ions alfo, whofe terrors were even greater than mine. Our meeting was not of that kind, where every one is defirous of telling his own happy efcape; it was all filence, and a gloomy dread of impending terrors."

"Leaving this feat of defolation, we profecuted our voyage along the coaft; and the next day came to Rochetta, where we landed, although the earth ftill continued in violent agitations. But we had fcarcely arrived at our inn, when we were once more obliged to return to the boat; and, in about half an hour, we faw the greater part of the town, and the inn at which we had fet up, dashed to the ground, and burying the inhabitants beneath the ruins.'

"In this manner, proceeding onward in our little veffel, finding no fafety at land, and yet, from the smallnefs of cur boat, having but a very dangerous continuance at fea, we at length landed at Lopizium, a cattle midway between Tropea and Euphemia, the city to which, as I faid before, we were bound. Here, wherever I turned my eyes, nothing but feenes of ruin and horror appeared; towns and caftles levelled to the ground; Strombalo, though at fixty miles diftance, belching forth flames in an unufual manner, and with a noife which I could diftinctly hear. But my attention was quickly turned from more remote, to contiguous danger. The rumbling found. of an approaching earthquake, which we by this time were grown acquainted with, alarmed us for the confequences; it every moment feemed to grow louder, and to approach nearer. The place on which we ftood now began to fhake moft dreadfully; fo that being unable to ftand, my companions and I caught hold of whatever fhrub grew next to us and fupported ourfelves in that manner."

"After fome time, this violent paroxyfm ceafing, we again ftood up, in order to profecute our voyage to Euphamia, which lay within fight. In the mean time, while we were preparing for this purpofe, I turned my eyes towards the city, but could fee only a frightful dark cloud, that feemed to rest upon the place. This the more furprised us, as the weather was fo very ferene. We waited, therefore, till the cloud had paffed away: then turning to look for the city, it was totally funk. Wonderful to tell! nothing but a difnial and putrid lake was feen where it flood. We looked about to find fome one that could tell us of its fad catalrophe, but could fee no perfon, All was become a

ror.

melancholy folitude; a fcene of hideous defolation. Thus proceeding penfively along, in quelt of fome human being that could give us a little information, we at length faw a hoy fitting by the fhore, and appearing ftupified with terOf him, therefore, we inquired concerning the fate of the city; but he could not be prevailed on to give us an anfwer. We entreated him, with every expreffion of tendernefs and pity, to tell us; but his fenfes were quite wrapt up in the contemplation of the danger he had efcaped. We offered him fome victuals, but he feemed to loathe the fight. We ftill perfifted in our offices of kindness; but he only pointed to the place of the city, like one out of his fenfes; and then running up into the woods, was never heard of after. Such was the fate of the city of Euphemia: and as we continued our melancholy courfe along the fhore, the whole coaft, for the space of two hundred miles, prefented nothing but the remains of cities; and men scattered, without a habitation, over the fields. Proceeding thus along, we at length ended our diftrefsful voyage, by arriving at Naples, after having escaped a thousand dangers both at fea and land."

GOLDSMITH.

SECTION II.

LETTER FROM PLINY TO GEMINIUS.

The

Do we not fometimes obferve a fort of people, who though they are themfelves under the abject dominion of every vice, fhow a kind of malicious refentment against the errors of others; and are most severe upon those whom they most refemble? yet, furely a lenity of difpofition, even in persons who have the leaft occafion for clemency themfelves, is of all virtues the most becoming. higheft of all characters, in my eflimation, is his, who is as ready to pardon the errors of mankind, as if he were every day guilty of fome himfelf; and, at the fame time, as cautious of committing a fault, as if he never forgave one. It is a rule then which we should, upon all occa, fions, both private and public, moft religiously observe; "to be inexorable to our own failings, while we treat those of the rest of the world with tendernefs, not excepting even fuch as forgive none but themselves."

I fhall, perhaps, be afked, who it is that has given occafion to thefe reflections. Know then that a certain per

fon lately, but of that when we meet, though, upon fecond thoughts, not even then; left, whil I condemn, and expofe his conduct, I fhould act counter to that maxim I particularly recommend. Whoever therefore, and whatever he is, thall remain in filence: for though there may be fome ufe, perhaps, in fitting a mark upon the man, for the fake of example, there will be more, however, in fparing him, for the fake of humanity. Farewell.

I WRITE this under the utmost oppreffion of forrow: the youngest daughter of my friend Fundanus is dead! Never furely was there a more agreeable, and more amiable young perfon; or one who better deferved to have enjoyed a long, I had almost faid, an immortal life! She had all the wisdom of age, and difcretion of a matron, joined with youthful sweetness and virgin modefty. With what an engaging fondness did fhe behave to her father! How kindly and refpectfully receive his friends! How affectionately treat all thofe who, in their respective offices, had the care and education of her! She employed much of her time. in reading, in which fhe difcovered great frength of judg-. ment; fhe indulged herself in few diverfions, and thofe with much caution. With what forbearance, with what patience, with what courage did the endure her laft illness ! She complied with all the directions of her physicians; fhe encouraged her fifter, and her father; and, when all her ftrength of body was exhausted, fupported herself by the fingle vigour of her mind. That, indeed, continued, even to her last moments, unbroken by the pain of a long illnefs, or the terrors of approaching death; and it is a reflection which makes the lofs of her fo much the more to be lamented. A lofs infinitely fevere! and more fevere by the particular conjuncture in which it happened! She was contracted to a mot worthy youth; the wa dding day was fixed, and we were all invited. How fad a change from the highest joy, to the deepest forrow! How fhall I exprefs the wound that pierced my heart, when I heard Fundanus himself, (as grief is ever finding out circumftan ses to aggravate its affliction,) ordering the money he had

defigned to lay out upon clothes and jewels for her marriage, to be employed in myrrh and spices for her funeral? He is a man of great learning and good fenfe, who has applied himself, from his earliest youth, to the nobleft and most elevated ftudies but all the maxims of fortitude, which he has received from books, or advanced himself, he now abfolutely rejects; and every other virtue of his heart gives place to all a parent's tenderness. We fhall excufe, we shall even approve his forrow, when we confider what he has loft. He has loft a daughter who refembled him in his manners, as well as his perfon; and exactly copied out all her father. If his friend Marcellinus fhall think proper to write to him, upon the fubject of so reasonable a grief, let me remind him not to use the rougher arguments of confolation, and fuch as feem to carry a fort of reproof with them; but thofe of kind and sympathifing humanity. Time will render him more open to the dictates of reafon : for as a fresh wound fhrinks back from the hand of the furgeon, but by degrees fubmits to, and even requires the means of its cure; fo a mind, under the firft impreffion of a misfortune, fhuns and rejects all arguments of confolation; but at length, if applied with tenderness, calmly and willingly acquiefces in them. Farewell.

SECTION IV.

ON DISCRETION.

MELMOTH'S PLINT.

I HAVE often thought, if the minds of men were laid open, we should fee but little difference between that of the wife man, and that of the fool.

There are infinite reveries, numberlefs extravagances, and a fucceffion of vanities, which pafs through both. The great difference is, that the first knows how to pick and eull his thoughts for converfation, by fuppreffing fome, and communicating others; whereas the other lets them all indifferently y out in words. This fort of difcretion, however, has no place in private converfation between intimate friends. On fuch occafions, the wifeft men very often talk like the weakeft; for indeed talking with a friend is nothing else than thinking aloud.

Tully has therefore very juftly expofed a precept, delivered by fome ancient writers. That a man should live

with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave him room to become his friend; and with his friend, in fuch a manner, that, if he became his enemy, it fhould not be in his power to hurt him. The first part of this rule, which regards our behaviour towards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as very prudential; but the latter part of it, which regards our behaviour towards a friend, favours more of cunning than of difcretion; and would cut a man off from the greatest pleasures of life, which are the freedoms of converfation with a bofom friend. Befides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy, the world is just enough to accuse the perfidioufnefs of the friend, rather than the indiscretion of the person who confided in him.

Discretion does not only fhow itself in words, but in all the circumstances of action; and is like an under agent of Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns of life.

There are many more fhining qualities in the mind of man, but there is none fo ufeful as difcretion. It is this, indeed, which gives a value to all the reft; which fets them at work in their proper times and places; and turns them to the advantage of the perfon who is poffeffed of them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence; virtue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualify a man to be more fprightly in errors, and active to his own prejudice.

Discretion does not only make a man the mafter of his own parts, but of other men's. The difcreet man finds out the talents of thofe he converfes with; and knows how to apply them to proper ufes. Accordingly, if we look into particular communities and divifions of men, we may obferve, that it is the difcreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, nor the brave, who guides the converfation, and gives measures to the fociety. A man with great talents, but void of difcretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, ftrong and blind; endued with an irréfiftible force, which, for want of fight, is of no use to him.

Though a man have all other perfections, and want dif cretion, he will be of no great confequence in the world; but if he have this fingle talent in perfection, and but a common fhare of others, he may do what he pleases in his particular ftation of life.