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you laugh: yet one or two inftances more. The fame writer, who thinks for himself, tells us, that the comparison, 2 Sam. xxIII. 3. He • that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God; and he fhall be as the light ' of the morning, when the fun riseth; even a morning without clouds; as the tender grafs

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fpringing out of the earth by clear thining after rain,' is one of the moft regular and formal in the facred books. If so, I wish him joy with all my heart. For my part, I likewise think for myfelf; and I fee two fimiles in this paffage both totally unlike, informal and irregular. But I am afraid of being tedious on a fubject so clear: and shall return in observing, that, for abfurd and filthy imagery, witnefs fome parts of Ezekiel, the beft of the facred writers, the fcripture yields to no compofition in any language; but of fublime or beautiful ftyle, I can from that work produce no proofs. Writers who hold it up in that ludicrous view do as great harm to religion as to good tafté: it refembles the dreffing of a pious and worthy clergyman in the garments of a hero, or of a lovely woman; and then telling us he hath the fublimity of the one, and the beauty of the

other:

other: whereas it only puts him in an aukward light; and brings derifion and contempt upon his holy character.

THE eastern writings are, to this day, remarkably deficient in that quality which we call good fenfe: and which must reign, in an eminent degree, over works even of the warmeft fancy, if they are meant to pleafe the true judge. The nightingale's love for the rose, and all the other trite and abfurd imagery of their best poetry, appear mere childishness to the fuperiority of European wisdom. The vales of Afia, it is true, teem with flowers, but they are fickly, and of no duration: among the odorous forefts, that fpread fragrance over the eastern countries, the ftrong oak of fenfe will not flourish.

CLIMATE, I conclude upon the whole, hath fome power over genius; but not so much as is afcribed to it by fome writers, nor fo little as is imputed by others. To attempt to mark the boundaries of its dominion, would be one of those airy speculations that serve to display the writer's ingenuity at the expence of his wifdam. LE T

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LETTER XXVIII.

MONG the innumerable foolish books

of memoirs, which the French little heroes of their own tales have produced, I believe no mean rank in absurdity is due to thofe of Cardinal De Retz. Lord Chesterfield, that profound genius, hath recommended them to public notice in Letters, which, it must be confeffed, were not meant for the public eye, but which ftand in the inverfe ratio of the work De rebus expetendis et fugiendis; good judges always taking his recommendation as fufficient difpraife. De Retz and Bouhours are his favourites the firft, an ecclefiaftic, who debauched women; and the other, an ecclefiaftic, who debauches taste. Bouhours was, in fact, fifty years ago, known to be a true French critic, who prates much by rote, like a parrot, of what he could not understand. The fatuity of De Retz is, it must be owned, hid with a better mafque. That mafque is a falfe appearance of depth: I fay, a falfe appearance; for, to to an eye of any penetration, the fapience of De Retz is fragile and transparent as glass.

HIS

His memoirs are addreffed to a lady; poli tical memoirs to a lady! Then he tells how many duels he fought, and how immenfely gallant he was. O the pretty statefman! No lady could see him without loving him, because he had fine teeth; as he tells us was obferved of him at court! He differs with Mazarine about nothing; and is feared before it was known that fuch a perfon existed!

To be ferious. The talents of De Retz are thought amazing, because he had the mob of Paris at command; and his political knowledge thought fuperlative, because he tells us, with all the pomp of maxim, that no mob can bear, fe defbeurer, to lofe a meal; for this last is the only political axiom of his that I have feen taken notice of. To have a mob at command Gest on is no proof of talents, as a late occasion muft convince us: that occafion muft likewife fhew Rick the futility of the axiom above recited.

If ever there was a fuperficial egotist, who had knavery just enough to fave him from being a fool; who tells fuch lyes from mere vanity, as carry confutation in themselves, not

to.

to speak of the reprobative teftimony of cotemporaries; who is always the hero of a tale of a cock and a bull; it is De Retz. If ever there was a writer who acquired a falfe reputation of depth from mere muddiness of affectation; whose foolith gravity paffes for wisdom; who is in every point a mere French fcribler of memoirs; it is De Retz.

In the Menagiana, we are informed, that De Retz used to tell a ftory of his having feen a man catch hold of the vane of a windmill, go round on it, and alight on the spot of ground from which he had fet out. This wife tale, which I suppose is another instance of his political talents, always ftruck me as a most just emblem of the Cardinal himself. He caught hold of a vane of the populary windmill; took a round; and was juft where he was; faving that the height and rotation had such an effect upon his brain as he never got the better of, but ever after spoke and wrote like a visionary oracle.

LETTER