*134) ANNUAL REGISTER, 1795. 
more profound and extensive these , 
are, the more they elude the read-, 
er’s apprehension. I refine not too 
much when I say, that the author is 
conscious of beauties, that are not 
in his composition. The happiest 
writers are compelled to see some of 
their most magnificent ideas float 
along the immensity of mind, be- 
yond the feeble grasp of expression, 
Compare the state of the author with 
that of the reader ; how copious and 
overflowing is the mind of the one to 
the other ; how more sensibly alive 
to a variety of exquisite strokes 
which the other has not yet perceiv- 
ed; the author is familiar with eve- 
ry part, and the reader has but a 
vague notion of the whole. How 
many noble conceptions of Rousseau 
are not yet mastered! How many 
profound reflections of Montesquieu 
are not yet understood! How ma- 
ny subtle lessons are yet in Locke, 
which no preceptor can teach ! 
Such, among others, are the rea- 
sons which may induce an author to 
express himself in language which 
may sound like vanity. To be ad- 
mired, is the noble simplicity of the 
ancients, (imitated by a few eleva- 
ted minds among the moderns) in 
expressing with ardour the consci- 
ousness of genius. We are not more 
displeased with Dryden than with 
Cicero, when he acquaints us of the 
great things he has done, and those 
he purposes to do. Mcdern modes- 
ty might, perhaps, to some be more 
engaging, if it were modesty; but 
our artificial blushes are like the la. 
dies’ temporary rouge, ever ready 
to colour the face on any occasion. 
Some will not place their names to 
their books, yet prefix it to their 
advertisements; others pretend to 
be the editors of their own works; 
some compliment themselves in the 
third person; and many; concealed 
under the shade of anonymous crie 
ticism, form panegyrics, as elabo- 
rate and long as Pliny’s on Trajan, 
of their works and themselves: yet, 
in conversation, start at a compli- 
ment, and quarrel at a quotation. 
Such modest authors resemble cer- 
tain ladies, who in public are equal. 
ly celebrated for the coldest chase 
uty. 
Consciousness of merit character- 
ises men of genius; but it isto be 
lamented that the illusions of selfs 
love are not distinguishable from 
the reality of consciousness, Yet, if 
we were to take from some their 
pride of exultation, we annihilate 
the germ of their excellence. The 
persuasion of a just posterity smooth- 
ed the sleepless pillow, and spread 
a sunshine in the solitude of Bacon, 
Montesquieu, and Newton; of 
Cervantes, Grey, and Milton. Men 
of genius anticipate their contempo- 
raries, and know they are such, long 
before the tardy consent of the public. 
They have also been accused of 
the meanest adulations; it is certain 
that many have had the weakness to 
praise unworthy men, and some the 
courage to erase what they -have 
written, A young writer unknown, 
yet languishing for encouragement, 
when he first finds the notice of « 
person of some eminence, has ex- 
pressed himself in language which 
gratitude, a finer reason than reason 
itself, inspired. Strongly has Mil- 
ton expressed the sensations of this 
passion, ‘* the depth immense of 
endless gratitude.” Who'ever pays 
an ** immense debt” in smallsums ? 
Whimsical Eaxpences of Economy ; 
Strom the Gentleman’s Magazine. 
: O you know, Mr. Urban, that 
I am in the high road to be 
. ruined 
