not come foon to me, I fhall take the wings of fome fine morning and fly to you; but I should rather have you here: for I wish to have you alone; and if you will let me be a MENTOR to you for one little month, I will be content-and you shall be a MENTOR to me the reft of the year; or, if you will, the reft of my days.

I long moft anxiously, my dear friend, to teach you-not to give an opiate to thofe fenfibilities of your nature, which make me love you as I do; nor to check your glowing fancy, that gives fuch grace to polished youth; nor to yield the beverage of the fountain for the nectar of the cafk; but to use the world no better, or to please you, a very little better than it deferves.-But think not, I beseech you, that I would introduce my young Telemachus to fuch a foul and fquint-eyed piece of pollution as fufpicion. Avaunt to fuch a bafe, ungene. rous paffion! I would fooner carry you to CALYPSO at once, and give you at leaft a little pleasure for your pain. But there is a certain little spot to be found fomewhere in the mid-way between trufting every body and trufting no body; and fo well am I acquainted with the longitudes, latitudes, and bearings of this world of ours, that I could put my finger upon it, and direct you at once to it; and I think I could give you fo many good reafons why you should go there, that you would not hesitate to fet off immediately, and I would accompany you thither, and ferve as CICERONE to you. I wish therefore much, very much, to talk with you about it and other ferious matters.

As for your bodily infirmity, never mind it; you may come here by gentle ftages, and without inconvenience; and I will be your furgeon or your nurse; and warm your verjuice every evening, and bathe your fprain with it, and talk of these things. So tell me, I pray you, the day that I am to meet you at York. In the mean time, and always, may a good Providence protect you-It is the fincere wish of your affectionate

L. STERNE.

On the PLAGUE in Turky and Egypt.

[From Savary's Letters on Egypt.] SEVERAL modern authors, at the head

of whom appears Mr Paw, have afferted that the plague is of Egyptian ori

gin. Were this a fact, it would greatly diminish the advantages of this country; for no fertility or riches can ever balance the miferies inflicted by this fcourge upon humanity. The information I have acquired, both from the natives of the country, and from foreign phyficians who have refided here from twenty to thirty years, tends to prove the contrary. They have all affured me, that this epidemical difeafe was brought there by the Turks, and that it_afterwards committed great havoc. The following circumftance has fallen within my own obfervation. In 1778, the Grand Signior's Caravells arrived at Damietta, and landed according to custom the filks of Syria. The plague is almost always on board of thefe veffels. They put on fhore, without oppofition, their merchandise, and the perfons fick of the plague. This was in the month of August, and as the epidemic ceafes in Egypt at that feason, it did not communicate. The veffels fet fail, and proceeded to poifon other places. The fummer following, fome fhips from Conftantinople infected with this diforder, arrived at the port of Alexandria. They landed their fick without doing any mifchief to the inhabitants. Since that period fome fhips from Smyrna have brought this contagion at the beginning of winter. It has fpread throughout the country, and has deftroyed a number of the Egyptians.

The following is an obfervation made for ages paft. During the months of June, July, and August, if merchandise infected with this poifon be introduced into Egypt, it dies of itfelf, and the people are under no alarm. If it has been conveyed into the country at any other season, and has been communicated, it invariably ceafes at that period. But what nearly amounts to a demonstration of its being a ftranger to this country, is, that except in times of great famine, it never breaks out first in Grand Cairo, nor in the interior cities. It always begins in fea port towns, on the arrival of Turkish veffels, makes a gradual progrefs to the capital, from whence it afcends as far as Sienna. When it has attained its period at Grand Cairo, and is afterwards introduced anew by the inhabitants of the Thebais, it rages with redoubled fury, fometimes deftroying two or three hundred thoufand men; but it always ceases in the month of June, and then those who catch the infection recover. Muft its cerfation then be attributed to its great

heats,

heats, to the falubrious north winds which reign during the fummer, or to the abundant dews which fall in that fea fon? Perhaps all these different caufes contribute towards it. Another remark deferving our particular attention, is, that the extremes of heat and cold are alike enemies to this terrible contagion. The winter puts an end to it at Conftantinople; the fummer deftroys it in Egypt. It fcarcely ever reaches to the polar circle, and never paffes the tropic. The caravans of Grand Cairo, Damafcus, and Ifpahan, which are fometimes infected with it, never propagate the diforder at Mecca, and the yeomen are wholly free from this calamity.

In reading biftory, we feldom find the plague at Lacedæmon, Athens, or Byzantium. When it fpread itself in Greece, the people foon put a stop to it, by keeping great fires lighted in the public places, by cleaning the canals, by cutting the hills which intercepted the vapours, and by ftopping the communication. There is no change in the air, the water, the fun of these beautiful countries; and the fame falubrity would reign there, were they ftill inhabited by natives whofe government was attentive to the public welfare, and the health of the citizens. In our days, Smyrna and Conftantinople are the foci of this frightful malady. The caufe of this must be attributed to the little value the Turkish government fets on the lives of men, and to their abfurd ideas of predeftination. What fig nifies it to the despot, whether one half of his people perifh, provided he can himfelf brave death, fhut up in the réceffes of his feraglio? What matters it to the Mahumetan, to fee thousands of his fellow creatures fwept away from his fide by the plague, fince he can only ceafe to live when his hour is come? He will make no attempt therefore to retard it.

When the contagion reaches the houses of the Europeans and Greeks, they purify themselves by fumigations, they leave the windows open to give a free circulation to the air, and burn every thing that has belonged to infected per fons. Not fo with the Armenians and Turks, they neither burn nor purify any thing.

When the principal members of a family are extinguished, the Jews purchafe at a low price the furniture and other effects belonging to them, and fhut them up in their magazines. As foon as the calamity has ceased, they fell them

very dear to fuch perfons as ftand in need of them, and with them communicate the peftilential poison*. It foon breaks out afresh, and caufes new ravages. It is thus, that this nation covered with opprobrium, valuing gold beyond life, fells the plague to the Muffulmen, who purchase it without fear, and go to fleep with it until the fatal moment, when refuming its activity, it precipitates them to the grave.

The fpectacle this calamity presents, especially at Grand Cairo, chills an European with horror. This immenfe city, from the report of the intendants of the cuftom-houses, contains from eight to nine hundred thousand inhabitants. They are heaped together by thousands. Two hundred citizens there occupy lefs fpace than thirty at Paris. The streets are very narrow, and always crouded with people. They prefs forward, they run against each other, and one is fometimes obliged to wait feveral minutes without being able to get through the crowd. A fingle infected perfon communicates the poison to a hundred wretches; the disorder makes a rapid progrefs, and fpreads with the violence of a conflagration aided by the wind. The Mahometans die in their houfes, in the public fquares, in the ftreets, without affording any useful example of terror to the furvivors. Ellmoskaddar, fay they, it is their destiny; yet they have before their eyes the example of the Europeans, who alone escape the general disaster.

As soon as the epidemy is declared, the French fhut up their quarter, and cut off all communication with the city. Arab fervants who live without, bring them every day their neceffary provifions, except bread, which does not communicate the poifon; they throw every thing else through a wicket in each gate, into a bucket of water. This fluid purifies them, and they are taken out without any danger. By means of thefe precautions, the French merchants preferve their health and their lives environed as they are with all the horrors of death. The streets are continually filled with funeral proceffions, followed by mourning, and by tears. When the Egyptians carry to the grave their relations and their friends, hired female mourners make the air refound with their groans; defolated mothers abandon them

*The last plague at Mofcow, which carried off 200,000 inhabitants, was conveyed thither by peftiferous merchandize out of the warehoufes of the Jews.

An Effay on Senfibility, by a Lady.

Continued from p. 37.

WITH fuch a difpofition, power and riches may be real bleffings; fince they furnish frequent opportunities of beftowing happiness, and confequently of enjoying it in the highest degree. But even without thefe advantages, the truly benevolent, in whatever situation in life they may be placed, will find numberless fources of pleasure and delight, which to others must be for ever unknown. All the happiness they fee becomes in fome fort their own; and even under the preffure of the greateft afflictions, they can rejoice at the good which others enjoy: and far from repining at the comparison, they find in the thought of it a pleasure and fatisfaction to which no fuffering of their own can render them infenfible, but which, on the contrary, prove a powerful cordial to help them to fupport those fufferings.

Even the face of inanimate nature fills them with a fatisfaction, which the infenfible can never know, while they are warmed with gratitude to the Giver of every good, and joy at the thought that their fellow-creatures fhare those bleffings with them. They may even experience fomething like the pleafure of beftowing happiness, while they rejoice in all that is bestowed, and feel in their hearts that they would beftow it if they could.

It is true indeed, that they muft fhare in the forrows of others, as well as in their joys: but then this may often lead to the heavenly pleasure of relieving them, if not as fully as they could wifh, yet at least in fome degree; for true benevolence can discover numberlefs methods of relieving diftrefs, which would efcape the notice of the carelefs and infenfible. When relief is not in their power, fome expreffions of kindness, and the appearance of a defire to give comfort and affistance, may at leaft contribute to foothe the wounded mind, and they may still enjoy the pleasure which attends on every endeavour to do good, even on the unfuccefsful; and when they are placed beyond the reach of this, and can only offer up a fecret prayer for thofe whole fuffering they cannot alleviate, even this will be attended with a heartfelt fatiffaction, more than fufficient to fupprefs every with that they could behold the forrows of others with indifference, if it were poffible that fuch a wifh could ever arife in a truly benevolent heart. VOL. XLIX.

Such a difpofition will be a powerful prefervative against that weariness of mind which is so often an attendant on what is

generally efteemed a happy fituation in this world.

Those who are freed from cares and anxieties, who are furrounded by all the means of enjoyment, and whofe pleasures prefent themselves without being fought for, are often unhappy in the midst of all, merely because that activity of mind in the proper exercise of which our happiness confifts, has in them no object on which it may be employed. But when the heart is fincerely and affectionately interested for the good of others, a new scene of action is continually open, every moment may be employed in fome pleafing and ufeful purfuit. New opportunities of doing good are continually prefenting themfelves; new schemes are formed and ardently purfued, and even when they do not fucceed, though the disappointment may give pain, yet the pleasure of selfapprobation will remain, and the purfuit will be remembered with satisfaction. The next opportunity that offers itself will be readily embraced, and will furnish a fresh fupply of pleasures; fuch pleasures as are fecure from that wearinefs and disgust, which fooner or later are the confequences of all fuch enjoyments as tend merely to gratify the felfish paffions and incli nations, and which always attend on an inactive ftate of mind, from whatever caufe it may proceed, whether it may be the effect of fatiety or disappointment, of profperity or despair.

Even in the moft trifling feenes of com→ mon life, the truly benevolent may find many pleafures which would pass unnoticed by others, and in a conversation, which to the thoughtlefs and inattentive would afford only a trifling amusement, or perhaps no amufement at all, they may find many fubjects for pleafing and ufeful reflections, which may conduce both to their happiness and advantage; and that not only by being continually upon the watch for every opportunity of doing good to others, even in the moft trifling inftances, (which alone would afford a conftant fource of pleasure), but alfo by the enjoyment of all the good they can obferve in others.

If any action is related, or any expreffion dropped, which indicates true goodness of heart, they will be heard with fatif faction, the moft trifling inftance of kindnefs and attention will be received with

a fort of pleasure, of which the selfish can form no idea. Every appearance or description of innocent happiness will be enjoyed, every expreffion of real friendship and affection will be felt, even though they are not the objects of it.

In short, all the happiness, and all the virtues of others, are fources of delight to them; and it is a pleafing, as well as ufe ful exercife to the mind, to be employed, when engaged in fociety, in feeking out for thefe; to trace to their spring the little expreffions of benevolence which of ten pafs unnoticed-to discover real merit, through the veil which humility and modefty throw over it-to admire true greatness of mind, even in the meanest Situation in life, or when it exerts itself upon occafions fuppofed to be trifling, and therefore, in general, but little attended to.

In these, and in numberless inftances of the fame kind, much real pleasure might be found, which is too generally overlooked, and which might prove the fource of many advantages both to ourselves and others, for those who really enjoy the good of others, will certainly with and endeavour to promote it. And by fuch exercifes as thefe, the best affections of the heart are continually called forth to action, and the pleafures which they afford may be enjoyed and improved in every different fituation in life; for thefe are pleasures which are more or less within the reach of all.

In thefe, the rich and profperous may find that fatisfaction which they have fought in vain in selfish gratifications, and the afflicted may yet enjoy that happiness which they are too apt to imagine is entirely loft:-but the selfish heart can neither enjoy profperity, nor fupport afflic tion; it will be weary and diffatisfied in the first, and totally dejected in the laft.

In order to adminifter confolation to the afflicted, the ufual methods are, either to endeavour to leffen their sense of the evil, by fhewing them that it is not really fo great as they imagine; or by comparing it with greater evils endured by others; or elfe to drive it from the thought by the hurry of diffipation and amufe

ment.

The first of these methods may ferve to difplay the talents of the perfon who undertakes it, and perhaps fuch arguments may fometimes prevail upon vanity to af tum.e an appearance of fortitude. But

how can he, whofe heart feels the pangs of real affliction, be convinced by argu ment that he does not feel it? or what relief can it give to his fufferings, to be told that another suffers more? Nor can diffipation and amufement afford a more efficacious remedy, since in these the heart has nothing to do:-in the midft of the gayeft fcenes, and furrounded by all that the world calls pleasure, it will fhrink into itself, and feel its own bitterness with redoubled force.

It is vain to endeavour to take from the wretched, the fenfe of fuffering; pain and grief must be felt; they can neither be fubdued by argument, nor loft in diffipa tion; and while they remain, it is impoffible to enjoy that ease which by some is reprefented as the greatest good of man

they must exclude it:- But muft they exclude all positive happiness? Surely no. The wounded heart may ftill be open to enjoyment, and here it muft feek for confolation; it cannot indeed be infenfible of pain, but it may yet be fenfible of pleafure. And happy indeed are they who have acquired a relish for fuch pleasures as pain and forrow cannot take away, fince these, sooner or later, must be the lot of all.

Of this kind, are the pleasures of affection and benevolence; they enlarge the heart; they prevent it from dwelling on its own forrows, and teach it to feek for happiness in the good of others; and thofe who in their happiest days were accuftomed to do this, will not become infenfible to fuch pleasures, because they are them felves in a state of fuffering.

Every inftance of kindness, every friend ly endeavour to give eafe and comfort will ftill rejoice the heart; the pleasure o feeing others virtuous and happy, may ftill be felt; the earnest desire to mak them fo, may still be cherished; and tha defire is in itfelf a pleafing fenfation. Th endeavour which it excites affords fti higher pleafure; and when that endea vour is bleffed with fuccefs, the benevo lent heart will feel a real joy, to whic its own fufferings cannot render it in fenfible.

By every fuch exertion, the mind wi gain new ftrength and enjoy new pleafur its native vigour, which forrow had de preffed, and which no interested view could have called forth to action, will reftored by benevolence; the wound heart may feel the delight of felf-appr

bati