Book XXIV

THE fails now fwcll with the breeze, and the shore seems to retreat ^ the pilot perceived, at a diilance, the promontory of Leucate, which conceals its fumniit in hoary mifts, that are blown round it by the freezing whirlwind; and the Acroceraunian mountains, which flill lift their prefumptuous brow to Heaven, though blafted fo often by the bolts of Jove.

«

I believe, said Telemachus to Mentor during the voyage, that I now perfecT:ly underlland the maxims of government that you have given me. They appeared, at firfl, like the confused images of a dream; bur, by degrees, they became clear and diftind: fo all objecTts appear obscure and cloudy, at the firil dawn of the morning; but, at length, they rise gradually, like a new creation out of chaos, as the light, increaling by infenfible degrees, diilipates the mill that furrounds them, defines their true figure, and tinges tinges them with their proper hue. I am perfuadcd, that the great secret of government is, to diflinguilh the different characters of men, to feled them for different piirpofes, and allot each to the employment which is most suited to his talents; but I am Hill to learn, how characfters are thus to be dillinguiflied."

" Mankind, replied Mentor, to be known, mull be fludied; and, to be studied, they mull frequently be seen and talked to. Kings ought to converse with their fubjefts, hear their sentiments, and consult them.- they should also trufl them with some small employment, and take an account how they discharge it, in order to judge whether they are capable of more important fervicc. By what means, my dear Telemachus, did you acquire your knowledge in horses? was it not, by seeing them freqviently, and converfmg, with persons of experience, concerning their excellencies and defe(5ts? In the fame manner, converse with the wife and good, who are grown old in the fludy of human nature, concerning the defedls and excellencies of men: you will, thus infenfibly, acquire a nice discernment of chara<5ter, and know what may be expected from every man that falls under your observation. How have you been taught to distinguish the poet from the mere writer of verses, but by frequent reading, and conversation with persons who have a good taste for poetry? and how have you acquired judgment in music, but by the fame application to the subject? How is it possible, that men should be well governed, if they arc not known? and how can the knowledge of men be acquired, biit by living among them? But seeing them in public, where they talk of indifferent fubjecSls, and say nothing even of them that has not been premeditated, is by no means living among them: they must be seen in private; their latent sentiments must be traced to the secret receffes of the heart; they must be viewed in every light; all their depths and fliallows must be tried, and their prin-

L 1 1 ciples ciplcs of adlion afcertained. But, to form a right judgment of mankind, it is principally necefTary, to know what they ought to be: a clear and definite idea of real merit, is absolutely necessary, to distinguish those who have it, from those who have it not. Men are continually talking of virtue and merit; but there a few, who know, precisely, what is meant by either: they are splendid terms, indeed; but, with respect to the greatest part of those who take a pride in perpetually repeating them, of uncertain signification. Justice, reason, and virtue, must be resolved into some certain principles, before it can be determined who are just, reasonable, and virtuous: the maxims of a wife and good adminiflration must be known, before those, who adopt them, can be diftinguiflicd from those, who fubftitute false refinement and political cunning in their fi:ead. To take the dimensions of different bodies, we mufl: have a standard measure; to judge of qualities and chara(5lers, we must have some fixed and invariable principles^, to which they may be referred. We must know, precisely, what is the great purpose of human life; and to what end, the government of mankind fhoukl be direcTied: the sole end of all government, is to render mankind virtuous and happy; and with this great end, the notion, that a prince is invested with the regal power and authority for his own sake, is wholly incompatible. This notion can only gratify the pride of a tyrant: a good king lives but for his people; and sacrifices his own ease and pleasure, to their advantage. He, whose eye is not invariably fixed upon this great end, the public good, if in any instance he attains it, will attain it by chance; he will float in the ftream of time, like a £hip in the ocean, without a pilot, the stars unmarked, and the shores unknown: in such a situation, is it pofilble to avoid shipwreck?

" It frequently happens, that princes, not knov/ing in whati virtue confirts, know not what they ought to seek in mankind;

they they miftakc virtue for aullcrity } it offends them, by appearing to want complacency, and to affedt independence; and, touched at once with fear and difguft, they turn from it to flattery. From this moment, fmcerity and virtue are to be found no more; the prince is feduced by a phantom of falfc glory, which renders him unworthy of the true: he perfuadcs himself, that there is no such thing as virtue upon the earth; for though the good can distinguish the wicked, the wicked cannot distinguish the good j and, what they cannot distinguish, they suppose not to exist: they know enough, to render them fufpicious; but not knowing more, they fufpedt all alike; they retire from the public eye, and immure themselves in the palace; they impute the most cafual trifles to craft and design; they are a terror to mankind, and mankind is a terror to them: they love darkness; and difguife their charadlcrs, which, however, are perfe(5lly known; the malignant curiosity of their fubjecfts penetrates every veil, and inveftigates every lecret: but he, that is thus known by all, knows no body; the self-interested wretches that furround him, rejoice to perceive, that he is inacceflible; and a prince, that is inacceflible to men, is inaccessible to truth: those, who avail themselves of his blindness, are bufy to calumniate or to banifli all, who would open his eyes; he lives in a kind of favage and unfociable magnificence, always the dupe of that imposition, which he at once dreads and deserves. Pic, that converfes only with a small number, almost necessarily adopts their passions and their prejudices; and, from passions and prejudices, the best are not free: he must also receive his knowledge by report; and, therefore, lie at the mercy of talc-bearers, a defpicable and;deteftable race, who are nouriflicd by the poison that destroys others; who make what is little great, and what is blamclefs criminal; who, rather than not impute evil, invent it; and who, to answer their own purposes, play upon the caufelefs suspicion and unworthy curiosity of a weak and jealous prince,

L 1 1 2 « Let

" Let the great object of your knowledge, therefore, O my dear Telemachus! be man. Examine him; hear one man's opinion of another; try th<:m by degrees; trufl: implicitly to none; and profit of your experience, \vhen you shall have been deceived in your judgment, which sometimes will certainly happen; wicked n^cn difguife themselves with too much art, to be always dtetedted: form your opinion of others, therefore, with caution; and do not liaftily determine, either that they are bad or good; for, in either case, a millake may be dangerous: and thus, even from error, you wilF derive wisdom. When you find a man of virtue and abilities, do not use him only, but trust him; for such men love that others should appear sensible of their merit, and set a much higher value upon confidence and esteem, than pecuniary rewards. But do not endanger their virtue, by trufting them with absolute power; for many men, who have flood againfl: common temptations, have fallen, when imlimited authority, and boundless wealth, have brought their virtue to a feverer test. The prince, who shall be fo far favoured of the Gods, as to find two or three, whose wisdom and virtue render them worthy of his friendship; will, by their means, find others of the fame chara(5ter, to fill the inferiour departments of state: and thus, by the few that he can trust, he will acquire the knowledge of others, whom his own eye could never reach."

" But I have often heard, said Telemachus, that men of ability should be employed, even though virtue be wanting." " The service of such men, replied Mentor, is sometimes necefiary. When a nation is in a state of tumult and disorder, authority is often found in the hands of wicked and defigning men, who are polTefi!ed of important employments, from which they cannot immediately be removed; and have acquired the confidence of persons in power, who must not abruptly be opposed; nor must they be abruptly opposed themselves, left they should throw all things into irremediable

B o o K XX rv.

44jr diable conf ufion: they mufl: be employed for a time; but care Hiuft constantly be taken, to leiren their importance by degrees; and, even while they are employed, they must not be trusted. He that trulVs them with a secret, invefts them with power which the;^ will certainly abuse, imd of which, from that moment, he will be the slave: by^ his secret, as with a chain, he will be led about at plcafure; and, however he may regret his bondage, he will find it impossible to be free. Let them negociate superficial' affairs, and be treated with attention and kindness; let them be attached to their duty, even by their passions, for by their paflions only, they can be held; but let them never be admitted to secret and important deliberations. Some spring should be always ready, to put them in motion, when it is fit they should a6t; but a king should never trufl them with the key, either of his bosom, or his state. When the public commotion fubfides, and government is regularly adminiftercd by men of approved integrity and wisdom, the wicked^ whofc services were forced upon their prince for a time, will infenfibly become unnecefTary and infignificant: but, even then, they should be well treated; for, to be ungrateful, even to the wicked, , is to be like them: btu in all kindness fliewed to such characters, there should be a view to their amendment; some of their faults should be overlooked, as incident to human infirmity: but the king's authority should be gradually resumed, and those mifchiefs prevented, which they would openly perpetrate; if not restrained. It must, however, be confeiTed, that, after all, the necessity of using wicked men as infti-uments of doing good, is a misfortune; and though it is sometimes inevitable, it should be remedied as soon as pofTible. A wife prince, who has no wish, but to establish order and distribute juflice, will soon find honefl men, of sufficient ability to eifedl his purposes; and be able to fliake off the fraudulent and crafty, whofc characters difgracc the best fervicc they cani perform.

*^ Buti

" But it is not enough for a king, to find good fubjedls; he must make them." " That, said Telf.maciius, must surely be an arduous tallc." " Not at all, replied Mentor: the very search after, virtue and abilities, will produce them; for rewards, well bestowed, will excite universal emulation. How many languifli in idlencfs and obscurity, who would become distinguished, if the hope of fortune was to excite them to labour? and how many defpairing to rise by virtue, endeavour to furmount the diftrefles of poverty by vice? If you diftinguilh genius and virtue by rewards and honours, your fubjecfts will excel in both charadlers, by a voluntary and vigorous elibrt of their own: and how much farther may you carry that excellence, by gradually bringing forward the merit that is thus produced, and advancing those that appear capable of public and important fcrvice, from the lowest to the highest employments? You will exercise their various talents;. and bring ■ the extent of their understanding, and the fmcerity of their virtue, to the test. Those, who fill the great offices of state, will then have been brought up, under your own eye, in lower stations; you will have followed them, throvigh life, step by step; and you will judge of them, not from their profeffions, nor from a single ad, but the whole tenour of their condud."

While Mentor and Telemachus were engaged in this conversation, they perceived a Phasacian vessel, which had put into a little island wholly desolate, and surrounded by craggy precipices of an enormous height. It was, at this time, a dead calm, fo that the zephyrs themselves fccmed to hold their breath: the whole surface of the fca was bright and fmooth, as a mirrour; the fails, which chmg to the maft could no longer impel the veiTel in its course; and the rowers, exhausted with labour, endeavoured to supply the deficiency of the gale in vain. It became, therefore, abfolutcly necefiTary to go on Ihore at this place, which was rather a rock a rock of the fca, than an habitation for men; and, at another time, it could not have been approached without the utmost danger. The Pha^acians, who were waiting for a wind, were not less impatient of delay than, the mariners of Salcntum, who had the condufl of Tele MA onus and Mentor, As soon as Telemachus was on shore, he advanced over the crags, towards some of these people, who had landed before him; and enquired of the firll man he met, whether he had seen \Jlysses, the king of Ithaca, at the palace of Alcinoiis.

It happened, that the person, to whom he addrcflcd himself, was not a Phseacian; but was a Ilranger, whose country was unknown: he was of a majeftic deportment, but appeared forrowfuland dcje(5tcd. When he was accofled, he was lost in thought, and seemed not to hear the question that was asked him; but soon recolle<fling himself, he replied, " You Aippofe that Ulysses has been seen in the island of the Pha:acians, and you are not mistaken; he was received at the palace of Alcinoiis, as at a place where the* Gods are reverenced, and the duties of hofpitality fulfilled: but he, soon after, left that country, where you will now feck him in vain. He set out, that he might once more salute his household Gods in hhaca, if the fuperiour powers shall forget their anger, and vouchfafe the hlefC-

The ilranger pronounced these words in a mournful voice, and immediately ruihed into a wild thicket upon the top of a rock; where, fixing his eyes upon the sea, he seemed desirous of solitude, and impatient to depart. Telemachus remarked him with great attention; and the more he gazed, the greater were his emotion and aftonilhment. " The answer of this ftrangcr, fuid he to Men-- TOR, is that of a man I'o ablorbed in afflicStion, as fcarce to take; cognizance of external objedis. The unfortunate have my pitv, far

448 13 D O K XXIV.

for I am myCelf unfortunate; and, for this man, I am particularly intercHed, without knoswing why: lac has not treated me with courtefy, he seemed to pay no attention to what I said, and he fcarce vouchfafod me an answer; yet I cannot but wish, that his misfortun<:s were at an end."

*' See then, said Mentor with a smile, what advantage is derived from the calamities of life; they humble the pride of greatness, and foftcn infenfibility to compassion. Princes, who have been fatally flattered with perpetual prosperity, imagine themselves to be Gods; if they have an idle willi to be gratified, they expetS: mountains to sink, and feas to vanifli; they hold mankind as nothing, and would have all nature the mere instrument of their will: when they hear of misfortune, they fcarce underlland the term; with refpecSl to them, misfortune is a dream; and they know not the difFerence between good and evil. Affliction only, can teach them pity; and give them, for the adamant in their bosom, the heart of a man: when they are afflicted, they become sensible that they participate a common nature with others, to whom they Ihould adminiller the comfort of which they feel the want. If a stranger has thus forcibly excited your pity, becaufc, like you, he is a wanderer upon the coast; how much more compassion should you feel for the people of Ithaca, if, hereafter, you should see them suffer! Yet the people of Ithaca, whom the Gods will confide to your care, as a flock is confided to a shepherd, may, perhaps, become wretched by your ambition, your prodigality, or imprudence; for nations are never wretched but by the fault of kings, who, like their guardian Gods, should watch over them for good."

To this discourse of Mentor, Telemachus lillened with grief and trouble; and, at length, with some emotion, replied, " If these things are true, royalty is, of all conditions, the moll wretched.

6 A king

A k in is the slave of those, whom he appears to command; his people are not subordinate to him, but he is* fubordinatc to his people; all his powers and faculties are referred to them, as their object; he is the servant, not of the community only, but of every individual; he must supply all their wants, accommodate himself to all their weaknefTes, correcfl their vices, teach them wisdom, and endow them with happiness. The authority with which Iiq appears to be inveftcd, is not his own; he is not at liberty to exert it, either for his glory, or his plcafure: it is, indeed, the authority of the laws, to which he must himself be obedient, as an example to others; the laws must reign, and of their fovereignty he must be the defence; for them he must pass the night in vigils, and the day in labour: he is less at liberty and at rest, than any other in his dominions; for his own freedom and repose, are sacrificed to the freedom and happiness of the public."

" It is true, replied Mentor, that a king is invested with the charadler, only that he may be, to his people, what a Ihepherd is to his flock, or a father to his family: but can you imagine, my dear Telemachus, that a king, who is continually employed to make multitudes happy, can himself be wretched? He correds the wicked by punishment, he encourages the good by rewards, he forms the world to virtue, a visible Divinity, the vicegerent of Heaven! Is it not fufRcicnt glory, to secure the laws from violation? to affecT: being above their authority, is not to acquire glory, but to become the objedl of dcteftation and contempt. A king, if he is wicked, must indeed be miserable; for his paflions, and his vanity, will keep him in perpetual tumult and solicitude: but, if he is good, he will enjoy the purest and most sublime of all pleasures, in promoting the cause of virtue, and expedling an eternal recompencc from the Gods."

M m m Telemachus,

Telemachus, 'whofemind was in great uneafinefs and agitation, feemcd, at this time, never to have comprehended these principles, though they had long been familiar to his mind, and he had often tanght them to others: a fplenetic humour, the frequent concomitant of secret infelicity, disposed him, contrary to his own sentiments, to reject the truths which Mentor had explained, with fubtik cavils and pertinacious contradiction. Among other objections, he urged the ingratitude of mankind: " What, says he, shall life be devoted, to obtain the love of those, who will, perhaps, hate you for the attempt; and to confer benefits upon wretches, who may probably use them to your deftru6lion?"

" Ingratitude, replied Mentor with great calmnefs, mufl be expected from mankind: but, though mankind are ungrateful, we should not be weary of doing good; we should serve them, less for their own fakes, than in obedience to the Gods, who command it. The good that we do, is never loll; if men forget it, it is remembered and rewarded by the Gods. Besides, if the multitude are ungrateful, there will always be virtuous men, by whom virtue will be regarded with reverence and love; and even the multitude, however inconilant and capricious, will, sooner or later, be jufl to merit. But, if you would prevent the ingratitude of mankind, do not load them with such benefits, as, in the common estimation, are of mofl value; do not endeavour to make them powerfid and rich; do not make them the dread, or the envy of others, either by their prowefs, or their pleasures. This glory, this abundance, these delights, will corrupt them; they will become more wicked, and, consequently, more ungrateful. Inflead, therefore, of offering them a fatal gift, a delicious poison, endeavour to improve their morals, to inspire them with juflice, sincerity, the fear of the Gods, humanity, fidelity, moderation, and difintercftednefs: by implanting goodness, you will eradicate ingratitude:

nidc: when you give virtue, you give a permanent and fubflantial good; and virtue will always attach those, who receive it, to the giver. Thus, by communicating real benefits, you will receive real benefit in return; and the very nature of your gift, will make ingratitude impoflible. Is it strange, that men should be ungrateful to princes, who have trained them to nothing, but injustice and ambition; and taught them only to be jealous, arrogant, perfidious and cruel! A prince mufl expedt, that his people will a6t towards him, as he has taught them to adl towards others. If he labours to render them good, both by his example and authority, he will reap the fruit of his labour from their virtue; or, at lead, in his own, and in the favour of the Gods, he will find abundant consolation for his difappointment."

As soon as Mentor had done speaking, Telemaghus advanced haftily towards the Phieacians, whose veflel lay at anchor near the shore. He found among them an old man, of whom he enquired whence they came, whither they were going, and if he had not seen Ulysses. " We are come, said the old man, from our own island Corcyra, and we are going for merchandize to Epirus: Ulysses, as you have been told already, has been in our country^ and has now left it."

" But who, said Telemaghus, is he, that, while he waits for the departure of your vefiTel, seems to be absorbed in the contemplation of his own misfortunes, and retires from society to the moflr foli^ tary parts of the island?" " He, said the old man, is a flranger, of whom we have no knowledge. It is said, that his name i^ Cleomcnes; that he is a native of Phrygia; and that, before his birth, it was declared, by an oratle, to his mother, that, if he quitted his country, he should be a king; but that, if he continued in it, tJie Gods would denounce their anger against the Phrygians* by a peitilence. •

M m m 2,. '* He

" He was, therefore, delivered to some failors, by his parents, as Toon as he was born, who conveyed him to the island of Lefbos, where he was privately educated at the expence of his country, which had fo great an interest in keeping him at a diflance. As he increased in ftature, his person became, at once, comely and robuft; and he excelled in all exercises, that render the body agile and llron^ ; he also applied, with great genius and taste, to science, and the polite arts: but no people would suffer him to continue among them. The prediction of the oracle concerning him, became generally known, and he was soon discovered wherever he went: kings were every where jealous, left he Ihould fupplant them in the throne; and thus, he became a fugitive from his youth, wandering about from country to country, without finding any place in which he might be allowed to remain. He has visited nations very remote from his own; but the secret of his birth, and the oracle concerning him, is discovered as soon as he arrives. He endeavours to conceal himself, wherever he comes, by entering into some obscure class of life; but he is soon discovered, by his fuperiour talents for war, literature, and government, which break out with irrefiftible fplcndor, notwithstanding his efforts to repress them, hi every country, he is furprized into the exertion of his abilities, by some unforefeen occasion; and these, at once, make him known to the public. His merit is his misfortune; for this, he is feared wherever he is known, and excluded from every country where he would reside.- it is his deftiny, to be every where eftccmcd, beloved, and admired; and to be excluded from all civil societies upon earth.

*« He is now advanced in years; and yet he has not hitherto been arble to find any diftrid, either of Asia or Greece, where he may be permitted to live in unmolefted obscurity. He appears to be wholly without ambition, and to desire neither honour nor riches;

and

45S and if the oracle had not promised him royahy, he would think himself the happicft of mankind. He indulges no hope of return ing to his native country; for he knows, that, to return thither would be to give up every family to mourning and tears. Even royalty itself, for which he suffers, is not desirable in his opinion: he is fulfilling the condition upon which it is to be acquired, in fpight of himself; and, impelled by an unhappy fatality, he perfues it from kingdom to kingdom, while it flies like a splendid illufion before him, as it were to fport with his diflrefs, and continue an idle chafe, till life itself shall have lost its value with its life. How fatal a gift is reserved for him by the Gods! How has it embittered those hours, which youth would have devoted to joy! and how has it aggravated the infirmities of age, when the only felicity of wearied nature is rest!

" He is now going, continued the old mariner, to Thrace, in search of some rude and lawlefs favages, whom he may collecft into a society, civilize, and govern for a certain time; that thus>having accomplished the oracle, the most flourishing state may admit him without fear. If he fucceeds in this design, he will immediately retire to a village in Caria j and apply himself wholly to his favourite employment, agriculture. He is a wife man his dcfires are moderate, he fears the Gods, and he knows mankind; and though he does not think them worthy of esteem, canlive peaceably among them. Such is the account that I have heard of the stranger, after whom you enquire."^

Telemachus, while lie was attending to this narrative, often: turned his eyes towards the sea, which began to be troubled; the wind now fwelled the surface into waves, which, breaking aga!n>l the rocks, whitened them with foam. The man observed it; and turning haftily to Telemachus, " I must be gone, faidhe, or my companions companions will fail without me." He then ran towards the veflel, the mariners hurried on board, and a confused clamour echoed along the shore.

The stranger, whom they called Clcomenes, had wandered about in the middle of the island; and, climbing to the fummit of many of the rocks, had eyed the boundless diffufion of waters around him, with a fixed and mournful attention. Telemachus had flill kept fight of him, and remarked him in every situation; not with an idle curiosity, for his heart melted, with compassion, for a man, who, though virtuous, was wretched, and a fugitive; formed for great atehievements, yet condemned to be the fport of fortune, and a flranger to his country. " I, said he to himself, may, perhaps, once more see Ithaca; but the return of this Cleomenes to Phrygia, is impoflible." Thus Telemachus received comfort, from contemplating the misery of a man more wretched than himself.

The flranger no sooner perceived his veflel ready to fail, than he ruflied down the craggy sides of the rock, with as much agility and fpeed, as Apollo bounds, from precipice to precipice, in the forests of Lycia, when, with his silver hair gathered in a knot behind him, he pcrfues the fi:ags and the boars, that fly from the terrors of his bow in vain. When the flranger was on board, and his veflel, dividing the waves, became gradually more distant from te shore, the heart of Telemachus died within him; he felt the keeneft afliidlion, without knowing the cause; the tear^ flowed unbidden from his eyes, and he found nothing fo pleasing as to weep.

In the mean time,' the mariners of Salentum, overcome with ^atigU'i^, were stretched upon the grafs near the beach in a pro-

7 found found flccp. A sweet infenfibility was diffufed through every nei've; and the secret but powerful influence of Mineuva had, in full day, scattered over them the dewy poppies of the night. Telemachus was aftonilhed to see the Salentines thus resign themselves to sleep, while the Phceacians, ever a(5live and vigilant, had improved the gale j yet he was more intent upon watching their veiTcl, which was now fading from his fight in the horizon, than upon recalling his mariners to their duty. A secret and irrcfiflible sense of astonishment and concern, kept his eyes fixed upon the bark that had left the iHand, and of which the fails only could be seen, which, by their whitenefs, were jufl diflinguiflied from the azure of the sea. Mentor called to him, but he was deaf to the voice: his faculties seemed to be suspended, as in a trance; and he had no more the pofTeflion of himself, than the frantic votaries of Bacchus, when, grafping the Thyrfis in their hands, the ravings of their frenzy are reechoed from the banks of the Hebrus, and the rude acclivities of Ifmarus and Rhodope.

At length, however, the fafcination was suspended; and, recovering Ii,is recollecftion, he again melted into tears. " I do not wonder, said Mentor, my dear Telemachus, to see you weep; for the cause of your trouble, though to you a secret, is known to me. Nature is the Divinity that speaks within you; it is her influence that you feel; and, at her touch, your heart has melted. A stranger has fill<jd your breafl with emotion: that flranger is the great Ulysses. What the Pliseacian has told you concerning him, under the name of Clcomenes, is nothing more than a fiction, invented more efFec5tually to conceal his return to Ithaca, whither he is now going: he is already near the port; and the fcenes, fo long desired, are at length given to his view. You have seen him as it was once foretold you, but have not known him: the time is at hand, when you ihall see him again; when you shall know him, and be known by

« by him: but the Gods would permit this, only in Ithaca. His heart did not suffer less emotion than yours: but he is too wife to trust any man with his fccret, while it might expose him to the treachery and insults of the pretenders to Penelope. Your father Ulysses is the wifeft of mankind; his heart is an unfathomable dcptl,! ; his secret lies beyond the line of fubtilty and fraud: he is the friend of truth, he says nothing that is false; but, when it is ncceflary, he conceals what is true: his wisdom is, as it were, a seal upon his lips, which is never broken, but for an important purpose: he saw you, he spoke to you, yet he concealed himself from you: what a confli<ft must he have fuflained, what anguish must he have felt! Who can wonder at his dejedlion and forrowl"

During this discourse, Telemachus stood fixed in astonishment, and at length burst into tears: his wonder was mingled with the tendered and deeped didrefs -, and it was long before the fighs, that kruggled in his bosom, would permit a reply. At length he cried out, " O my dear Mentor! there was, indeed, in this dranger, something thar controlled all my heart; something that attradled and melted me; a powerful infiuence without a name! But, if you knew him, why did you not tell me, before he departed, that he was Ulysses? and why did you not speak to him yourself, and acquaint him that he was not concealed from you? What do these myderies conceal I Is it, that I shall be wretched for ever! Will the Gods, in their anger, doom me to the torments of Tantalus, whose burning lips a delufive dream approaches for ever, and for ever dies! O my father! had thou escaped me for ever! perhaps I shall see thee no more; perhaps the fuitors of Penelope may take thee in the fnares, which they spread for me! O had I followed thee; then, if life had been denied us, we might at lead have died together! O Ulysses, Ulysses, if thou Ihalt escape another shipwreck, which, from the persevering malice of fortune, tune, there is reason to doubt; I fear, left thou shouldst meet, at Ithaca, as disastrous a fate, as Agamemnon at Mycenc. But wherefore, O my dear Mentor! did you envy my good fortune? why have I not already embraced my father? why am I not now with him, in the port of Ithaca; why not fighting at his fide, and exulting in the deftrudlion of his enemies V

" Let me now, my dear Telemachus, said Mentor with a smile, fhew thee to thyself; and thus acquaint thee with the weakness of mankind. To-day, you are inconfolable, because you have seen your father without knowing him; but what would you have given, yesterday, to know that he was not dead! To-day, your own eyes alTure you, that he lives; and this alTurance, v»diich ftiould tranfport you with joy, overwhelms you with diftrcfs. Thus do mankind, by the perverse depravity of their nature, esteem that which they have most desired, as of no value, the moment it is pofTefTed; and torment themselves, with fruitlefs wishes, for that which is beyond their reach. It is to exercise your patience, that the Gods thus hold you in fufpenfe. You consider this time as lost, but be afllired that it is, more than any other, improved. The distress which you now suffer, will exercise you in the pradicc of that virtue, which is of more importance than all others, to those who are born to command. Without patience, you can be master neither of others nor yourself. Impatience, which appears to be the force and vigour of the foul, is, indeed, a wc^aknefs; the want of fortitude to suffer pain. He, that knows not how to wait for good, and to endure evil, is fubjeft to the fame imbccillity, as he that cannot keep a secret; they bodi want power to restrain the first impulse of the mind; and refemble a charioteer, whose hand has not strength to restrain his impatient courfers, in their headlong fpeed; they difdain the bridle, they rufh forward with ungoverned fury, the chariot is overturned, and the feeble driver is

N n n ' cruflied crulhcd under the wheels. An impatient raan is thus pie€ipitatetl to ruin, by the violence of impetuous and ungoverned delire. The more elevated his station, the more fatal his impatience-; he waitsfor nothing, he defpifes deliberation, and takes all' things, as tt were, by storm j every enjoyment is a violence and' an injury y he breaks down the branches, to gather the fruit? before it is rrpe;. he forces the door, rather than wait till it is opened; and refolves to reap, when the prudent hulbandm an would' fow: all his a<S!;ions are precipitate, and out of season; all that he does^ therefore, is done amifs, aijd m«fl? be futile- and' tranllcnt as his ovim defii-es. Such are the extravagant projedls of a man, who vainly imagines, that he can do all things; and abandon himself to- every impatient wish, that prompts him to abuse his power. Your patience is thus tried, my dear Telbmachus, that you may learn to be patient J and, for this cause, the Gods have given you up to- the caprices of fortune, and fuflered' you to- be still^ a wanderer, to whom all things are uncertain. Every object of your hope has just appeared and vanished, like the fleeting images of a dream when the flumbers of the night are past, to apprize you, that theblcffings, which we imagine to be within our grafpj elude us, and difappear in a moment. The bell precepts of the wife Ulysses, would inflru(5t you less than, his absence, and the fiiiFerings whicHi while you fought him, you have- endured!"

Mentor then determined to bring the patience of Telemachus to another trial, yet more severe than any that were past; at the moment, therefore, when the young hero was urging the mariners to set fail without delay, Mentor suddenly flopped him, and proposed that they should oifer a solemn sacrifice to Minerva upon, the beach. Telemachus consented, without remonftrance or. complaint; two altars of turf were immediately prepared, the incense fmoked, and the blood of the vidims was fled: the youth looked up to Heaven, with a figh of tcnclcrncfs and devotion; and acknow. iedged the powerful protedion of the Goddcfs.

As soon as the facrificc was ended, he followed Mentor into the darkell recefs of a neighbouring wood; and here, he suddenly perceived the countenance of his friend afhime a new form: the wrinkles disappeared, as the shadows of the night vanifli, when the rofy fingers of Aurora throw back the portals of the East, and kindle the horizon with the beams of day; his eyes, which were keen and hollow, changed to a celestial blue, and fparklcd with divine radiance; his beard, grilled and negleded, totally vanilhed j and the fight of Telemachus was dazzled by new features, which were, at once, mild and awful, lovely and majeftic. He beheld the countenance of a woman, foft and delicate as the leaves of a flower just opening to the sun, and blooming with the tints both of the lilly and the rofc; it was dillinguifhed by the ineffable beauty of eternal youth, and the easy dignity of familiar greatncfs: her flowing hair impregnated the gale with ambrofial odours; and her robes shone with a various and vivid fplcndor, like the clouds of heaven, which the sun diverfifies and irradiates with his earliest light. The Divinity was no longer supported by the earth, but reclined upon the air, in which she floated like a bird in its flight: in her hand was the fliining lance, at which nations tremble, and Mars himself becomes sensible to fear: her voice was sweet and placid, but penetrating and strong > her words pierced the heart of Telemachus like fhafts of fire, and thrilled him with a kind of delicious pain: upon her helmet, appeared the solitary bird of Athens; and her dreadful segis glittered upon her bread. By these charatfteriftics, Telemachus knew, that he beheld Minerva.

" And is it thou thyself, said he, O Goddefs! who, for the love that thou bearefl to Ulysses, hast vouchfafed guidance and prote<5tion to his son I" He would have said more, but his voice failed

N n n 2 hiiU;

him; and the thoughts that rufhed, with impetuous tumult, from his heart, his tongue laboured to express in vain: he was overwhelmed by the presence of the Divinity, like a man who is opprefTed, to the loss of breath, in a dream, and who, although agonized with an effort to speak, can articulate nothing.

At length the Goddefs addrelled him in these words: " Hear me, O son of Ulysses, for the last time! I have, hitherto, favoured no mortal, with such inftrucSlion as I have vouchfafed to thee. In countries unknown, in ihipwreck, in battle, in every situation of danger and diftrcfs, by which the heart of man can be tried, I have been thy protection. For thee, I have illustrated, by experiment, all maxims of government, both false and true; and I have improved, not thy misfortunes only, but even thy faults, into wisdom. Who can govern, that has never suffered; who can avoid error, but by experience of its evil? Thou hast filled earth and ocean with disastrous adventures, like thy father; and art now worthy to follow him to Ithaca, where he is this moment arrived, and whither thy passage is short and easy. In battle, let thy station be' at his fide; obey him with implicit reverence; and let the meaneft subject: learn his duty from thy example. He will give Antiope to thy wishes: in this alliance thy obje6b was rather merit than beauty, and it shall be happy. When thou shalt be inverted with sovereign power, let it be thy only ambition, to restore the golden age: let thy ear be open to all, but thy confidence restrained to few: trust not implicitly to thy own virtue, or thy own wisdom: fear to deceive thyself; but fear not, that others should know thou hast been deceived. Love thy people; and negleft nothing, that may inspire them with love of thee: those, whom love cannot influence, must be ruled by fear; but this expedient, like a violent and dangerous remedy, should always be used with relu(5tance. Undertake nothing, of which thou hast not considered the most remote consequences: look steadily at the future, whatever evils it it may present; for true courage consists in the anticipation and contempt of neceflary danger: he who will not voluntarily look danger in the face, will shrink from the fight, when it is obtruded upon him: he only is wife and brave, who willingly looks on all that can be seen, who fliuns all that can be flmnned, and meets that which is inevitable with equanimity. Avoid luxury, profufion, and pomp, and place thy glory in limplicity: let thy virtues be the ornaments of thy person and thy palace; let these be the guard that furrounds thee; and let thy example teach the world, in what honour consists. Let it be constantly present to thy mind, that kings reign not for their own glory, but for the good of their people: the virtues, and the vices of kings, entail happiness or misery upon mankind, to the remoteft generations; and a bad reign sometimes produces calamity for an age. Above all, guard against thy humour; that peculiarity of disposition, which, independent both of the passions and reason, distinguishes mankind from each other; that capricious principle, which chufes and reje(5ts, loves and hates, approves and condemns, not in consequence of qualities in the objedl, but propenfities in the mind. This humour is a bosom enemy, which every man is condemned to carry with him to the grave: it will enter into all thy councils; and, if indulged, will certainly pervert them: it will prevent thee from improving opportunities of advantage; it will prefer fl:iadows to the substance, and determine important affairs by petty confidcrations; it obfcures talents, depreffes courage, and renders a man feeble, inconftant, odious, and contemptible: against this enemy, be continually upon the guard. Let the fear of the Gjods,= O Telemachus, be the ruling pailion of thy heart: keep it facrcd in thy bosom, as thy dearefl: treafiu'c; for with this thou shalt pofTcfs wisdom and justice, tranquillity and joy, unpolluted plcafurc, genuine freedom, peaceful affluence, and fpotlefs glory.

" I now

46 s

" I now leave thee, O son of Ulysses! But, fo long as thoti shalt feel the want of my wisdom, my wifdora lliall remain with thee. It is now time, that thou shouldst walk by the light of thy own mind: I withdrew from thee in -^gypt and at Salentum, that I might reconcile thee to the want of that assistance and comfort, which I afforded, by degrees, as a mother weans an infant from tliq breast, when it is no longer necessary to indulge him with milk, and he is able to fubfiil upon coarfer food!"

Such was the last counfcl of Minerva to Telemachus! And, while her voice yet vibrated on his ear, he perceived her rise llowly from the earth; and, a cloud of intermingled azure and gold surrounding her, she disappeared. Telemachus flood a moment astonished and entranced; then fighing, proftrated himself upon the ground, and llrctched out his hands towards Heaven. After this homage was paid, he arose, awakened his companions, hastened their departure, arrived in Ithaca, and found his father under the friendly roof of his faithful Eumenes.