known to offer a reward to any one, who should find them a new pleasure; and of the whole population of Athens, we read in Scripture, that "all the Athenians and strangers which were there, spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing. Of many other cities, in modern times, it would not be far from the truth to make the same observation.

Such is the influence which the love of novelty possesses. The force of custom is by no means equally prevalent. It is infinitely longer in producing any effect at all, and the instances in which it does operate with any force, are so comparatively few, that where an individual is affected by that in one respect, he is affected by the love of novelty in a thousand. To maintain, then, that mankind are more influenced by custom than by novelty, is to contradict the experience of all past times, and to reject the daily evidence of our senses.

IN REPLY, the Opener made the following comments on the remarks of his opponents.

It has been observed, that neither custom nor novelty has any effect upon nations, beyond its influence upon the individuals of which they are composed. Perhaps this is true; and, if so, the inquiry becomes confined to the single question, -which produces the more extensive and permanent effect upon individuals. The disputants on each side have appealed to facts, to history, to daily experience; and have cited various instances, to shew the great influence which custom and novelty both exercise in turns. It cannot be denied, that each occasionally produces a powerful effect; and it seems, on the whole, probable, with regard to numbers only, that their influence is nearly equal. There is no man whom novelty will not at times attract; and where is he to be found, on whom custom has no power? But the degree or duration of the influence in question, is the principal point; and, in that respect, the force of custom is by far the greater.

From all the examples which have been cited, to illustrate the effect of novelty, it is clearly of a very transitory nature. Its grasp may at first be powerful, but it is soon relinquished; from that of custom, however, there is no escape; on the contrary, its vigour daily increases. Though its growth is slow, its roots takes firm hold; but that of novelty is so easily checked, that it soon decays. Now, that must be considered as having the greater influence, which, when it obtains any, keeps, and strengthens, and extends it; not that, which, though for a moment it may carry men away, soon leaves them as free

as ever.

* Acts, xvii. 21.

Wonder and surprise are suddenly produced, and affect us strongly, but they always speedily subside. Fear at a new object of terror, soon wears off, as the raw recruit soon acquires the courage of the veteran. So our delight in a new object of pleasure soon ceases, as the beauty of a fashion vanishes with its novelty. Custom creates a habit; novelty excites merely a momentary feeling. But what more clearly shows the superior force of custom is this,-that whenever they come in competition, novelty is obliged to yield. Novelty only recommends, at first, what has often no other attraction; but custom makes that desirable, which was originally disgusting. When custom has once established her reign, it is in vain for novelty either to tempt or assail her: she remains unshaken, and her resistance ensures victory.

If the love of novelty leads the traveller from his home, the force of custom confirms a habit of restlessness. But it is those only, on whom custom has had no time to operate, that novelty chiefly affects. It is the young and the unsettled, whose curiosity leads them into foreign climes; not those who have been accustomed to a particular mode of life. When habits have been once acquired, the influence of novelty is destroyed. It is powerful only when it has nothing to counteract it. Custom may, indeed, be broken through before it has continued long; but it is wholly uncontrollable, when once firmly established. The very gratification of the love of novelty, is destructive of itself; for the mind becomes, at length, fatigued or satiated by incessant change, and longs for something on which to settle and repose.

With regard to public objects of attraction, those which are the most striking at first, the soonest cease to please; while, on the contrary, those which attain celebrity by slow degrees, when society is once accustomed to them, retain their influence without cessation or abatement, varying only, if at all, by an increase of vigour. The former part of this observation is confirmed, by many of the examples cited on the other side; and, in support of the latter part, we need only refer to the history of the stage.

The beneficial consequences, which, in some respects, result from the love of novelty, have nothing to do with the question it is influence, not utility, that forms the subject of inquiry.

If it be a proverb,—that variety is charming; it is no less an adage, that custom is second nature. If masters are pleased with new servants, it is seldom long; and an old one is usually dismissed with reluctance. That landlords like new tenants, when their old ones are good, is certainly a new discovery; and tenants only like new houses, as people, in general, like

new things, they are pleased at first, but the impression soon wears off.

Custom, in short, may be compared to education, which operates slowly, but leaves a deep impression; novelty, to a succession of striking lectures, pleasing on delivery, but carrying no conviction. Inasmuch, then, as the force of custom produces the more durable effect, so must its influence on mankind be greater, than that which is possessed by the love of novelty.

ZEIMA'S LAMENT FOR SAPHIR.

THE evening shell blew loud and sweet,
When Saphir's toils were over,
And home he turn'd his joyful feet,
Where Zeima waited, blest to greet
Her ever-constant lover.

Now cold, alas! dear plantain tree,
Cold and insensible is he,

Who taught thee first to grow;
In weeping, then, unite with me,
And share my hopeless woe.

Ne'er shall I cease his loss to mourn,
Which causes now my anguish.
Oh! why was he thus from me torn?
Why was I left behind forlorn,
In widow'd grief to languish?
Still, in my dreams, dear plantain tree,
His much-lov'd form, from labour free,
I view beneath thy shade;

As once, with hearts enraptur'd, we
Reclin'd within the glade.

Lamented Saphir! here below
On thee I think for ever;
Though ocean's tide may cease to flow,
And Sol to dart his fervid glow,

To love thee, I will never.

He hears me not, sad plantain tree ;
Then fail not thou to weep with me,
But yield a mournful shade,
Which soothing to my soul may be,
Now down with sorrow weigh'd.

THE first person in this country who attained any considerable excellence in letter-writing was James Howell. In his correspondence, the example was set, of that truth in sentiment, that ease and brevity of expression, and that welltempered familiarity of manner, which good taste requires ; and a manifest improvement has been ever since visible in similar productions. Even now, though the general sentiments of Mr. Howell have become common-place by incessant repetition, there is still a freshness and sweetness about him that surprises and enchants. It is, however, not to be supposed, that he is entirely free from that quaintness, both of conception and language, which characterized the times in which he lived. The following is a favourable specimen, and will not be read without interest. It is addressed from the Fleet Prison, into which he had been cast by the prevailing faction, and is dated May 5, 1643.

66 SIR,-There is no such treasure as a true friend: it is a treasure far above that of Saint Mark's in Venice ;* a treasure that is not liable to those casualties which others are liable unto, as to plundering and burglary, to bankrupts and ill debtors, to firing and shipwrecks; for, when one has lost one's fortune by either of these disasters, he may recover them all in a true friend, who is always a sure and staple commodity. This is verified in you, who have stuck so close to me in these my pressures; like a glow-worm, you have shined unto me in the

* At that period, probably, the most wealthy spot in Europe.

dark: nor could you do offices good to any that wisheth you better; for I always loved you from the freedom of your genius, for those choice parts and fancies I found in you, which, I confess, hath made me more covetous of your friendship than I used to be of others. And, to deal clearly with you, oue of my prime errands to this town, (when this disaster fell upon me,) was to see you.

"May God put a speedy period to these sad disasters! but this wish did vanish in the impossibility of the thing, for I fear they are of a long continuance. So I pray God keep you and comfort me, who am your true friend to serve you,

"JAMES HOWELL."

The next letters of note are those of Lady Russel and Archbishop Tillotson. Such are the pictures of humility, resignation, and piety, which they present, combined with so much fine sense and delicate feeling, and touched with such an elegant simplicity, that their perusal cannot fail both to improve and delight.

Grave reasoning and solid sense distinguish the letters of Mr. Locke and Mr. Molineux. Those of the latter, however, are deficient in freedom, though sparkling passages sometimes relieve their stiffness.

The letters which Lord Shaftesbury has written, convey to us the most important advice: but it is less practical than might be wished; and he, certainly, can in no respect be recommended as a pattern of epistolary correspondence.

The ease of Atterbury is remarkable; and, though he seldom displays any higher beauty, when he does shine, it is with a brilliant lustre. The marks of good taste are evident in all he writes.

Dr. Rundle, Bishop of Derry, is far superior as a letterwriter to the other prelates whose correspondence was published about the same time with his own. Though by no means equal to those of Cicero, his letters bear a greater resemblance to them, than any in modern times. They exhibit the same striking characteristics of an elegant mind, with a near approach, in some paragraphs, to his dignified and polite ease. The bishop's warmth of feeling is in no degree damped, either by his learning or his politeness, but glows with a generous ardour on every suitable occasion. The letters of Archbishops Herring and Secker are far inferior.

The correspondence of Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, and their friends, forms an admirable collection. But the celebrity of the writers is a reason why we should be on our guard against their faults. Pope is too formal, studied, and artificial; and, however interesting his letters may be, they cannot be recommended for imitation. Those of Swift, on the contrary, are