bread; and the advantages which these men take of necessitous genius, will not allow the employment of that time which is necessary to the production of capital works. We are not to consider these as the number of ephemeral productions, with which the metropolis perpetually abounds, and of which none are more heartily ashamed than their unfortunate authors. This short sighted policy, however, defeats itself; and we see that all the arts of quackery and delusion are frequently put in practice to no purpose. A more liberal line of conduct would really in the end prove for the employers' interest; but from the time of Tonson downwards, how seldom has liberality been laid to the charge of a bookseller.

It is vain, however, to be querulous about that for which there is no apparent remedy. So long as authors continue to be poor and necessitous, and booksellers to be rich, ignorant, and illiberal, which is nearly the same thing as saying, for ever, the present system will no doubt be invariably followed. Many plans have indeed been suggested for taking the trade out of the hands of the booksellers, and appropriating the whole profits of publication exclusively to authors; and one such plan, under very high patronage, has been partly attempted to be carried into execution; but these plans, however much they may prove the goodness of heart of those who conceived them, must, alas! be ranked among the innocent delusions which have at all times occupied the minds of men more versant with the world as it perhaps ought to be, than with the world as it really is.

What can be a more mortifying spectacle, than to see a man of talents cringing for employment at the levee of these literary sovereigns? The airs of consequence, and the purse-proud insolence, which they seldom fail to display on such an occasion, would excite our ridicule, if they did not almost excite our indignation.

A repetition of these mortifying scenes must in the end have the most baneful effect on an author's talents.A man with a heavy heart is not the most likely to abound with the sallies of wit or the play of fancy; nor can he, while anxious for a dinner, or a lodging over his head, sit down to his labour with an easy and unembarrassed mind.

There is something in independence of mind in a writer, for which nothing can compensate. When a man ceases to write what he thinks, and who can write as he thinks, who must always write what his employer requires of him, he will soon cease to write well. The glowing language of truth can seldom effectually be simulated. He who is not obliged to write for his dinner, will rarely sit down to write when he is not convinced of the importance of his subject; but how can such a persuasion animate him who is obliged to write at all times, and on all subjects. Rousseau used to say, that the very idea of his being obliged to write, would have deprived his writings of every thing which conferred a value on them: and he chose to copy music, rather than compose for bread.-If all Rousseau's notions had been as wise as this, it would have been better for himself, and better perhaps at this day for Europe.

There is a danger too of losing a relish for literature, when it becomes our means of subsistence. Not that a man should give away gratuitously what has occupied his time and labour, and what is deserving of the public favour. The profit ultimately to accrue from the undertaking, may well be allowed to animate the efforts of the most disinterested writer, as it undoubtedly is an object which even the most heroic authors seldom lose sight of. But let there be no paramount necessity to write for profit, whether disposed or indisposed to it. In such a case, it cannot fail but that irksome ideas will be naturally associated with the employment; and we cannot write without communicating more or less of the prevailing state of our mind to our works.

Whatever

we do well, where mind is concerned, we must do with the glow of affection. A mechanic may go his unvarying round from day to day with uniform success, if he merely possess physical ability; but no man can obtain an unvarying command over the operations of mind. Dr. Johnson used to laugh at men who pretended to be fitter for composition at one time than another, or that at different times they could succeed better in different kinds of composition; but we see how much his own practice gave the lie to his theory.-His Rasselas, written to pay the expence of his wife's funeral, inspires a melancholy which almost sickens us with existence. Could he have then written any thing which would have inspired other ideas?-If in such a state of mind he had attempted to be merry, it would have been what he himself says of Milton's-a melancholy mirth.

Hence we may account for the lazi ness which is generally laid to the charge of authors. We know the reluctance with which Johnson, and many others always applied to literary labour, a reluctance which nothing but necessity could overcome. What a contrast with the indefatigable wit of Ferney, whom good fortune made early independent, and who carried on his incessant, but voluntary labours throughout a long life, of which, as he himself says, he never passed a single day free from the attacks of disease.

There is a foolish, but too common prejudice in the world, which contributes very much to the multiplication of authors by profession. When it is known that a man amuses his leisure with literature, he is frequently at once set down as incapable of giving attention to his profession; without reflecting, that almost every one has hours which he may as well fill up with literature as employ in dissipation,—one or other is necessary; but it will be found that dissipation unfits the mind much more for business than literature does. How many examples are there in the world of men of the most active lives ranking high in letters. The most voluminous, and perhaps the best writer of antiquity, the great Cicero, was more engaged in business than any of his countrymen. By this foolish prejudice it frequently happens that a man is forsaken by his employers, and is compelled to have recourse, as a means of subsistence, to that which he never intended to be any thing but a relaxation. Franklin was obliged to observe as much secrecy when he looked into a

book, as if he had been plotting treason against the state.

Young men who are dazzled into the idea of running a career, which so many great men, our Johnsons, our Drydens, and our Goldsmiths, have run with glory before them, would do well to reflect before they are irretrievably engaged in it. Let them consider that the most brilliant abilities are scarcely able to procure more than a mere sub

sistence; and that their lives will be soured by the purse-proud insolence of a set of men, whom they despise in their hearts, but to whom they must pay outward deference. Literary fame, if fame be the object, may be acquired without leading a purely literary life; and if money be the object, almost every pursuit is to be preferred to literaI am, &c.

ture.

METROPOLITANUS.

On the banks of the Albany River, which falls into Hudson's Bay, there is, amongst others, a small colony settled, which is mostly made up of emigrants from the Higlands of Scotland. Though the soil of the vallies contigous to the river is exceedingly rich and fertile, yet the winter being so long and severe, these people do not labour too incessantly in agriculture, but depend for the most part upon their skill in hunting and fishing for their subsistence; there being commonly abundance of both game and fish.

Two young kinsmen, both Macdonalds, went out one day into these boundless woods to hunt, each of them armed with a well-charged gun in his hand, and a skene-dhu, or Highland

course towards a small stream, which descends from the mountains to the N. W. of the river; on the banks of which they knew there were still a few wild swine remaining; and of all other creatures they wished most to meet with one of them; little doubting but that they would overcome even a pair of them, if chance would direct them to their lurking places, though they were reported to be so remarkable both for their strength and ferocity. They were not at all successful, having neglected the common game in searching for these animals; and a little before sunset they returned homeward, without having shot any thing save one wild turkey. But when they least expected it, to their infinite joy, they discovered a deep pit, or cavern, which contained a large litter of fine halfgrown pigs, and none of the old ones with them. This was a prize indeed: so without losing a moment, Donald said to the other," Mack, you pe te