writers. A very striking instance, of like uncertainty, is found in the autobiography of Gibbon. The historian details his feelings, with a sly humour at his long wavering and perplexity. It was on the 14th of April, 1761, that he made this entry in his journal: "Hav ing thought of several subjects for an historical composition, I chose the expedition of Charles VIII. of France into Italy ;" and, with his well-known energy, he set about the work of mental preparation, of reading and abstracting what he could bring into his service. Two or three months of labour seem to have been bestowed upon his chosen theme, when it was finally relinquished, and another selected in its stead, which, in its turn, gave place to another, and many others, in rapid succession. And it was not until some years after, that we find this memorable record :- It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the Capitol, while the barefooted friars were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the Decline and Fall of the City first entered my mind." Happy infirmity of purpose, which had such a noble termination in the immortal labours of the first of English poets and historians! Unquestionably, Milton and Gibbon would have adorned and elevated, and cast the halo of their genius around any subject of their choice; but who does not rejoice that the former left Prince Arthur to Blackmore and men of that stamp; that instead of stooping "To describe races and games Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields, he preferred a new and And if Gibbon had lavished his laborious research, his critical acumen, the vast profundity of his learning, the gorgeous magnificence of his style, upon such subjects, as the expedition of Charles VIII., the crusade of Richard I., the wars between King John and the Barons, the history of Edward the Black Prince, the lives of Henry V. and the Emperor Titus compared, the life of Sir Philip Sidney, or that of the Marquis of Montrose, or even his greater favorites, the life of Sir Walter Raleigh, the history of the liberty of the Swiss, or the history of the republic of Florence under the house of the Medicis, subjects that, in a greater or less degree divided his attention, and were, from time to time, balanced in his mind, as fit topics for the illustration of his pen, how different, in all probability, would have been the rank assigned him in the historical category from that which is now proudly occupied, with almost universal consent, by the historian of the "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." At the same time it must be remembered, that these men, who were waiting, as it were, for the guidance of their genius, did not fritter away the intermediate time in idleness. On the contrary, we find the one occupied with minor poems and various works of controversy, while the other was busied in storing his mind with researches, which were of important use to the historian in the arduous task of his future years. There are few who aim at a literary production, and are unfettered in their choice of a subject, that do not experience somewhat of the embarrassment which I have above described. In the vast variety presented by nature or by art, whether we confine ourselves to the investigation of truth, or expatiate in the airy regions of fancy, we are apt to be bewildered or overwhelmed by the abundance, which on all sides solicits our choice. Often is one tempted to desire the interference of some judicious friend, of penetration sufficient to fathom his capabilities, who could compel him to centre his atten tion upon one engrossing subject, with an authority not to be contravened. This, however, cannot be often attained, and perhaps is only of questionable advantage. For who can guage accurately the powers of another's mind? Infinitely better is it, for the student to learn self-reliance, to watch the workings of his own mind, to observe the dawnings of his own genius. This is the only sure mode of success. The very efforts and trials of his strength have their use, as they prepare him for a longer and a stronger flight. Timidity, or yielding to any petty discouragement, is fully as detrimental to the writer as presumption. For one that has fallen like Phæton, from over-daring, how many have been engulphed in obscurity, from want of courage to rise at all! "Some mute, inglorious Milton" may owe the insignificance of his fate to want of confidence, as much as to want of opportunity. Let the youthful student, then, not be disheartened, but, trusting to his own abilities, exert them manfully, and, watching closely the bent of his mind, let him assist nature, by choosing a congenial and corresponding topic. If he fail on one theme, another may be more successful; and, by trying many subjects, it is scarcely possible, but that he shall ultimately light upon one, which will reward his labours. Whatever opinion we may have of Hume, and in my mind there ought to be but one, with respect to his philosophical writings, that of universal reprobation, we cannot but admire the example of literary perseverance which he exhibits, and so graphically describes, in that amusing little piece, "My Own Life." He says: "Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of human nature. It fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But, being naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered the blow, and prosecuted with great ardour my studies in the country." He cast this work anew, and published it in another form, with not much more success. "On 66 I my return from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment on account of Dr. Middleton's 'Free Inquiry,' while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected. Such is the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made little or no impression on me." Not long after, we find him publishing his "Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals," which," says he, "in my opinion, who ought not to judge on that subject, is of all my writings, historical, philosophical, or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed and unobserved into the world." One would have thought that such reception would be sufficient to damp the most ardent temperament. No such thing. "I then formed the plan of writing the History of England.' was, I own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. As the subject was suited to every capacity, I expected proportional applause. But miserable was my disappointment: I was assailed by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation. English, Scotch, and Irish, Whig and Tory, churchman and sectary, freethinker and religionist, patriot and courtier, united in their rage against the man, who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles I. and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their fury were over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion. Mr. Millar told me, that, in a twelvemonth, he sold only forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the book. I must only except the Primate of England, Dr. Herring, and the Primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which seem two odd exceptions. These dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be discouraged. I was, however, I confess, discouraged." The feeling, however, appears to have been but momentary; a little below, we find him saying, “I resolved to pick up courage, and to persevere." The student ought to keep in mind that many literary subjects, also, are so closely connected, that the preparatory studies, necessary for one, give more facility to the profitable pursuit of another. He may be perplexed in the choice, but should remember that the time is never lost, that is bestowed upon diligent preparation. There is one habit of mind, however, which arises from this perplexity, and which forms a besetting snare of the studious. We are often tempted, from the uncertainty of fixing upon what to do in a literary view, to give up the matter in disgust, and do nothing at all. Thus many have let their precious moments slip away, and squandered their talents in a species of literary indolence, who had minds fit to undertake, and abilities sufficient to execute, works which would have distinguished them above the common herd, and given them a name and place among the writers of the land. This is a sad fate for a man of genius: let him rouse himself, then, and, fixing at once upon some laudable subject, pursue it with a determination not to be overcome. If his success with the public should not answer his expectations, yet it is a cheering thought that the very pursuit has afforded him a pleasure, a zest of enjoyment, infinitely superior to the listless torpor of the literary drone. But the spirit of procrastination too often, alas! besets the scholar, and mars his talents. He finds so much more pleasure in reading the labours of others, and adding to his own stock of knowledge, that he cannot willingly submit to the drudgery, of drawing upon his store, for the benefit of the public. He ought to reflect that, if others had thus acted, he himself would have lost many an intellectual feast. The talent which God has given him for the edification of others, he is bound, like any other gift, to improve. "Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire, hoc sciat alter," is a sentiment of one of his favorite authors, which conveys a lesson that should not be forgotten. |