implores ftrength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my fon, to thy repofe; commit thyfelf to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life."

DR. JOHNSON.

CHAPTER III.

DIDACTIC PIECES.

I

SECTION I.

The Importance of a good Education.

CONSIDER a human foul, without education, like marble in the quarry; which fhows none of its inherent beauties, until the skill of the polifher fetches out the colours, makes the furface fhine, and difcovers every ornamental cloud, spot, and vein, that runs through the body of it. Education, after the fame manner, when' it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are never able to make their appearance.

If my reader will give me leave to change the allufion fo foon upon him, I fhall make ufe of the fame inftance to illuftrate the force of education, which Ariftotle has brought to explain his doctrine of subftantial forms, when he tells us, that a statue lies hid in a block of marble; and that the art of the ftatuary only clears away the fuperfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in the ftone, and the fculptor only finds it. What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to a human foul. The philofopher, the faint, or the hero, the wife, the good, or the great man, very often lies hid and concealed in a plebeian, which a proper education might have difinterred, and have