The Works of Samuel Johnson, LL.D. in Nine Volumes, Volume 03
The Rambler, Volume II (2024)

Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Carol David and PG Distributed Proofreaders

THE RAMBLER.

VOL. II.

THE

WORKS

OF

SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D,

IN NINE VOLUMES.

VOLUME THE THIRD.

[Illustration]

MDCCCXXV.

CONTENTS

OF

THE SECOND VOLUME.

NUMB.

106. The vanity of an author's expectations.—Reasons why good authors are sometimes neglected107. Properantia's hopes of a year of confusion. The misery of prostitutes108. Life sufficient to all purposes if well employed109. The education of a fop110. Repentance stated and explained. Retirement and abstinence useful to repentance111. Youth made unfortunate by its haste and eagerness112. Too much nicety not to be indulged. The character of Eriphile113. The history of Hymenæus's courtship114. The necessity of proportioning punishments to crimes115. The sequel of Hymenæus's courtship116. The young trader's attempt at politeness117. The advantages of living in a garret118. The narrowness of fame119. Tranquilla's account of her lovers, opposed to Hymenæus120. The history of Almamoulin the son of Nouradin121. The dangers of imitation. The impropriety of imitating Spenser122. A criticism on the English historians123. The young trader turned gentleman124. The lady's misery in a summer retirement125. The difficulty of defining comedy. Tragick and comick sentiments confounded126. The universality of cowardice. The impropriety of extorting praise. The impertinence of an astronomer127. Diligence too soon relaxed. Necessity of perseverance128. Anxiety universal. The unhappiness of a wit and a fine lady129. The folly of cowardice and inactivity130. The history of a beauty131. Desire of gain the general passion132. The difficulty of educating a young nobleman133. The miseries of a beauty defaced134. Idleness an anxious and miserable state135. The folly of annual retreats into the country136. The meanness and mischief of indiscriminate dedication137. The necessity of literary courage138. Original characters to be found in the country. The character of Mrs. Busy139. A critical examination of Samson Agonistes140. The criticism continued141. The danger of attempting wit in conversation. The character of Papilius142. An account of squire Bluster143. The criterions of plagiarism144. The difficulty of raising reputation. The various species of detractors145. Petty writers not to be despised146. An account of an author travelling in quest of his own character. The uncertainty of fame147. The courtier's esteem of assurance148. The cruelty of parental tyranny149. Benefits not always entitled to gratitude150. Adversity useful to the acquisition of knowledge151. The climactericks of the mind152. Criticism on epistolary writings153. The treatment incurred by loss of fortune154. The inefficacy of genius without learning155. The usefulness of advice. The danger of habits. The necessity of reviewing life156. The laws of writing not always indisputable. Reflections on tragi-comedy157. The scholar's complaint of his own bashfulness158. Rules of writing drawn from examples. Those examples often mistaken159. The nature and remedies of bashfulness160. Rules for the choice of associates161. The revolutions of a garret162. Old men in danger of falling into pupilage. The conduct of Thrasybulus163. The mischiefs of following a patron164. Praise universally desired. The failings of eminent men often imitated165. The impotence of wealth. The visit of Scrotinus to the place of his nativity166. Favour not easily gained by the poor167. The marriage of Hymenæus and Tranquilla168. Poetry debased by mean expressions. An example from Shakespeare169. Labour necessary to excellence170. The history of Misella debauched by her relation171. Misella's description of the life of a prostitute172. The effect of sudden riches upon the manners173. Unreasonable fears of pedantry174. The mischiefs of unbounded raillery. History of Dicaculus175. The majority are wicked176. Directions to authors attacked by criticks. The various degrees of critical perspicacity177. An account of a club of antiquaries178. Many advantages not to be enjoyed together179. The awkward merriment of a student180. The study of life not to be neglected for the sake of books181. The history of an adventurer in lotteries182. The history of Leviculus, the fortune-hunter183. The influence of envy and interest compared184. The subject of essays often suggested by chance. Chance equally prevalent in other affairs185. The prohibition of revenge justifiable by reason. The meanness of regulating our conduct by the opinions of men186. Anningait and Ajut; a Greenland history187. The history of Anningait and Ajut concluded188. Favour often gained with little assistance from understanding189. The mischiefs of falsehood. The character of Turpicula190. The history of Abouzaid, the son of Morad191. The busy life of a young lady192. Love unsuccessful without riches193. The author's art of praising himself194. A young nobleman's progress in politeness195. A young nobleman's introduction to the knowledge of the town196. Human opinions mutable. The hopes of youth fallacious197. The history of a legacy-hunter198. The legacy-hunter's history concluded199. The virtues of Rabbi Abraham's magnet200. Asper's complaint of the insolence of Prospero. Unpoliteness not always the effect of pride201. The importance of punctuality202. The different acceptations of poverty. Cynicks and Monks not poor203. The pleasures of life to be sought in prospects of futurity. Future fame uncertain204. The history of ten days of Seged, emperour of Ethiopia205. The history of Seged concluded206. The art of living at the cost of others207. The folly of continuing too long upon the stage208. The Rambler's reception. His design

THE

RAMBLER.

No. 106. SATURDAY, MARCH 23, 1751.

Opinionum commenta delet dies, naturæ judicia Confirmat.
CICERO, vi. Att. 1.

Time obliterates the fictions of opinion, and confirms the decisions
of nature.

It is necessary to the success of flattery, that it be accommodated toparticular circ*mstances or characters, and enter the heart on that sidewhere the passions stand ready to receive it. A lady seldom listens withattention to any praise but that of her beauty; a merchant alwaysexpects to hear of his influence at the bank, his importance on theexchange, the height of his credit, and the extent of his traffick: andthe author will scarcely be pleased without lamentations of the neglectof learning, the conspiracies against genius, and the slow progress ofmerit, or some praises of the magnanimity of those who encounter povertyand contempt in the cause of knowledge, and trust for the reward oftheir labours to the judgment and gratitude of posterity.

An assurance of unfading laurels, and immortal reputation, is thesettled reciprocation of civility between amicable writers. To raisemonuments more durable than brass, and more conspicuous thanpyramids, has been long the common boast of literature; but, amongthe innumerable architects that erect columns to themselves, far thegreater part, either for want of durable materials, or of art to disposethem, see their edifices perish as they are towering to completion, andthose few that for a while attract the eye of mankind, are generallyweak in the foundation, and soon sink by the saps of time.

No place affords a more striking conviction of the vanity of humanhopes, than a publick library; for who can see the wall crowded on everyside by mighty volumes, the works of laborious meditation, and accurateinquiry, now scarcely known but by the catalogue, and preserved only toincrease the pomp of learning, without considering how many hours havebeen wasted in vain endeavours, how often imagination has anticipatedthe praises of futurity, how many statues have risen to the eye ofvanity, how many ideal converts have elevated zeal, how often wit hasexulted in the eternal infamy of his antagonists, and dogmatism hasdelighted in the gradual advances of his authority, the immutability ofhis decrees, and the perpetuity of his power?

—Non unquam dedit
Documenta fors majora, quam frugili loco
Starent superbi.

Insulting chance ne'er call'd with louder voice,
On swelling mortals to be proud no more.

Of the innumerable authors whose performances are thus treasured up inmagnificent obscurity, most are forgotten, because they never deservedto be remembered, and owed the honours which they once obtained, not tojudgment or to genius, to labour or to art, but to the prejudice offaction, the stratagem of intrigue, or the servility of adulation.

Nothing is more common than to find men whose works are now totallyneglected, mentioned with praises by their contemporaries, as theoracles of their age, and the legislators of science. Curiosity isnaturally excited, their volumes after long inquiry are found, butseldom reward the labour of the search. Every period of time hasproduced these bubbles of artificial fame, which are kept up a while bythe breath of fashion, and then break at once, and are annihilated. Thelearned often bewail the loss of ancient writers whose characters havesurvived their works; but, perhaps, if we could now retrieve them, weshould find them only the Granvilles, Montagues, Stepneys, andSheffields of their time, and wonder by what infatuation or caprice theycould be raised to notice.

It cannot, however, be denied, that many have sunk into oblivion, whomit were unjust to number with this despicable class. Various kinds ofliterary fame seem destined to various measures of duration. Some spreadinto exuberance with a very speedy growth, but soon wither and decay;some rise more slowly, but last long. Parnassus has its flowers oftransient fragrance, as well as its oaks of towering height, and itslaurels of eternal verdure.

Among those whose reputation is exhausted in a short time by its ownluxuriance, are the writers who take advantage of present incidents orcharacters which strongly interest the passions, and engage universalattention. It is not difficult to obtain readers, when we discuss aquestion which every one is desirous to understand, which is debated inevery assembly, and has divided the nation into parties; or when wedisplay the faults or virtues of him whose publick conduct has madealmost every man his enemy or his friend. To the quick circulation ofsuch productions all the motives of interest and vanity concur; thedisputant enlarges his knowledge, the zealot animates his passion, andevery man is desirous to inform himself concerning affairs so vehementlyagitated and variously represented.

It is scarcely to be imagined, through how many subordinations ofinterest the ardour of party is diffused; and what multitudes fancythemselves affected by every satire or panegyrick on a man of eminence.Whoever has, at any time, taken occasion to mention him with praise orblame, whoever happens to love or hate any of his adherents, as hewishes to confirm his opinion, and to strengthen his party, willdiligently peruse every paper from which he can hope for sentiments likehis own. An object, however small in itself, if placed near to the eye,will engross all the rays of light; and a transaction, however trivial,swells into importance when it presses immediately on our attention. Hethat shall peruse the political pamphlets of any past reign, will wonderwhy they were so eagerly read, or so loudly praised. Many of theperformances which had power to inflame factions, and fill a kingdomwith confusion, have now very little effect upon a frigid critick; andthe time is coming, when the compositions of later hirelings shall lieequally despised. In proportion as those who write on temporarysubjects, are exalted above their merit at first, they are afterwardsdepressed below it; nor can the brightest elegance of diction, or mostartful subtilty of reasoning, hope for so much esteem from those whoseregard is no longer quickened by curiosity or pride.

It is, indeed, the fate of controvertists, even when they contend forphilosophical or theological truth, to be soon laid aside and slighted.Either the question is decided, and there is no more place for doubt andopposition; or mankind despair of understanding it, and grow weary ofdisturbance, content themselves with quiet ignorance, and refuse to beharassed with labours which they have no hopes of recompensing withknowledge.

The authors of new discoveries may surely expect to be reckoned amongthose whose writings are secure of veneration: yet it often happens thatthe general reception of a doctrine obscures the books in which it wasdelivered. When any tenet is generally received and adopted as anincontrovertible principle, we seldom look back to the arguments uponwhich it was first established, or can bear that tediousness ofdeduction, and multiplicity of evidence, by which its author was forcedto reconcile it to prejudice, and fortify it in the weakness of noveltyagainst obstinacy and envy.

It is well known how much of our philosophy is derived from Boyle'sdiscovery of the qualities of the air; yet of those who now adopt orenlarge his theory, very few have read the detail of his experiments.His name is, indeed, reverenced; but his works are neglected; we arecontented to know, that he conquered his opponents, without inquiringwhat cavils were produced against him, or by what proofs they wereconfuted.

Some writers apply themselves to studies boundless and inexhaustible, asexperiments in natural philosophy. These are always lost in successivecompilations, as new advances are made, and former observations becomemore familiar. Others spend their lives in remarks on language, orexplanations of antiquities, and only afford materials forlexicographers and commentators, who are themselves overwhelmed bysubsequent collectors, that equally destroy the memory of theirpredecessors by amplification, transposition, or contraction. Every newsystem of nature gives birth to a swarm of expositors, whose business isto explain and illustrate it, and who can hope to exist no longer thanthe founder of their sect preserves his reputation.

There are, indeed, few kinds of composition from which an author,however learned or ingenious, can hope a long continuance of fame. Hewho has carefully studied human nature, and can well describe it, maywith most reason flatter his ambition. Bacon, among all his pretensionsto the regard of posterity, seems to have pleased himself chiefly withhis Essays, which come home to men's business and bosoms, and ofwhich, therefore, he declares his expectation, that they will live aslong as books last. It may, however, satisfy an honest and benevolentmind to have been useful, though less conspicuous; nor will he thatextends his hope to higher rewards, be so much anxious to obtain praise,as to discharge the duty which Providence assigns him.

No. 107. TUESDAY, MARCH 26, 1751.

Alternis igitur contendere versibns ambo
Coepere: alternos Musoe meminisse volebant. VIRG. Ec. vii. 18

On themes alternate now the swains recite;
The muses in alternate themes delight. ELPHINSTON.

Among the various censures, which the unavoidable comparison of myperformances with those of my predecessors has produced, there is nonemore general than that of uniformity. Many of my readers remark the wantof those changes of colours, which formerly fed the attention withunexhausted novelty, and of that intermixture of subjects, oralternation of manner, by which other writers relieved weariness, andawakened expectation.

I have, indeed, hitherto avoided the practice of uniting gay and solemnsubjects in the same paper, because it seems absurd for an author tocounteract himself, to press at once with equal force upon both parts ofthe intellectual balance, or give medicines, which, like the doublepoison of Dryden, destroy the force of one another. I have endeavouredsometimes to divert, and sometimes to elevate; but have imagined it anuseless attempt to disturb merriment by solemnity, or interruptseriousness by drollery. Yet I shall this day publish two letters ofvery different tendency, which I hope, like tragi-comedy, may chance toplease even when they are not critically approved.

TO THE RAMBLER.

DEAR SIR,

Though, as my mamma tells me, I am too young to talk at the table, Ihave great pleasure in listening to the conversation of learned men,especially when they discourse of things which I do not understand; andhave, therefore, been of late particularly delighted with many disputesabout the alteration of the stile, which, they say, is to be made byact of parliament.

One day when my mamma was gone out of the room, I asked a very greatscholar what the style was. He told me he was afraid I should hardlyunderstand him when he informed me, that it was the stated andestablished method of computing time. It was not, indeed, likely that Ishould understand him; for I never yet knew time computed in my life,nor can imagine why we should be at so much trouble to count what wecannot keep. He did not tell me whether we are to count the time past,or the time to come; but I have considered them both by myself, andthink it as foolish to count time that is gone, as money that is spent;and as for the time which is to come, it only seems further off bycounting; and therefore, when any pleasure is promised me, I alwaysthink of the time as little as I can.

I have since listened very attentively to every one that talked uponthis subject, of whom the greater part seem not to understand it betterthan myself; for though they often hint how much the nation has beenmistaken, and rejoice that we are at last growing wiser than ourancestors, I have never been able to discover from them, that any bodyhas died sooner, or been married later, for counting time wrong; and,therefore, I began to fancy that there was a great bustle with littleconsequence.

At last, two friends of my papa, Mr. Cycle, and Mr. Starlight, being, itseems, both of high learning, and able to make an almanack, began totalk about the new style. Sweet Mr. Starlight—I am sure I shall lovehis name as long as I live; for he told Cycle roundly, with a fiercelook, that we should never be right without a year of confusion. DearMr. Rambler, did you ever hear any thing so charming? a whole year ofconfusion! When there has been a rout at mamma's, I have thought onenight of confusion worth a thousand nights of rest; and if I can but seea year of confusion, a whole year, of cards in one room, and dancings inanother, here a feast, and there a masquerade, and plays, and coaches,and hurries, and messages, and milliners, and raps at the door, andvisits, and frolicks, and new fashions, I shall not care what they dowith the rest of the time, nor whether they count it by the old style orthe new; for I am resolved to break loose from the nursery in thetumult, and play my part among the rest; and it will be strange if Icannot get a husband and a chariot in the year of confusion.

Cycle, who is neither so young nor so handsome as Starlight, verygravely maintained, that all the perplexity may he avoided by leapingover eleven days in the reckoning; and, indeed, if it should come onlyto this, I think the new style is a delightful thing; for my mamma saysI shall go to court when I am sixteen, and if they can but contriveoften to leap over eleven days together, the months of restraint willsoon be at an end. It is strange, that with all the plots that have beenlaid against time, they could never kill it by act of parliament before.Dear sir, if you have any vote or interest, get them but for once todestroy eleven months, and then I shall be as old as some marriedladies. But this is desired only if you think they will not comply withMr. Starlight's scheme; for nothing surely could please me like a yearof confusion, when I shall no longer be fixed this hour to my pen, andthe next to my needle, or wait at home for the dancing-master one day,and the next for the musick-master; but run from ball to ball, and fromdrum to drum; and spend all my time without tasks, and without account,and go out without telling whither, and come home without regard toprescribed hours, or family rules.

I am, sir,

Your humble servant,

PROPERANTIA.

MR. RAMBLER,

I was seized this morning with an unusual pensiveness, and, finding thatbooks only served to heighten it, took a ramble into the fields, inhopes of relief and invigoration from the keenness of the air andbrightness of the sun.

As I wandered wrapped up in thought, my eyes were struck with thehospital for the reception of deserted infants, which I surveyed withpleasure, till, by a natural train of sentiment, I began to reflect onthe fate of the mothers. For to what shelter can they fly? Only to thearms of their betrayer, which, perhaps, are now no longer open toreceive them; and then how quick must be the transition from deludedvirtue to shameless guilt, and from shameless guilt to hopelesswretchedness?

The anguish that I felt, left me no rest till I had, by your means,addressed myself to the publick on behalf of those forlorn creatures,the women of the town; whose misery here might satisfy the most rigorouscensor, and whose participation of our common nature might surely induceus to endeavour, at least, their preservation from eternal punishment.

These were all once, if not virtuous, at least innocent; and might stillhave continued blameless and easy, but for the arts and insinuations ofthose whose rank, fortune, or education, furnished them with means tocorrupt or to delude them. Let the libertine reflect a moment on thesituation of that woman, who, being forsaken by her betrayer, is reducedto the necessity of turning prostitute for bread, and judge of theenormity of his guilt by the evils which it produces.

It cannot be doubted but that numbers follow this dreadful course oflife, with shame, horrour, and regret; but where can they hope forrefuge: "The world is not their friend, nor the world's law." Theirsighs, and tears, and groans, are criminal in the eye of their tyrants,the bully and the bawd, who fatten on their misery, and threaten themwith want or a gaol, if they show the least design of escaping fromtheir bondage.

"To wipe all tears from off all faces," is a task too hard for mortals;but to alleviate misfortunes is often within the most limited power: yetthe opportunities which every day affords of relieving the most wretchedof human beings are overlooked and neglected, with equal disregard ofpolicy and goodness.

There are places, indeed, set apart, to which these unhappy creaturesmay resort, when the diseases of incontinence seize upon them; but ifthey obtain a cure, to what are they reduced? Either to return with thesmall remains of beauty to their former guilt, or perish in the streetswith nakedness and hunger.

How frequently have the gay and thoughtless, in their evening frolicks,seen a band of those miserable females, covered with rags, shiveringwith cold, and pining with hunger; and, without either pitying theircalamities, or reflecting upon the cruelty of those who, perhaps, firstseduced them by caresses of fondness, or magnificence of promises, go onto reduce others to the same wretchedness by the same means!

To stop the increase of this deplorable multitude, is undoubtedly thefirst and most pressing consideration. To prevent evil is the great endof government, the end for which vigilance and severity are properlyemployed. But surely those whom passion or interest has alreadydepraved, have some claim to compassion, from beings equally frail andfallible with themselves. Nor will they long groan in their presentafflictions, if none were to refuse them relief, but those that owetheir exemption from the same distress only to their wisdom and theirvirtue.

I am, &c.

AMICUS[a].

[Footnote a: The letter from Amicus was from an unknown correspondent.It breathes a tenderness of spirit worthy of Johnson himself. But hepractised the lesson which it inculcates;—a harder task! Sterne couldwrite sentiment.]

No. 108. SATURDAY, MARCH 30, 1751.

—Sapere aude:
Incipe. Vivendi recte qui prorogat horam,
Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis; at ille
Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis aevum. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 39.

Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise;
He who defers this work from day to day,
Does on a river's bank expecting stay,
Till the whole stream, which stopp'd him, should be gone,
That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on. COWLEY.

An ancient poet, unreasonably discontented at the present state ofthings, which his system of opinions obliged him to represent in itsworst form, has observed of the earth, "that its greater part is coveredby the uninhabitable ocean; that of the rest some is encumbered withnaked mountains, and some lost under barren sands; some scorched withunintermitted heat, and some petrified with perpetual frost; so thatonly a few regions remain for the production of fruits, the pasture ofcattle, and the accommodation of man."

The same observation may be transferred to the time allotted us in ourpresent state. When we have deducted all that is absorbed in sleep, allthat is inevitably appropriated to the demands of nature, orirresistibly engrossed by the tyranny of custom; all that passes inregulating the superficial decorations of life, or is given up in thereciprocations of civility to the disposal of others; all that is tornfrom us by the violence of disease, or stolen imperceptibly away bylassitude and languor; we shall find that part of our duration verysmall of which we can truly call ourselves masters, or which we canspend wholly at our own choice. Many of our hours are lost in a rotationof petty cares, in a constant recurrence of the same employments; manyof our provisions for ease or happiness are always exhausted by thepresent day; and a great part of our existence serves no other purpose,than that of enabling us to enjoy the rest.

Of the few moments which are left in our disposal, it may reasonably beexpected, that we should be so frugal, as to let none of them slip fromus without some equivalent; and perhaps it might be found, that as theearth, however straitened by rocks and waters, is capable of producingmore than all its inhabitants are able to consume, our lives, thoughmuch contracted by incidental distraction, would yet afford us a largespace vacant to the exercise of reason and virtue; that we want nottime, but diligence, for great performances; and that we squander muchof our allowance, even while we think it sparing and insufficient.

This natural and necessary comminution of our lives, perhaps, oftenmakes us insensible of the negligence with which we suffer them to slideaway. We never consider ourselves as possessed at once of timesufficient for any great design, and therefore indulge ourselves, infortuitous amusem*nts. We think it unnecessary to take an account of afew supernumerary moments, which, however employed, could have producedlittle advantage, and which were exposed to a thousand chances ofdisturbance and interruption.

It is observable, that, either by nature or by habit, our faculties arefitted to images of a certain extent, to which we adjust great things bydivision, and little things by accumulation. Of extensive surfaces wecan only take a survey, as the parts succeed one another; and atoms wecannot perceive till they are united into masses. Thus we break the vastperiods of time into centuries and years; and thus, if we would know theamount of moments, we must agglomerate them into days and weeks.

The proverbial oracles of our parsimonious ancestors have informed us,that the fatal waste of fortune is by small expenses, by the profusionof sums too little singly to alarm our caution, and which we neversuffer ourselves to consider together. Of the same kind is theprodigality of life; he that hopes to look back hereafter withsatisfaction upon past years, must learn to know the present value ofsingle minutes, and endeavour to let no particle of time fall useless tothe ground.

It is usual for those who are advised to the attainment of any newqualification, to look upon themselves as required to change the generalcourse of their conduct, to dismiss business, and exclude pleasure, andto devote their days and nights to a particular attention. But allcommon degrees of excellence are attainable at a lower price; he thatshould steadily and resolutely assign to any science or language thoseinterstitial vacancies which intervene in the most crowded variety ofdiversion or employment, would find every day new irradiations ofknowledge, and discover how much more is to be hoped from frequency andperseverance, than from violent efforts and sudden desires; effortswhich are soon remitted when they encounter difficulty, and desires,which, if they are indulged too often, will shake off the authority ofreason, and range capriciously from one object to another.

The disposition to defer every important design to a time of leisure,and a state of settled uniformity, proceeds generally from a falseestimate of the human powers. If we except those gigantic and stupendousintelligences who are said to grasp a system by intuition, and boundforward from one series of conclusions to another, without regular stepsthrough intermediate propositions, the most successful students maketheir advances in knowledge by short flights, between each of which themind may lie at rest. For every single act of progression a short timeis sufficient; and it is only necessary, that whenever that time isafforded, it be well employed.

Few minds will be long confined to severe and laborious meditation; andwhen a successful attack on knowledge has been made, the studentrecreates himself with the contemplation of his conquest, and forbearsanother incursion, till the new-acquired truth has become familiar, andhis curiosity calls upon him for fresh gratifications. Whether the timeof intermission is spent in company, or in solitude, in necessarybusiness, or in voluntary levities, the understanding is equallyabstracted from the object of inquiry; but, perhaps, if it be detainedby occupations less pleasing, it returns again to study with greateralacrity than when it is glutted with ideal pleasures, and surfeitedwith intemperance of application. He that will not suffer himself to bediscouraged by fancied impossibilities, may sometimes find his abilitiesinvigorated by the necessity of exerting them in short intervals, as theforce of a current is increased by the contraction of its channel.

From some cause like this, it has probably proceeded, that, among thosewho have contributed to the advancement of learning, many have risen toeminence in opposition to all the obstacles which external circ*mstancescould place in their way, amidst the tumult of business, the distressesof poverty, or the dissipations of a wandering and unsettled state. Agreat part of the life of Erasmus was one continual peregrination; illsupplied with the gifts of fortune, and led from city to city, and fromkingdom to kingdom, by the hopes of patrons and preferment, hopes whichalways flattered and always deceived him; he yet found means, byunshaken constancy, and a vigilant improvement of those hours, which, inthe midst of the most restless activity, will remain unengaged, to writemore than another in the same condition would have hoped to read.Compelled by want to attendance and solicitation, and so much versed incommon life, that he has transmitted to us the most perfect delineationof the manners of his age, he joined to his knowledge of the world suchapplication to books, that he will stand for ever in the first rank ofliterary heroes. How this proficiency was obtained he sufficientlydiscovers, by informing us, that the "Praise of Folly," one of his mostcelebrated performances, was composed by him on the road to Italy; netotum illud tempus quo equo fuit insidendum, illiteratis fabulisterreretur: "lest the hours which he was obliged to spend on horsebackshould be tattled away without regard to literature."

An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto, that time was hisestate; an estate, indeed, which will produce nothing withoutcultivation, but will always abundantly repay the labours of industry,and satisfy the most extensive desires, if no part of it be suffered tolie waste by negligence, to be over-run with noxious plants, or laid outfor shew, rather than for use.

No. 109. TUESDAY, APRIL 2, 1751.

Gratum est, quod patriæ civem populoque dedisti,
Si facis, ut patriæ sit idoneus, utilis agris,
Utilis et bellorum et pacis rebus agendis.
Plurimum enim intererit, quibus artibus, et quibus hunc tu
Moribus instituas Juv. SAT, xiv. 70.

Grateful the gift! a member to the state,
If you that member useful shall create;
Train'd both to war, and, when the war shall cease,
As fond, as fit t'improve the arts of peace.
For much it boots which way you train your boy,
The hopeful object of your future joy. ELPHINSTON.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Though you seem to have taken a view sufficiently extensive of themiseries of life, and have employed much of your speculation on mournfulsubjects, you have not yet exhausted the whole stock of humaninfelicity. There is still a species of wretchedness which escapes yourobservation, though it might supply you with many sage remarks, andsalutary cautions.

I cannot but imagine the start of attention awakened by this welcomehint; and at this instant see the Rambler snuffing his candle, rubbinghis spectacles, stirring his fire, locking out interruption, andsettling himself in his easy chair, that he may enjoy a new calamitywithout disturbance. For, whether it be that continued sickness ormisfortune has acquainted you only with the bitterness of being; or thatyou imagine none but yourself able to discover what I suppose has beenseen and felt by all the inhabitants of the world; whether you intendyour writings as antidotal to the levity and merriment with which yourrivals endeavour to attract the favour of the publick; or fancy that youhave some particular powers of dolorous declamation, and warble outyour groans with uncommon elegance or energy; it is certain, thatwhatever be your subject, melancholy for the most part bursts in uponyour speculation, your gaiety is quickly overcast, and though yourreaders may be flattered with hopes of pleasantry, they are seldomdismissed but with heavy hearts.

That I may therefore gratify you with an imitation of your own syllablesof sadness, I will inform you that I was condemned by some disastrousinfluence to be an only son, born to the apparent prospect of a largefortune, and allotted to my parents at that time of life when satiety ofcommon diversions allows the mind to indulge parental affection withgreater intenseness. My birth was celebrated by the tenants with feasts,and dances, and bag-pipes: congratulations were sent from every familywithin ten miles round; and my parents discovered in my first cries suchtokens of future virtue and understanding, that they declared themselvesdetermined to devote the remaining part of life to my happiness and theincrease of their estate.

The abilities of my father and mother were not perceptibly unequal, andeducation had given neither much advantage over the other. They had bothkept good company, rattled in chariots, glittered in playhouses, anddanced at court, and were both expert in the games that were in theirtime called in as auxiliaries against the intrusion of thought.

When there is such a parity between two persons associated for life, thedejection which the husband, if he be not completely stupid, must alwayssuffer for want of superiority, sinks him to submissiveness. My mammatherefore governed the family without controul; and except that myfather still retained some authority in the stables, and, now and then,after a supernumerary bottle, broke a looking-glass or china dish toprove his sovereignty, the whole course of the year was regulated by herdirection, the servants received from her all their orders, and thetenants were continued or dismissed at her discretion.

She, therefore, thought herself entitled to the superintendence of herson's education; and when my father, at the instigation of the parson,faintly proposed that I should be sent to school, very positively toldhim, that she should not suffer so fine a child to be ruined; that shenever knew any boys at a grammar-school that could come into a roomwithout blushing, or sit at table without some awkward uneasiness; thatthey were always putting themselves into danger by boisterous plays, orvitiating their behaviour with mean company, and that, for her part, shewould rather follow me to the grave, than see me tear my clothes, andhang down my head, and sneak about with dirty shoes, and blottedfingers, my hair unpowdered, and my hat unco*cked.

My father, who had no other end in his proposal than to appear wise andmanly, soon acquiesced, since I was not to live by my learning; for,indeed, he had known very few students that had not some stiffness intheir manner. They, therefore, agreed, that a domestick tutor should beprocured, and hired an honest gentleman of mean conversation and narrowsentiments, but whom, having passed the common forms of literaryeducation, they implicitly concluded qualified to teach all that was tobe learned from a scholar. He thought himself sufficiently exalted bybeing placed at the same table with his pupil, and had no other viewthan to perpetuate his felicity by the utmost flexibility of submissionto all my mother's opinions and caprices. He frequently took away mybook, lest I should mope with too much application, charged me never towrite without turning up my ruffles, and generally brushed my coatbefore he dismissed me into the parlour. He had no occasion to complainof too burdensome an employment: for my mother very judiciouslyconsidered, that I was not likely to grow politer in his company, andsuffered me not to pass any more time in his apartment than my lessonrequired. When I was summoned to my task, she enjoined me not to get anyof my tutor's ways, who was seldom mentioned before me but for practicesto be avoided. I was every moment admonished not to lean on my chair,cross my legs, or swing my hands like my tutor; and once my mother veryseriously deliberated upon his total dismission, because I began, shesaid, to learn his manner of sticking on my hat, and had his bend in myshoulders, and his totter in my gait.

Such, however, was her care, that I escaped all these depravities; andwhen I was only twelve years old, had rid myself of every appearance ofchildish diffidence. I was celebrated round the country for thepetulance of my remarks, and the quickness of my replies; and many ascholar, five years older than myself, have I dashed into confusion bythe steadiness of my countenance, silenced by my readiness of repartee,and tortured with envy by the address with which I picked up a fan,presented a snuff-box, or received an empty tea-cup.

At fourteen I was completely skilled in all the niceties of dress, and Icould not only enumerate all the variety of silks, and distinguish theproduct of a French loom, but dart my eye through a numerous company,and observe every deviation from the reigning mode. I was universallyskilful in all the changes of expensive finery; but as every one, theysay, has something to which he is particularly born, was eminentlyknowing in Brussels' lace.

The next year saw me advanced to the trust and power of adjusting theceremonial of an assembly. All received their partners from my hand, andto me every stranger applied for introduction. My heart now disdainedthe instructions of a tutor, who was rewarded with a small annuity forlife, and left me qualified, in my own opinion, to govern myself.

In a short time I came to London, and as my father was well known amongthe higher classes of life, soon obtained admission to the most splendidassemblies and most crowded card-tables. Here I found myself universallycaressed and applauded; the ladies praised the fancy of my clothes, thebeauty of my form, and the softness of my voice; endeavoured in everyplace to force themselves to my notice; and invited, by a thousandoblique solicitations, my attendance to the playhouse, and mysalutations in the park. I was now happy to the utmost extent of myconception; I passed every morning in dress, every afternoon in visits,and every night in some select assemblies, where neither care norknowledge were suffered to molest us.

After a few years, however, these delights became familiar, and I hadleisure to look round me with more attention. I then found that myflatterers had very little power to relieve the languor of satiety, orrecreate weariness, by varied amusem*nt; and therefore endeavoured toenlarge the sphere of my pleasures, and to try what satisfaction mightbe found in the society of men. I will not deny the mortification withwhich I perceived, that every man whose name I had heard mentioned withrespect, received me with a kind of tenderness, nearly bordering oncompassion; and that those whose reputation was not well established,thought it necessary to justify their understandings, by treating mewith contempt. One of these witlings elevated his crest, by asking me ina full coffee-house the price of patches; and another whispered that hewondered why Miss Frisk did not keep me that afternoon to watch hersquirrel.

When I found myself thus hunted from all masculine conversation by thosewho were themselves barely admitted, I returned to the ladies, andresolved to dedicate my life to their service and their pleasure. But Ifind that I have now lost my charms. Of those with whom I entered thegay world, some are married, some have retired, and some have so muchchanged their opinion, that they scarcely pay any regard to mycivilities, if there is any other man in the place. The new flight ofbeauties to whom I have made my addresses, suffer me to pay the treat,and then titter with boys. So that I now find myself welcome only to afew grave ladies, who, unacquainted with all that gives either use ordignity to life, are content to pass their hours between their bed andtheir cards, without esteem from the old, or reverence from the young.

I cannot but think, Mr. Rambler, that I have reason to complain; forsurely the females ought to pay some regard to the age of him whoseyouth was passed in endeavours to please them. They that encourage follyin the boy, have no right to punish it in the man. Yet I find that,though they lavish their first fondness upon pertness and gaiety, theysoon transfer their regard to other qualities, and ungratefully abandontheir adorers to dream out their last years in stupidity and contempt.

I am, &c.

FLORENTULUS.

No. 110. SATURDAY, APRIL 6, 1751

At nobis vitæ dominum quærentibus unum
Lux iter est, et clara dies, et gratia simplex.
Spem sequimur, gradimurque fide, fruimurque futuris,
Ad quæ non veniunt præsentis gaudia vitæ,
Nec currunt pariter capta, et capienda voluptus.
PRUDENTIUS, Cont. Sym. ii. 904.

We through this maze of life one Lord obey;
Whose light and grace unerring lead the way.
By hope and faith secure of future bliss,
Gladly the joys of present life we miss:
For baffled mortals still attempt in vain,
Present and future bliss at once to gain. F. LEWIS.

That to please the Lord and Father of the universe, is the supremeinterest of created and dependent beings, as it is easily proved, hasbeen universally confessed; and since all rational agents are consciousof having neglected or violated the duties prescribed to them, the fearof being rejected, or punished by God, has always burdened the humanmind. The expiation of crimes, and renovation of the forfeited hopes ofdivine favour, therefore constitute a large part of every religion.

The various methods of propitiation and atonement which fear and follyhave dictated, or artifice and interest tolerated in the different partsof the world, however they may sometimes reproach or degrade humanity,at least shew the general consent of all ages and nations in theiropinion of the placability of the divine nature. That God will forgive,may, indeed, be established as the first and fundamental truth ofreligion; for, though the knowledge of his existence is the origin ofphilosophy, yet, without the belief of his mercy, it would have littleinfluence upon our moral conduct. There could be no prospect of enjoyingthe protection or regard of him, whom the least deviation from rectitudemade inexorable for ever; and every man would naturally withdraw histhoughts from the contemplation of a Creator, whom he must consider as agovernor too pure to be pleased, and too severe to be pacified; as anenemy infinitely wise, and infinitely powerful, whom he could neitherdeceive, escape, nor resist.

Where there is no hope, there can be no endeavour. A constant andunfailing obedience is above the reach of terrestrial diligence; andtherefore the progress of life could only have been the natural descentof negligent despair from crime to crime, had not the universalpersuasion of forgiveness, to be obtained by proper means ofreconciliation, recalled those to the paths of virtue, whom theirpassions had solicited aside; and animated to new attempts, and firmerperseverance, those whom difficulty had discouraged, or negligencesurprised.

In times and regions so disjoined from each other, that there canscarcely be imagined any communication of sentiments either by commerceor tradition, has prevailed a general and uniform expectation ofpropitiating God by corporal austerities, of anticipating his vengeanceby voluntary inflictions, and appeasing his justice by a speedy andcheerful submission to a less penalty, when a greater is incurred.

Incorporated minds will always feel some inclination towards exterioracts and ritual observances. Ideas not represented by sensible objectsare fleeting, variable, and evanescent. We are not able to judge of thedegree of conviction which operated at any particular time upon our ownthoughts, but as it is recorded by some certain and definite effect. Hethat reviews his life in order to determine the probability of hisacceptance with God, if he could once establish the necessary proportionbetween crimes and sufferings, might securely rest upon his performanceof the expiation; but while safety remains the reward only of mentalpurity, he is always afraid lest he should decide too soon in his ownfavour; lest he should not have felt the pangs of true contrition; lesthe should mistake satiety for detestation, or imagine that his passionsare subdued when they are only sleeping.

From this natural and reasonable diffidence arose, in humble andtimorous piety, a disposition to confound penance with repentance, torepose on human determinations, and to receive from some judicialsentence the stated and regular assignment of reconciliatory pain. Weare never willing to be without resource: we seek in the knowledge ofothers a succour for our own ignorance, and are ready to trust any thatwill undertake to direct us when we have no confidence in ourselves.

This desire to ascertain by some outward marks the state of the soul,and this willingness to calm the conscience by some settled method, haveproduced, as they are diversified in their effects by various tempersand principles, most of the disquisitions and rules, the doubts andsolutions, that have embarrassed the doctrine of repentance, andperplexed tender and flexible minds with innumerable scruples concerningthe necessary measures of sorrow, and adequate degrees ofself-abhorrence; and these rules, corrupted by fraud, or debased bycredulity, have, by the common resiliency of the mind from one extremeto another, incited others to an open contempt of all subsidiaryordinances, all prudential caution, and the whole discipline ofregulated piety.

Repentance, however difficult to be practised, is, if it be explainedwithout superstition, easily understood. Repentance is therelinquishment of any practice, from the conviction that it has offendedGod. Sorrow, and fear, and anxiety, are properly not parts, butadjuncts of repentance; yet they are too closely connected with it to beeasily separated; for they not only mark its sincerity, but promote itsefficacy.

No man commits any act of negligence or obstinacy, by which his safetyor happiness in this world is endangered, without feeling the pungencyof remorse. He who is fully convinced, that he suffers by his ownfailure, can never forbear to trace back his miscarriage to its firstcause, to image to himself a contrary behaviour, and to form involuntaryresolutions against the like fault, even when he knows that he shallnever again have the power of committing it. Danger, considered asimminent, naturally produces such trepidations of impatience as leaveall human means of safety behind them; he that has once caught an alarmof terrour, is every moment seized with useless anxieties, adding onesecurity to another, trembling with sudden doubts, and distracted by theperpetual occurrence of new expedients. If, therefore, he whose crimeshave deprived him of the favour of God, can reflect upon his conductwithout disturbance, or can at will banish the reflection; if he whoconsiders himself as suspended over the abyss of eternal perdition onlyby the thread of life, which must soon part by its own weakness, andwhich the wing of every minute may divide, can cast his eyes round himwithout shuddering with horrour, or panting with security; what can hejudge of himself, but that he is not yet awakened to sufficientconviction, since every loss is more lamented than the loss of thedivine favour, and every danger more dreadful than the danger of finalcondemnation?

Retirement from the cares and pleasures of the world has been oftenrecommended as useful to repentance. This at least is evident, thatevery one retires, whenever ratiocination and recollection are requiredon other occasions; and surely the retrospect of life, thedisentanglement of actions complicated with innumerable circ*mstances,and diffused in various relations, the discovery of the primarymovements of the heart, and the extirpation of lusts and appetitesdeeply rooted and widely spread, may be allowed to demand some secessionfrom sport and noise, business and folly. Some suspension of commonaffairs, some pause of temporal pain and pleasure, is doubtlessnecessary to him that deliberates for eternity, who is forming the onlyplan in which miscarriage cannot be repaired, and examining the onlyquestion in which mistake cannot be rectified.

Austerities and mortifications are means by which the mind isinvigorated and roused, by which the attractions of pleasure areinterrupted, and the chains of sensuality are broken. It is observed byone of the fathers, that he who restrains himself in the use of thingslawful, will never encroach upon things forbidden. Abstinence, ifnothing more, is, at least, a cautious retreat from the utmost verge ofpermission, and confers that security which cannot be reasonably hopedby him that dares always to hover over the precipice of destruction, ordelights to approach the pleasures which he knows it fatal to partake.Austerity is the proper antidote to indulgence; the diseases of mind aswell as body are cured by contraries, and to contraries we shouldreadily have recourse, if we dreaded guilt as we dread pain.

The completion and sum of repentance is a change of life. That sorrowwhich dictates no caution, that fear which does not quicken our escape,that austerity which fails to rectify our affections, are vain andunavailing. But sorrow and terrour must naturally precede reformation;for what other cause can produce it? He, therefore, that feels himselfalarmed by his conscience, anxious for the attainment of a better state,and afflicted by the memory of his past faults, may justly conclude,that the great work of repentance is begun, and hope by retirement andprayer, the natural and religious means of strengthening his conviction,to impress upon his mind such a sense of the divine presence, as mayoverpower the blandishments of secular delights, and enable him toadvance from one degree of holiness to another, till death shall set himfree from doubt and contest, misery and temptation[b].

What better can we do than prostrate fall
Before him reverent; and there confess
Humbly our faults, and pardon beg; with tears
Wat'ring the ground, and with our sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek? Par. Lost. B. x. 1087.

No. 111. TUESDAY, APRIL 9, 1751.

[Greek: phronein gar hoi tacheis, ouk asphaleis.] SOPHOC.

Disaster always waits on early wit.

It has been observed, by long experience, that late springs produce thegreatest plenty. The delay of blooms and fragrance, of verdure andbreezes, is for the most part liberally recompensed by the exuberanceand fecundity of the ensuing seasons; the blossoms which lie concealedtill the year is advanced, and the sun is high, escape those chillingblasts, and nocturnal frosts, which are often fatal to early luxuriance,prey upon the first smiles of vernal beauty, destroy the feebleprinciples of vegetable life, intercept the fruit in the gem, and beatdown the flowers unopened to the ground.

I am afraid there is little hope of persuading the young and sprightlypart of my readers, upon whom the spring naturally forces my attention,to learn, from the great process of nature, the difference betweendiligence and hurry, between speed and precipitation; to prosecute theirdesigns with calmness, to watch the concurrence of opportunity, andendeavour to find the lucky moment which they cannot make. Youth is thetime of enterprize and hope: having yet no occasion of comparing ourforce with any opposing power, we naturally form presumptions in our ownfavour, and imagine that obstruction and impediment will give way beforeus. The first repulses rather inflame vehemence than teach prudence; abrave and generous mind is long before it suspects its own weakness, orsubmits to sap the difficulties which it expected to subdue by storm.Before disappointments have enforced the dictates of philosophy, webelieve it in our power to shorten the interval between the first causeand the last effect; we laugh at the timorous delays of ploddingindustry, and fancy that, by increasing the fire, we can at pleasureaccelerate the projection.

At our entrance into the world, when health and vigour give us fairpromises of time sufficient for the regular maturation of our schemes,and a long enjoyment of our acquisitions, we are eager to seize thepresent moment; we pluck every gratification within our reach, withoutsuffering it to ripen into perfection, and crowd all the varieties ofdelight into a narrow compass; but age seldom fails to change ourconduct; we grow negligent of time in proportion as we have lessremaining, and suffer the last part of life to steal from us in languidpreparations for future undertakings, or slow approaches to remoteadvantages, in weak hopes of some fortuitous occurrence, or drowsyequilibrations of undetermined counsel: whether it be that the aged,having tasted the pleasures of man's condition, and found them delusive,become less anxious for their attainment; or that frequent miscarriageshave depressed them to despair, and frozen them to inactivity; or thatdeath shocks them more as it advances upon them, and they are afraid toremind themselves of their decay, or to discover to their own heartsthat the time of trifling is past. A perpetual conflict with naturaldesires seems to be the lot of our present state. In youth we requiresomething of the tardiness and frigidity of age; and in age we mustlabour to recal the fire and impetuosity of youth; in youth we mustlearn to expect, and in age to enjoy.

The torment of expectation is, indeed, not easily to be borne at a timewhen every idea of gratification fires the blood, and flashes on thefancy; when the heart is vacant to every fresh form of delight, and hasno rival engagements to withdraw it from the importunities of a newdesire. Yet, since the fear of missing what we seek must always beproportionable to the happiness expected from possessing it, thepassions, even in this tempestuous state, might be somewhat moderated byfrequent inculcation of the mischief of temerity, and the hazard oflosing that which we endeavour to seize before our time.

He that too early aspires to honours, must resolve to encounter not onlythe opposition of interest, but the malignity of envy. He that is tooeager to be rich, generally endangers his fortune in wild adventures,and uncertain projects; and he that hastens too speedily to reputation,often raises his character by artifices and fallacies, decks himself incolours which quickly fade, or in plumes which accident may shake off,or competition pluck away.

The danger of early eminence has been extended by some, even to thegifts of nature; and an opinion has been long conceived, that quicknessof invention, accuracy of judgment, or extent of knowledge, appearingbefore the usual time, presage a short life. Even those who are lessinclined to form general conclusions, from instances which by their ownnature must be rare, have yet been inclined to prognosticate no suitableprogress from the first sallies of rapid wits; but have observed, thatafter a short effort they either loiter or faint, and suffer themselvesto be surpassed by the even and regular perseverance of slowerunderstandings.

It frequently happens, that applause abates diligence. Whoever findshimself to have performed more than was demanded, will be contented tospare the labour of unnecessary performances, and sit down to enjoy atease his superfluities of honour. He whom success has made confident ofhis abilities, quickly claims the privilege of negligence, and lookscontemptuously on the gradual advances of a rival, whom he imagineshimself able to leave behind whenever he shall again summon his force tothe contest. But long intervals of pleasure dissipate attention, andweaken constancy; nor is it easy for him that has sunk from diligenceinto sloth, to rouse out of his lethargy, to recollect his notions,rekindle his curiosity, and engage with his former ardour in the toilsof study.

Even that friendship which intends the reward of genius, too often tendsto obstruct it. The pleasure of being caressed, distinguished, andadmired, easily seduces the student from literary solitude. He is readyto follow the call which summons him to hear his own praise, and which,perhaps, at once flatters his appetite with certainty of pleasures, andhis ambition with hopes of patronage; pleasures which he conceivesinexhaustible, and hopes which he has not yet learned to distrust.

These evils, indeed, are by no means to be imputed to nature, orconsidered as inseparable from an early display of uncommon abilities.They may be certainly escaped by prudence and resolution, and musttherefore be recounted rather as consolations to those who are lessliberally endowed, than as discouragements to such as are born withuncommon qualities. Beauty is well known to draw after it thepersecutions of impertinence, to incite the artifices of envy, and toraise the flames of unlawful love; yet, among the ladies whom prudenceor modesty have made most eminent, who has ever complained of theinconveniences of an amiable form? or would have purchased safety by theloss of charms?

Neither grace of person, nor vigour of understanding, are to be regardedotherwise than as blessings, as means of happiness indulged by theSupreme Benefactor; but the advantages of either may be lost by too mucheagerness to obtain them. A thousand beauties in their first blossom, byan imprudent exposure to the open world, have suddenly withered at theblast of infamy; and men who might have subjected new regions to theempire of learning, have been lured by the praise of their firstproductions from academical retirement, and wasted their days in viceand dependance. The virgin who too soon aspires to celebrity andconquest, perishes by childish vanity, ignorant credulity, or guiltlessindiscretion. The genius who catches at laurels and preferment beforehis time, mocks the hopes that he had excited, and loses those yearswhich might have been most usefully employed, the years of youth, ofspirit, and vivacity.

It is one of the innumerable absurdities of pride, that we are nevermore impatient of direction, than in that part of life when we need itmost; we are in haste to meet enemies whom we have not strength toovercome, and to undertake tasks which we cannot perform: and as he thatonce miscarries does not easily persuade mankind to favour anotherattempt, an ineffectual struggle for fame is often followed by perpetualobscurity.

[Footnote b: The perusal of these profound remarks on penance andrepentance had so powerful an effect on one of the English Benedictinemonks (The Rev. James Compton) at Paris, as to lead him from the erroursof Popery! For an account of Dr. Johnson's true benevolence through thewhole of this interesting occasion, see Malone's note to Boswell's Lifeof Johnson, vol. iv. p. 210—edit. 1822.]

No. 112. SATURDAY, APRIL 13, 1751.

In mea vesanas habui dispendia vires,
Et valui pænam fortis in ipse meain. OVID, Am. Lib. i. vii. 25.

Of strength pernicious to myself I boast;
The pow'rs I have were given me to my cost. F. LEWIS.

We are taught by Celsus, that health is best preserved by avoidingsettled habits of life, and deviating sometimes into slight aberrationsfrom the laws of medicine; by varying the proportions of food andexercise, interrupting the successions of rest and labour, and minglinghardships with indulgence. The body, long accustomed to statedquantities and uniform periods, is disordered by the smallestirregularity; and since we cannot adjust every day by the balance orbarometer, it is fit sometimes to depart from rigid accuracy, that wemay be able to comply with necessary affairs, or strong inclinations. Hethat too long observes nice punctualities, condemns himself to voluntaryimbecility, and will not long escape the miseries of disease.

The same laxity of regimen is equally necessary to intellectual health,and to a perpetual susceptibility of occasional pleasure. Longconfinement to the same company which perhaps similitude of tastebrought first together, quickly contracts the faculties, and makes athousand things offensive that are in themselves indifferent; a manaccustomed to hear only the echo of his own sentiments, soon bars allthe common avenues of delight, and has no part in the generalgratifications of mankind.

In things which are not immediately subject to religious or moralconsideration, it is dangerous to be too rigidly in the right.Sensibility may, by an incessant attention to elegance and propriety, bequickened to a tenderness inconsistent with the condition of humanity,irritable by the smallest asperity, and vulnerable by the gentlesttouch. He that pleases himself too much with minute exactness, andsubmits to endure nothing in accommodations, attendance, or address,below the point of perfection, will, whenever he enters the crowd oflife, be harassed with innumerable distresses, from which those who havenot in the same manner increased their sensations find no disturbance.His exotick softness will shrink at the coarseness of vulgar felicity,like a plant transplanted to northern nurseries, from the dews andsunshine of the tropical regions.

There will always be a wide interval between practical and idealexcellence; and, therefore, if we allow not ourselves to be satisfiedwhile we can perceive any errour or defect, we must refer our hopes ofease to some other period of existence. It is well known, that, exposedto a microscope, the smoothest polish of the most solid bodies discoverscavities and prominences; and that the softest bloom of roseatevirginity repels the eye with excrescences and discolorations. Theperceptions as well as the senses may be improved to our own disquiet,and we may, by diligent cultivation of the powers of dislike, raise intime an artificial fastidiousness, which shall fill the imagination withphantoms of turpitude, shew us the naked skeleton of every delight, andpresent us only with the pains of pleasure, and the deformities ofbeauty.

Peevishness, indeed, would perhaps very little disturb the peace ofmankind, were it always the consequence of superfluous delicacy; for itis the privilege only of deep reflection, or lively fancy, to destroyhappiness by art and refinement. But by continual indulgence of aparticular humour, or by long enjoyment of undisputed superiority, thedull and thoughtless may likewise acquire the power of tormentingthemselves and others, and become sufficiently ridiculous or hateful tothose who are within sight of their conduct, or reach of theirinfluence.

They that have grown old in a single state are generally found to bemorose, fretful, and captious; tenacious of their own practices andmaxims; soon offended by contradiction or negligence; and impatient ofany association, but with those that will watch their nod, and submitthemselves to unlimited authority. Such is the effect of having livedwithout the necessity of consulting any inclination but their own.

The irascibility of this class of tyrants is generally exerted uponpetty provocations, such as are incident to understandings not farextended beyond the instincts of animal life; but, unhappily, he thatfixes his attention on things always before him, will never have longcessations of anger. There are many veterans of luxury upon whom everynoon brings a paroxysm of violence, fury, and execration; they never sitdown to their dinner without finding the meat so injudiciously bought,or so unskilfully dressed, such blunders in the seasoning, or suchimproprieties in the sauce, as can scarcely be expiated without blood;and, in the transports of resentment, make very little distinctionbetween guilt and innocence, but let fly their menaces, or growl outtheir discontent, upon all whom fortune exposes to the storm.

It is not easy to imagine a more unhappy condition than that ofdependance on a peevish man. In every other state of inferiority thecertainty of pleasing is perpetually increased by a fuller knowledge ofour duty; and kindness and confidence are strengthened by every new actof trust, and proof of fidelity. But peevishness sacrifices to amomentory offence the obsequiousness or usefulness of half a life, and,as more is performed, increases her exactions.

Chrysalus gained a fortune by trade, and retired into the country; and,having a brother burthened by the number of his children, adopted one ofhis sons. The boy was dismissed with many prudent admonitions; informedof his father's inability to maintain him in his native rank; cautionedagainst all opposition to the opinions or precepts of his uncle; andanimated to perseverance by the hopes of supporting the honour of thefamily, and overtopping his elder brother. He had a natural ductility ofmind, without much warmth of affection, or elevation of sentiment; andtherefore readily complied with every variety of caprice; patientlyendured contradictory reproofs; heard false accusations without pain,and opprobrious reproaches without reply; laughed obstreperously at theninetieth repetition of a joke; asked questions about the universaldecay of trade; admired the strength of those heads by which the priceof stocks is changed and adjusted; and behaved with such prudence andcirc*mspection, that after six years the will was made, and Juvenculuswas declared heir. But unhappily, a month afterwards, retiring at nightfrom his uncle's chamber, he left the door open behind him: the old mantore his will, and being then perceptibly declining, for want of time todeliberate, left his money to a trading company.

When female minds are embittered by age or solitude, their malignity isgenerally exerted in a rigorous and spiteful superintendance of domestictrifles. Eriphile has employed her eloquence for twenty years upon thedegeneracy of servants, the nastiness of her house, the ruin of herfurniture, the difficulty of preserving tapestry from the moths, and thecarelessness of the slu*ts whom she employs in brushing it. It is herbusiness every morning to visit all the rooms, in hopes of finding achair without its cover, a window shut or open contrary to her orders, aspot on the hearth, or a feather on the floor, that the rest of the daymay be justifiably spent in taunts of contempt, and vociferations ofanger. She lives for no other purpose but to preserve the neatness of ahouse and gardens, and feels neither inclination to pleasure, noraspiration after virtue, while she is engrossed by the great employmentof keeping gravel from grass, and wainscot from dust. Of three amiablenieces she has declared herself an irreconcileable enemy; to one,because she broke off a tulip with her hoop; to another, because shespilt her coffee on a Turkey carpet; and to the third, because she let awet dog run into the parlour. She has broken off her intercourse ofvisits, because company makes a house dirty; and resolves to confineherself more to her own affairs, and to live no longer in mire byfoolish lenity.

Peevishness is generally the vice of narrow minds, and, except when itis the effect of anguish and disease, by which the resolution is broken,and the mind made too feeble to bear the lightest addition to itsmiseries, proceeds from an unreasonable persuasion of the importance oftrifles. The proper remedy against it is, to consider the dignity ofhuman nature, and the folly of suffering perturbation and uneasinessfrom causes unworthy of our notice.

He that resigns his peace to little casualties, and suffers the courseof his life to be interrupted by fortuitous inadvertencies, or offences,delivers up himself to the direction of the wind, and loses all thatconstancy and equanimity which constitute the chief praise of a wiseman.

The province of prudence lies between the greatest things and the least;some surpass our power by their magnitude, and some escape our notice bytheir number and their frequency. But the indispensable business of lifewill afford sufficient exercise to every understanding; and such is thelimitation of the human powers, that by attention to trifles we must letthings of importance pass unobserved: when we examine a mite with aglass, we see nothing but a mite.

That it is every man's interest to be pleased, will need little proof:that it is his interest to please others, experience will inform him. Itis therefore not less necessary to happiness than to virtue, that he ridhis mind of passions which make him uneasy to himself, and hateful tothe world, which enchain his intellects, and obstruct his improvement.

No. 113. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1751.

—Uxorem, Postume, ducis?
Die, qua Tisiphone, quibus exagitere colubris? JUV. Sat. vi. 28.

A sober man like thee to change his life!
What fury would possess thee with a wife? DRYDEN.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I know not whether it is always a proof of innocence to treat censurewith contempt. We owe so much reverence to the wisdom of mankind, asjustly to wish, that our own opinion of our merit may be ratified by theconcurrence of other suffrages; and since guilt and infamy must have thesame effect upon intelligences unable to pierce beyond externalappearance, and influenced often rather by example than precept, we areobliged to refute a false charge, lest we should countenance the crimewhich we have never committed. To turn away from an accusation withsupercilious silence, is equally in the power of him that is hardened byvillany, and inspirited by innocence. The wall of brass which Horaceerects upon a clear conscience, may be sometimes raised by impudence orpower; and we should always wish to preserve the dignity of virtue byadorning her with graces which wickedness cannot assume.

For this reason I have determined no longer to endure, with eitherpatient or sullen resignation, a reproach, which is, at least in myopinion, unjust; but will lay my case honestly before you, that you oryour readers may at length decide it.

Whether you will be able to preserve your boasted impartiality, when youhear that I am considered as an adversary by half the female world, youmay surely pardon me for doubting, notwithstanding the veneration towhich you may imagine yourself entitled by your age, your learning, yourabstraction, or your virtue. Beauty, Mr. Rambler, has often overpoweredthe resolutions of the firm, and the reasonings of the wise, roused theold to sensibility, and subdued the rigorous to softness.

I am one of those unhappy beings, who have been marked out as husbandsfor many different women, and deliberated a hundred times on the brinkof matrimony. I have discussed all the nuptial preliminaries so often,that I can repeat the forms in which jointures are settled, pin-moneysecured, and provisions for younger children ascertained; but am at lastdoomed by general consent to everlasting solitude, and excluded by anirreversible decree from all hopes of connubial felicity. I am pointedout by every mother, as a man whose visits cannot be admitted withoutreproach; who raises hopes only to embitter disappointment, and makesoffers only to seduce girls into a waste of that part of life, in whichthey might gain advantageous matches, and become mistresses and mothers.

I hope you will think, that some part of this penal severity may justlybe remitted, when I inform you, that I never yet professed love to awoman without sincere intentions of marriage; that I have nevercontinued an appearance of intimacy from the hour that my inclinationchanged, but to preserve her whom I was leaving from the shock ofabruptness, or the ignominy of contempt; that I always endeavoured togive the ladies an opportunity of seeming to discard me; and that Inever forsook a mistress for larger fortune, or brighter beauty, butbecause I discovered some irregularity in her conduct, or some depravityin her mind; not because I was charmed by another, but because I wasoffended by herself.

I was very early tired of that succession of amusem*nts by which thethoughts of most young men are dissipated, and had not long glittered inthe splendour of an ample patrimomy [Transcriber's note: sic] before Iwished for the calm of domestick happiness. Youth is naturally delightedwith sprightliness and ardour, and therefore I breathed out the sighs ofmy first affection at the feet of the gay, the sparkling, the vivaciousFerocula. I fancied to myself a perpetual source of happiness in witnever exhausted, and spirit never depressed; looked with veneration onher readiness of expedients, contempt of difficulty, assurance ofaddress, and promptitude of reply; considered her as exempt by someprerogative of nature from the weakness and timidity of female minds;and congratulated myself upon a companion superior to all commontroubles and embarrassments. I was, indeed, somewhat disturbed by theunshaken perseverance with which she enforced her demands of anunreasonable settlement; yet I should have consented to pass my life inunion with her, had not my curiosity led me to a crowd gathered in thestreet, where I found Ferocula, in the presence of hundreds, disputingfor six-pence with a chairman. I saw her in so little need ofassistance, that it was no breach of the laws of chivalry to forbearinterposition, and I spared myself the shame of owning her acquaintance.I forgot some point of ceremony at our next interview, and soon provokedher to forbid me her presence.

My next attempt was upon a lady of great eminence for learning andphilosophy. I had frequently observed the barrenness and uniformity ofconnubial conversation, and therefore thought highly of my own prudenceand discernment, when I selected from a multitude of wealthy beauties,the deep-read Misothea, who declared herself the inexorable enemy ofignorant pertness, and puerile levity; and scarcely condescended to maketea, but for the linguist, the geometrician, the astronomer, or thepoet. The queen of the Amazons was only to be gained by the hero whocould conquer her in single combat; and Misothea's heart was only tobless the scholar who could overpower her by disputation. Amidst thefondest transports of courtship she could call for a definition ofterms, and treated every argument with contempt that could not bereduced to regular syllogism. You may easily imagine, that I wished thiscourtship at an end; but when I desired her to shorten my torments, andfix the day of my felicity, we were led into a long conversation, inwhich Misothea endeavoured to demonstrate the folly of attributingchoice and self-direction to any human being. It was not difficult todiscover the danger of committing myself for ever to the arms of one whomight at any time mistake the dictates of passion, or the calls ofappetite, for the decree of fate; or consider cuckoldom as necessary tothe general system, as a link in the everlasting chain of successivecauses. I therefore told her, that destiny had ordained us to part, andthat nothing should have torn me from her but the talons of necessity.

I then solicited the regard of the calm, the prudent, the economicalSophronia, a lady who considered wit as dangerous, and learning assuperfluous, and thought that the woman who kept her house clean, andher accounts exact, took receipts for every payment, and could find themat a sudden call, inquired nicely after the condition of the tenants,read the price of stocks once a-week, and purchased every thing at thebest market, could want no accomplishments necessary to the happiness ofa wise man. She discoursed with great solemnity on the care andvigilance which the superintendance of a family demands; observed howmany were ruined by confidence in servants; and told me, that she neverexpected honesty but from a strong chest, and that the best storekeeperwas the mistress's eye. Many such oracles of generosity she uttered, andmade every day new improvements in her schemes for the regulations ofher servants, and the distribution of her time. I was convinced that,whatever I might suffer from Sophronia, I should escape poverty; and wetherefore proceeded to adjust the settlements according to her own rule,fair and softly. But one morning her maid came to me in tears to intreatmy interest for a reconciliation with her mistress, who had turned herout at night for breaking six teeth in a tortoise-shell comb; she hadattended her lady from a distant province, and having not lived longenough to save much money, was destitute among strangers, and, though ofa good family, in danger of perishing in the streets, or of beingcompelled by hunger to prostitution. I made no scruple of promising torestore her; but upon my first application to Sophronia, was answeredwith an air which called for approbation, that if she neglected her ownaffairs, I might suspect her of neglecting mine; that the comb stood herin three half crowns; that no servant should wrong her twice; and thatindeed she took the first opportunity of parting with Phillida, because,though she was honest, her constitution was bad, and she thought hervery likely to fall sick. Of our conferrence I need not tell you theeffect; it surely may be forgiven me, if on this occasion I forgot thedecency of common forms.

From two more ladies I was disengaged by finding, that they entertainedmy rivals at the same time, and determined their choice by theliberality of our settlements. Another, I thought myself justified inforsaking, because she gave my attorney a bribe to favour her in thebargain; another because I could never soften her to tenderness, tillshe heard that most of my family had died young; and another, because,to increase her fortune by expectations, she represented her sister aslanguishing and consumptive.

I shall in another letter give the remaining part of my history ofcourtship. I presume that I should hitherto have injured the majesty offemale virtue, had I not hoped to transfer my affection to higher merit.

I am, &c.

HYMENAEUS.

No. 114. SATURDAY, APRIL 20, 1751.

—Audi,
Nulla umquum de morte hominis cunctatio longa est. JUV. Sat. vi. 220.

—When man's life is in debate,
The judge can ne'er too long deliberate. DRYDEN.

Power and superiority are so flattering and delightful, that, fraughtwith temptation, and exposed to danger, as they are, scarcely any virtueis so cautious, or any prudence so timorous, as to decline them. Eventhose that have most reverence for the laws of right, are pleased withshewing that not fear, but choice, regulates their behaviour; and wouldbe thought to comply, rather than obey. We love to overlook theboundaries which we do not wish to pass; and, as the Roman satiristremarks, he that has no design to take the life of another, is yet gladto have it in his hands.

From the same principle, tending yet more to degeneracy and corruption,proceeds the desire of investing lawful authority with terrour, andgoverning by force rather than persuasion. Pride is unwilling to believethe necessity of assigning any other reason than her own will; and wouldrather maintain the most equitable claims by violence and penalties,than descend from the dignity of command to dispute and expostulation.

It may, I think, be suspected, that this political arrogance hassometimes found its way into legislative assemblies, and mingled withdeliberations upon property and life. A slight perusal of the laws bywhich the measures of vindictive and coercive justice are established,will discover so many disproportions between crimes and punishments,such capricious distinctions of guilt, and such confusion of remissnessand severity, as can scarcely be believed to have been produced bypublick wisdom, sincerely and calmly studious of publick happiness.

The learned, the judicious, the pious Boerhaave relates, that he neversaw a criminal dragged to execution without asking himself, "Who knowswhether this man is not less culpable than me?" On the days when theprisons of this city are emptied into the grave, let every spectator ofthe dreadful procession put the same question to his own heart. Fewamong those that crowd in thousands to the legal massacre, and look withcarelessness, perhaps with triumph, on the utmost exacerbations of humanmisery, would then be able to return without horrour and dejection. For,who can congratulate himself upon a life passed without some act moremischievous to the peace or prosperity of others, than the theft of apiece of money?

It has been always the practice, when any particular species of robberybecomes prevalent and common, to endeavour its suppression by capitaldenunciations. Thus one generation of malefactors is commonly cut off,and their successors are frighted into new expedients; the art ofthievery is augmented with greater variety of fraud, and subtilized tohigher degrees of dexterity, and more occult methods of conveyance. Thelaw then renews the pursuit in the heat of anger, and overtakes theoffender again with death. By this practice capital inflictions aremultiplied, and crimes, very different in their degrees of enormity, areequally subjected to the severest punishment that man has the power ofexercising upon man.

The lawgiver is undoubtedly allowed to estimate the malignity of anoffence, not merely by the loss or pain which single acts may produce,but by the general alarm and anxiety arising from the fear of mischief,and insecurity of possession: he therefore exercises the right whichsocieties are supposed to have over the lives of those that composethem, not simply to punish a transgression, but to maintain order, andpreserve quiet; he enforces those laws with severity, that are most indanger of violation, as the commander of a garrison doubles the guard onthat side which is threatened by the enemy.

This method has been long tried, but tried with so little success, thatrapine and violence are hourly increasing, yet few seem willing todespair of its efficacy; and of those who employ their speculations uponthe present corruption of the people, some propose the introduction ofmore horrid, lingering, and terrifick punishments; some are inclined toaccelerate the executions; some to discourage pardons; and all seem tothink that lenity has given confidence to wickedness, and that we canonly be rescued from the talons of robbery by inflexible rigour, andsanguinary justice.

Yet, since the right of setting an uncertain and arbitrary value uponlife has been disputed, and since experience of past times gives uslittle reason to hope that any reformation will be effected by aperiodical havock of our fellow-beings, perhaps it will not be uselessto consider what consequences might arise from relaxations of the law,and a more rational and equitable adaptation of penalties to offences.

Death is, as one of the ancients observes, [Greek: to ton phoberonphoberotaton], of dreadful things the most dreadful: an evil, beyondwhich nothing can be threatened by sublunary power, or feared from humanenmity or vengeance. This terrour should, therefore, be reserved as thelast resort of authority, as the strongest and most operative ofprohibitory sanctions, and placed before the treasure of life, to guardfrom invasion what cannot be restored. To equal robbery with murder isto reduce murder to robbery; to confound in common minds the gradationsof iniquity, and incite the commission of a greater crime to prevent thedetection of a less. If only murder were punished with death, very fewrobbers would stain their hands in blood; but when, by the last act ofcruelty, no new danger is incurred, and greater security may beobtained, upon what principle shall we bid them forbear?

It may be urged, that the sentence is often mitigated to simple robbery;but surely this is to confess that our laws are unreasonable in our ownopinion; and, indeed, it may be observed, that all but murderers have,at their last hour, the common sensations of mankind pleading in theirfavour.

From this conviction of the inequality of the punishment to the offence,proceeds the frequent solicitation of pardons. They who would rejoice atthe correction of a thief, are yet shocked at the thought of destroyinghim. His crime shrinks to nothing, compared with his misery; andseverity defeats itself by exciting pity.

The gibbet, indeed, certainly disables those who die upon it frominfesting the community; but their death seems not to contribute more tothe reformation of their associates, than any other method ofseparation. A thief seldom passes much of his time in recollection oranticipation, but from robbery hastens to riot, and from riot torobbery; nor, when the grave closes on his companion, has any other carethan to find another.

The frequency of capital punishments, therefore, rarely hinders thecommission of a crime, but naturally and commonly prevents itsdetection, and is, if we proceed only upon prudential principles,chiefly for that reason to be avoided. Whatever may be urged by casuistsor politicians, the greater part of mankind, as they can never thinkthat to pick the pocket and to pierce the heart is equally criminal,will scarcely believe that two malefactors so different in guilt can bejustly doomed to the same punishment: nor is the necessity of submittingthe conscience to human laws so plainly evinced, so clearly stated, orso generally allowed, but that the pious, the tender, and the just, willalways scruple to concur with the community in an act which theirprivate judgment cannot approve.

He who knows not how often rigorous laws produce total impunity, and howmany crimes are concealed and forgotten for fear of hurrying theoffender to that state in which there is no repentance, has conversedvery little with mankind. And whatever epithets of reproach or contemptthis compassion may incur from those who confound cruelty with firmness,I know not whether any wise man would wish it less powerful, or lessextensive.

If those whom the wisdom of our laws has condemned to die, had beendetected in their rudiments of robbery, they might, by proper disciplineand useful labour, have been disentangled from their habits, they mighthave escaped all the temptation to subsequent crimes, and passed theirdays in reparation and penitence; and detected they might all have been,had the prosecutors been certain that their lives would have beenspared. I believe, every thief will confess, that he has been more thanonce seized and dismissed; and that he has sometimes ventured uponcapital crimes, because he knew, that those whom he injured would ratherconnive at his escape, than cloud their minds with the horrours of hisdeath.

All laws against wickedness are ineffectual, unless some will inform,and some will prosecute; but till we mitigate the penalties for mereviolations of property, information will always be hated, andprosecution dreaded. The heart of a good man cannot but recoil at thethought of punishing a slight injury with death; especially when heremembers that the thief might have procured safety by another crime,from which he was restrained only by his remaining virtue.

The obligations to assist the exercise of publick justice are indeedstrong; but they will certainly be overpowered by tenderness for life.What is punished with severity contrary to our ideas of adequateretribution, will be seldom discovered; and multitudes will be sufferedto advance from crime to crime, till they deserve death, because, ifthey had been sooner prosecuted, they would have suffered death beforethey deserved it.

This scheme of invigorating the laws by relaxation, and extirpatingwickedness by lenity, is so remote from common practice, that I mightreasonably fear to expose it to the publick, could it be supported onlyby my own observations: I shall, therefore, by ascribing it to itsauthor, Sir Thomas More, endeavour to procure it that attention, which Iwish always paid to prudence, to justice, and to mercy.[c]

No. 115. TUESDAY, APRIL 23, 1751.

Quaedam parvu quidem; sed non toleranda maritis. JUV. Sat vi. 184.

Some faults, though small, intolerable grow. DRYDEN.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I sit down, in pursuance of my late engagement, to recount the remainingpart of the adventures that befel me in my long quest of conjugalfelicity, which, though I have not yet been so happy as to obtain it, Ihave at least endeavoured to deserve by unwearied diligence, withoutsuffering from repeated disappointments any abatement of my hope, orrepression of my activity.

You must have observed in the world a species of mortals who employthemselves in promoting matrimony, and without any visible motive ofinterest or vanity, without any discoverable impulse of malice orbenevolence, without any reason, but that they want objects of attentionand topicks of conversation, are incessantly busy in procuring wives andhusbands. They fill the ears of every single man and woman with someconvenient match; and when they are informed of your age and fortune,offer a partner for life with the same readiness, and the sameindifference, as a salesman, when he has taken measure by his eye, fitshis customer with a coat.

It might be expected that they should soon be discouraged from thisofficious interposition by resentment or contempt; and that every manshould determine the choice on which so much of his happiness mustdepend, by his own judgment and observation: yet it happens, that asthese proposals are generally made with a shew of kindness, they seldomprovoke anger, but are at worst heard with patience, and forgotten. Theyinfluence weak minds to approbation; for many are sure to find in a newacquaintance, whatever qualities report has taught them to expect; andin more powerful and active understandings they excite curiosity, andsometimes, by a lucky chance, bring persons of similar tempers withinthe attraction of each other.

I was known to possess a fortune, and to want a wife; and therefore wasfrequently attended by these hymeneal solicitors, with whose importunityI was sometimes diverted, and sometimes perplexed; for they contendedfor me as vultures for a carcase; each employing all his eloquence, andall his artifices, to enforce and promote his own scheme, from thesuccess of which he was to receive no other advantage than the pleasureof defeating others equally eager, and equally industrious.

An invitation to sup with one of those busy friends, made me, by aconcerted chance, acquainted with Camilla, by whom it was expected thatI should be suddenly and irresistibly enslaved. The lady, whom the samekindness had brought without her own concurrence into the lists of love,seemed to think me at least worthy of the honour of captivity; andexerted the power, both of her eyes and wit, with so much art andspirit, that though I had been too often deceived by appearances todevote myself irrevocably at the first interview, yet I could notsuppress some raptures of admiration, and flutters of desire. I waseasily persuaded to make nearer approaches; but soon discovered, that anunion with Camilla was not much to be wished. Camilla professed aboundless contempt for the folly, levity, ignorance, and impertinence ofher own sex; and very frequently expressed her wonder that men oflearning or experience could submit to trifle away life with beingsincapable of solid thought. In mixed companies, she always associatedwith the men, and declared her satisfaction when the ladies retired. Ifany short excursion into the country was proposed, she commonly insistedupon the exclusion of women from the party; because, where they wereadmitted, the time was wasted in frothy compliments, weak indulgences,and idle ceremonies. To shew the greatness of her mind, she avoided allcompliance with the fashion; and to boast the profundity of herknowledge, mistook the various textures of silk, confounded tabbies withdamasks, and sent for ribands by wrong names. She despised the commerceof stated visits, a farce of empty form without instruction; andcongratulated herself, that she never learned to write message cards.She often applauded the noble sentiment of Plato, who rejoiced that hewas born a man rather than a woman; proclaimed her approbation ofSwift's opinion, that women are only a higher species of monkeys; andconfessed, that when she considered the behaviour, or heard theconversation, of her sex, she could not but forgive the Turks forsuspecting them to want souls.

It was the joy and pride of Camilla to have provoked, by this insolence,all the rage of hatred, and all the persecutions of calumny; nor was sheever more elevated with her own superiority, than when she talked offemale anger, and female cunning. Well, says she, has nature providedthat such virulence should be disabled by folly, and such cruelty berestrained by impotence.

Camilla doubtless expected, that what she lost on one side, she shouldgain on the other; and imagined that every male heart would be open to alady, who made such generous advances to the borders of virility. Butman, ungrateful man, instead of springing forward to meet her, shrunkback at her approach. She was persecuted by the ladies as a deserter,and at best received by the men only as a fugitive. I, for my part,amused myself awhile with her fopperies, but novelty soon gave way todetestation, for nothing out of the common order of nature can be longborne. I had no inclination to a wife who had the ruggedness of a manwithout his force, and the ignorance of a woman without her softness;nor could I think my quiet and honour to be entrusted to such audaciousvirtue as was hourly courting danger, and soliciting assault.

My next mistress was Nitella, a lady of gentle mien, and soft voice,always speaking to approve, and ready to receive direction from thosewith whom chance had brought her into company. In Nitella I promisedmyself an easy friend, with whom I might loiter away the day withoutdisturbance or altercation. I therefore soon resolved to address her,but was discouraged from prosecuting my courtship, by observing, thather apartments were superstitiously regular; and that, unless she hadnotice of my visit, she was never to be seen. There is a kind of anxiouscleanliness which I have always noted as the characteristick of aslattern; it is the superfluous scrupulosity of guilt, dreadingdiscovery, and shunning suspicion: it is the violence of an effortagainst habit, which, being impelled by external motives, cannot stop atthe middle point.

Nitella was always tricked out rather with nicety than elegance; andseldom could forbear to discover, by her uneasiness and constraint, thather attention was burdened, and her imagination engrossed: I thereforeconcluded, that being only occasionally and ambitiously dressed, she wasnot familiarized to her own ornaments. There are so many competitors forthe fame of cleanliness, that it is not hard to gain information ofthose that fail, from those that desire to excel: I quickly found thatNitella passed her time between finery and dirt; and was always in awrapper, night-cap, and slippers, when she was not decorated forimmediate show.

I was then led by my evil destiny to Charybdis, who never neglected anopportunity of seizing a new prey when it came within her reach. Ithought myself quickly made happy by permission to attend her to publickplaces; and pleased my own vanity with imagining the envy which I shouldraise in a thousand hearts, by appearing as the acknowledged favouriteof Charybdis. She soon after hinted her intention to take a ramble for afortnight, into a part of the kingdom which she had never seen. Isolicited the happiness of accompanying her, which, after a shortreluctance, was indulged me. She had no other curiosity on her journey,than after all possible means of expense; and was every moment takingoccasion to mention some delicacy, which I knew it my duty upon suchnotices to procure.

After our return, being now more familiar, she told me, whenever we met,of some new diversion; at night she had notice of a charming companythat would breakfast in the gardens; and in the morning had beeninformed of some new song in the opera, some new dress at the playhouse,or some performer at a concert whom she longed to hear. Her intelligencewas such, that there never was a show, to which she did not summon me onthe second day; and as she hated a crowd, and could not go alone, I wasobliged to attend at some intermediate hour, and pay the price of awhole company. When we passed the streets, she was often charmed withsome trinket in the toy-shops; and from moderate desires of seals andsnuff-boxes, rose, by degrees, to gold and diamonds. I now began to findthe smile of Charybdis too costly for a private purse, and added onemore to six and forty lovers, whose fortune and patience her rapacityhad exhausted.

Imperia then took possession of my affections; but kept them only for ashort time. She had newly inherited a large fortune, and having spentthe early part of her life in the perusal of romances, brought with herinto the gay world all the pride of Cleopatra; expected nothing lessthan vows, altars, and sacrifices; and thought her charms dishonoured,and her power infringed, by the softest opposition to her sentiments, orthe smallest transgression of her commands. Time might indeed cure thisspecies of pride in a mind not naturally undiscerning, and vitiated onlyby false representations; but the operations of time are slow; and Itherefore left her to grow wise at leisure, or to continue in errour ather own expense.

Thus I have hitherto, in spite of myself, passed my life in frozencelibacy. My friends, indeed, often tell me, that I flatter myimagination with higher hopes than human nature can gratify; that Idress up an ideal charmer in all the radiance of perfection, and thenenter the world to look for the same excellence in corporeal beauty. Butsurely, Mr. Rambler, it is not madness to hope for some terrestrial ladyunstained by the spots which I have been describing; at least I amresolved to pursue my search; for I am so far from thinking meanly ofmarriage, that I believe it able to afford the highest happiness decreedto our present state; and if, after all these miscarriages, I find awoman that fills up my expectation, you shall hear once more from,

Yours, &c.

HYMENAEUS.

[Footnote c: The arguments of the revered Sir Samuel Romilly on CriminalLaw, have almost been anticipated in this luminous paper, which wouldhave gained praise even for a legislator. On the correction of ourEnglish Criminal Code, see Mr. Buxton's speech in the House of Commons,1820. It is a fund of practical information, and, apart from its ownmerits, will repay perusal by the valuable collection of opinions whichit contains on this momentous and interesting subject. ED.]

No. 116. SATURDAY, APRIL 27, 1751.

Optat ephippia bos piger: optat arare caballus.
HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xiv. 43.

Thus the slow ox would gaudy trappings claim;
The sprightly horse would plough.—FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I was the second son of a country gentleman by the daughter of a wealthycitizen of London. My father having by his marriage freed the estatefrom a heavy mortgage, and paid his sisters their portions, thoughthimself discharged from all obligation to further thought, and entitledto spend the rest of his life in rural pleasures. He therefore sparednothing that might contribute to the completion of his felicity; heprocured the best guns and horses that the kingdom could supply, paidlarge salaries to his groom and huntsman, and became the envy of thecountry for the discipline of his hounds. But, above all his otherattainments, he was eminent for a breed of pointers and setting-dogs,which by long and vigilant cultivation he had so much improved, that nota partridge or heathco*ck could rest in security, and game of whateverspecies that dared to light upon his manor, was beaten down by his shot,or covered with his nets.

My elder brother was very early initiated in the chace, and, at an agewhen other boys are creeping like snails unwillingly to school, hecould wind the horn, beat the bushes, bound over hedges, and swimrivers. When the huntsman one day broke his leg, he supplied his placewith equal abilities, and came home with the scut in his hat, amidst theacclamations of the whole village. I being either delicate or timorous,less desirous of honour, or less capable of sylvan heroism, was alwaysthe favourite of my mother; because I kept my coat clean, and mycomplexion free from freckles, and did not come home, like my brother,mired and tanned, nor carry corn in my hat to the horse, nor bring dirtycurs into the parlour.

My mother had not been taught to amuse herself with books, and beingmuch inclined to despise the ignorance and barbarity of the countryladies, disdained to learn their sentiments or conversation, and hadmade no addition to the notions which she had brought from the precinctsof Cornhill. She was, therefore, always recounting the glories of thecity; enumerating the succession of mayors; celebrating the magnificenceof the banquets at Guildhall; and relating the civilities paid her atthe companies' feasts by men of whom some are now made aldermen, somehave fined for sheriffs, and none are worth less than forty thousandpounds. She frequently displayed her father's greatness; told of thelarge bills which he had paid at sight; of the sums for which his wordwould pass upon the Exchange; the heaps of gold which he used onSaturday night to toss about with a shovel; the extent of his warehouse,and the strength of his doors; and when she relaxed her imagination withlower subjects, described the furniture of their country-house, orrepeated the wit of the clerks and porters.

By these narratives I was fired with the splendour and dignity ofLondon, and of trade. I therefore devoted myself to a shop, and warmedmy imagination from year to year with inquiries about the privileges ofa freeman, the power of the common council, the dignity of a wholesaledealer, and the grandeur of mayoralty, to which my mother assured methat many had arrived who began the world with less than myself.

I was very impatient to enter into a path, which led to such honour andfelicity; but was forced for a time to endure some repression of myeagerness, for it was my grandfather's maxim, that a young man seldommakes much money, who is out of his time before two-and-twenty. Theythought it necessary, therefore, to keep me at home till the proper age,without any other employment than that of learning merchants' accounts,and the art of regulating books; but at length the tedious days elapsed,I was transplanted to town, and, with great satisfaction to myself,bound to a haberdasher.

My master, who had no conception of any virtue, merit, or dignity, butthat of being rich, had all the good qualities which naturally arisefrom a close and unwearied attention to the main chance; his desire togain wealth was so well tempered by the vanity of shewing it, thatwithout any other principle of action, he lived in the esteem of thewhole commercial world; and was always treated with respect by the onlymen whose good opinion he valued or solicited, those who wereuniversally allowed to be richer than himself.

By his instructions I learned in a few weeks to handle a yard with greatdexterity, to wind tape neatly upon the ends of my fingers, and to makeup parcels with exact frugality of paper and packthread; and soon caughtfrom my fellow-apprentices the true grace of a counter-bow, the carelessair with which a small pair of scales is to be held between the fingers,and the vigour and sprightliness with which the box, after the ribandhas been cut, is returned into its place. Having no desire of any higheremployment, and therefore applying all my powers to the knowledge of mytrade, I was quickly master of all that could be known, became a critickin small wares, contrived new variations of figures, and new mixtures ofcolours, and was sometimes consulted by the weavers when they projectedfashions for the ensuing spring.

With all these accomplishments, in the fourth year of my apprenticeship,I paid a visit to my friends in the country, where I expected to bereceived as a new ornament of the family, and consulted by theneighbouring gentlemen as a master of pecuniary knowledge, and by theladies as an oracle of the mode. But, unhappily, at the first publicktable to which I was invited, appeared a student of the Temple, and anofficer of the guards, who looked upon me with a smile of contempt,which destroyed at once all my hopes of distinction, so that I dursthardly raise my eyes for fear of encountering their superiority of mien.Nor was my courage revived by any opportunities of displaying myknowledge; for the templar entertained the company for part of the daywith historical narratives and political observations; and the colonelafterwards detailed the adventures of a birth-night, told the claims andexpectations of the courtiers, and gave an account of assemblies,gardens, and diversions. I, indeed, essayed to fill up a pause in aparliamentary debate with a faint mention of trade and Spaniards; andonce attempted, with some warmth, to correct a gross mistake about asilver breast-knot; but neither of my antagonists seemed to think areply necessary; they resumed their discourse without emotion, and againengrossed the attention of the company; nor did one of the ladies appeardesirous to know my opinion of her dress, or to hear how long thecarnation shot with white, that was then new amongst them, had beenantiquated in town.

As I knew that neither of these gentlemen had more money than myself, Icould not discover what had depressed me in their presence; nor why theywere considered by others as more worthy of attention and respect; andtherefore resolved, when we met again, to rouse my spirit, and forcemyself into notice. I went very early to the next weekly meeting, andwas entertaining a small circle very successfully with a minuterepresentation of my lord mayor's show, when the colonel enteredcareless and gay, sat down with a kind of unceremonious civility, andwithout appearing to intend any interruption, drew my audience away tothe other part of the room, to which I had not the courage to followthem. Soon after came in the lawyer, not indeed with the same attractionof mien, but with greater powers of language: and by one or other thecompany was so happily amused, that I was neither heard nor seen, norwas able to give any other proof of my existence than that I put roundthe glass, and was in my turn permitted to name the toast.

My mother, indeed, endeavoured to comfort me in my vexation, by tellingme, that perhaps these showy talkers were hardly able to pay every onehis own; that he who has money in his pocket need not care what any mansays of him; that, if I minded my trade, the time will come when lawyersand soldiers would be glad to borrow out of my purse; and that it isfine, when a man can set his hands to his sides, and say he is worthforty thousand pounds every day of the year. These and many more suchconsolations and encouragements, I received from my good mother, which,however, did not much allay my uneasiness; for having by some accidentheard, that the country ladies despised her as a cit, I had therefore nolonger much reverence for her opinions, but considered her as one whoseignorance and prejudice had hurried me, though without ill intentions,into a state of meanness and ignominy, from which I could not find anypossibility of rising to the rank which my ancestors had always held.

I returned, however, to my master, and busied myself among thread, andsilks, and laces, but without my former cheerfulness and alacrity. I hadnow no longer any felicity in contemplating the exact disposition of mypowdered curls, the equal plaits of my ruffles, or the glossy blacknessof my shoes; nor heard with my former elevation those compliments whichladies sometimes condescended to pay me upon my readiness in twisting apaper, or counting out the change. The term of Young Man, with which Iwas sometimes honoured, as I carried a parcel to the door of a coach,tortured my imagination; I grew negligent of my person, and sullen in mytemper; often mistook the demands of the customers, treated theircaprices and objections with contempt, and received and dismissed themwith surly silence.

My master was afraid lest the shop should suffer by this change of mybehaviour; and, therefore, after some expostulations, posted me in thewarehouse, and preserved me from the danger and reproach of desertion,to which my discontent would certainly have urged me, had I continuedany longer behind the counter.

In the sixth year of my servitude my brother died of drunken joy, forhaving run down a fox that had baffled all the packs in the province. Iwas now heir, and with the hearty consent of my master commencedgentleman. The adventures in which my new character engaged me shall becommunicated in another letter, by, Sir,

Yours, &c.

MISOCAPELUS.

No. 117. TUESDAY, APRIL 30, 1751.

[Greek: Hossan ep Oulumpo memasan Themen autar ep Ossae
Paelion einosiphullon, in ouranos ambatos eiae.] HOMER, Od.
[Greek: L] 314.

The gods they challenge, and affect the skies:
Heav'd on Olympus tott'ring Ossa stood;
On Ossa, Pelion nods with all his wood. POPE.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Nothing has more retarded the advancement of learning than thedisposition of vulgar minds to ridicule and vilify what they cannotcomprehend. All industry must be excited by hope; and as the studentoften proposes no other reward to himself than praise, he is easilydiscouraged by contempt and insult. He who brings with him into aclamorous multitude the timidity of recluse speculation, and has neverhardened his front in publick life, or accustomed his passions to thevicissitudes and accidents, the triumphs and defeats of mixedconversation, will blush at the stare of petulant incredulity, andsuffer himself to be driven by a burst of laughter, from the fortressesof demonstration. The mechanist will be afraid to assert before hardycontradiction, the possibility of tearing down bulwarks with asilk-worm's thread; and the astronomer of relating the rapidity oflight, the distance of the fixed stars, and the height of the lunarmountains.

If I could by any efforts have shaken off this cowardice, I had notsheltered myself under a borrowed name, nor applied to you for the meansof communicating to the publick the theory of a garret; a subject which,except some slight and transient strictures, has been hitherto neglectedby those who were best qualified to adorn it, either for want of leisureto prosecute the various researches in which a nice discussion mustengage them, or because it requires such diversity of knowledge, andsuch extent of curiosity, as is scarcely to be found in any singleintellect: or perhaps others foresaw the tumults which would be raisedagainst them, and confined their knowledge to their own breasts, andabandoned prejudice and folly to the direction of chance.

That the professors of literature generally reside in the higheststories, has been immemorially observed. The wisdom of the ancients waswell acquainted with the intellectual advantages of an elevatedsituation: why else were the Muses stationed on Olympus or Parnassus, bythose who could with equal right have raised them bowers in the vale ofTempe, or erected their altars among the flexures of Meander? Why wasJove himself nursed upon a mountain? or why did the goddesses, when theprize of beauty was contested, try the cause upon the top of Ida? Suchwere the fictions by which the great masters of the earlier agesendeavoured to inculcate to posterity the importance of a garret, which,though they had been long obscured by the negligence and ignorance ofsucceeding times, were well enforced by the celebrated symbol ofPythagoras, [Greek: anemon pneonton taen aecho proskunei]; "when thewind blows, worship its echo." This could not but be understood by hisdisciples as an inviolable injunction to live in a garret, which I havefound frequently visited by the echo and the wind. Nor was the traditionwholly obliterated in the age of Augustus, for Tibullus evidentlycongratulates himself upon his garret, not without some allusion to thePythagorean precept:

Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem—
Aut, gelidas hibernus aquas quum fuderit Auster,
Securum somnos imbre juvante sequi! Lib. i. El. i. 45.

How sweet in sleep to pass the careless hours,
Lull'd by the beating winds and dashing show'rs!

And it is impossible not to discover the fondness of Lucretius, anearlier writer, for a garret, in his description of the lofty towers ofserene learning, and of the pleasure with which a wise man looks downupon the confused and erratick state of the world moving below him:

Sed nil dulcius est, bene quam munita tenere
Edita doctrina Sapientum templa serena;
Despicere unde queas alios, passimque videre
Errare, atque viam palanteis quaerere vitae. Lib. ii. 7.

—'Tis sweet thy lab'ring steps to guide
To virtue's heights, with wisdom well supplied,
And all the magazines of learning fortified:
From thence to look below on human kind,
Bewilder'd in the maze of life, and blind. DRYDEN.

The institution has, indeed, continued to our own time; the garret isstill the usual receptacle of the philosopher and poet; but this, likemany ancient customs, is perpetuated only by an accidental imitation,without knowledge of the original reason for which it was established.

Causa latet; res est notissima.

The cause is secret, but th' effect is known. ADDISON.

Conjectures have, indeed, been advanced concerning these habitations ofliterature, but without much satisfaction to the judicious inquirer.Some have imagined, that the garret is generally chosen by the wits asmost easily rented; and concluded that no man rejoices in his aerialabode, but on the days of payment. Others suspect, that a garret ischiefly convenient, as it is remoter than any other part of the housefrom the outer door, which is often observed to be infested byvisitants, who talk incessantly of beer, or linen, or a coat, and repeatthe same sounds every morning, and sometimes again in the afternoon,without any variation, except that they grow daily more importunate andclamorous, and raise their voices in time from mournful murmurs toraging vociferations. This eternal monotony is always detestable to aman whose chief pleasure is to enlarge his knowledge, and vary hisideas. Others talk of freedom from noise, and abstraction from commonbusiness or amusem*nts; and some, yet more visionary, tell us, that thefaculties are enlarged by open prospects, and that the fancy is at moreliberty, when the eye ranges without confinement.

These conveniences may perhaps all be found in a well-chosen garret; butsurely they cannot be supposed sufficiently important to have operatedunvariably upon different climates, distant ages, and separate nations.Of an universal practice, there must still be presumed an universalcause, which, however recondite and abstruse, may be perhaps reserved tomake me illustrious by its discovery, and you by its promulgation.

It is universally known that the faculties of the mind are invigoratedor weakened by the state of the body, and that the body is in a greatmeasure regulated by the various compressions of the ambient element.The effects of the air in the production or cure of corporeal maladieshave been acknowledged from the time of Hippocrates; but no man has yetsufficiently considered how far it may influence the operations of thegenius, though every day affords instances of local understanding, ofwits and reasoners, whose faculties are adapted to some single spot, andwho, when they are removed to any other place, sink at once into silenceand stupidity. I have discovered, by a long series of observations, thatinvention and elocution suffer great impediments from dense and impurevapours, and that the tenuity of a defecated air at a proper distancefrom the surface of the earth, accelerates the fancy, and sets atliberty those intellectual powers which were before shackled by toostrong attraction, and unable to expand themselves under the pressure ofa gross atmosphere. I have found dulness to quicken into sentiment in athin ether, as water, though not very hot, boils in a receiver partlyexhausted; and heads, in appearance empty, have teemed with notions uponrising ground, as the flaccid sides of a football would have swelled outinto stiffness and extension.

For this reason I never think myself qualified to judge decisively ofany man's faculties, whom I have only known in one degree of elevation;but take some opportunity of attending him from the cellar to thegarret, and try upon him all the various degrees of rarefaction andcondensation, tension and laxity. If he is neither vivacious aloft, norserious below, I then consider him as hopeless; but as it seldomhappens, that I do not find the temper to which the texture of his brainis fitted, I accommodate him in time with a tube of mercury, firstmarking the points most favourable to his intellects, according to ruleswhich I have long studied, and which I may, perhaps, reveal to mankindin a complete treatise of barometrical pneumatology.

Another cause of the gaiety and sprightliness of the dwellers in garretsis probably the increase of that vertiginous motion, with which we arecarried round by the diurnal revolution of the earth. The power ofa*gitation upon the spirits is well known; every man has felt his heartlightened in a rapid vehicle, or on a galloping horse; and nothing isplainer, than that he who towers to the fifth story, is whirled throughmore space by every circumrotation, than another that grovels upon theground-floor. The nations between the topicks are known to be fiery,inconstant, inventive, and fanciful; because, living at the utmostlength of the earth's diameter, they are carried about with moreswiftness than those whom nature has placed nearer to the poles; andtherefore, as it becomes a wise man to struggle with the inconvenienciesof his country, whenever celerity and acuteness are requisite, we mustactuate our languor by taking a few turns round the centre in a garret.

If you imagine that I ascribe to air and motion effects which theycannot produce, I desire you to consult your own memory, and considerwhether you have never known a man acquire reputation in his garret,which, when fortune or a patron had placed him upon the first floor, hewas unable to maintain; and who never recovered his former vigour ofunderstanding, till he was restored to his original situation. That agarret will make every man a wit, I am very far from supposing; I knowthere are some who would continue blockheads even on the summit of theAndes, or on the peak of Teneriffe. But let not any man be considered asunimprovable till this potent remedy has been tried; for perhaps he wasformed to be great only in a garret, as the joiner of Aretaeus wasrational in no other place but his own shop.

I think a frequent removal to various distances from the centre, sonecessary to a just estimate of intellectual abilities, and consequentlyof so great use in education, that if I hoped that the publick could bepersuaded to so expensive an experiment, I would propose, that thereshould be a cavern dug, and a tower erected, like those which Bacondescribes in Solomon's house, for the expansion and concentration ofunderstanding, according to the exigence of different employments, orconstitutions. Perhaps some that fume away in meditations upon time andspace in the tower, might compose tables of interest at a certain depth;and he that upon level ground stagnates in silence, or creeps innarrative, might at the height of half a mile, ferment into merriment,sparkle with repartee, and froth with declamation.

Addison observes, that we may find the heat of Virgil's climate, in somelines of his Georgick: so, when I read a composition, I immediatelydetermine the height of the author's habitation. As an elaborateperformance is commonly said to smell of the lamp, my commendation of anoble thought, a sprightly sally, or a bold figure, is to pronounce itfresh from the garret; an expression which would break from me upon theperusal of most of your papers, did I not believe, that you sometimesquit the garret, and ascend into the co*ck-loft.

HYPERTATUS.

No. 118. SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1751.

—Omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longâ
Nocte. Hon. Lib. iv. Ode ix. 26.

In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown. FRANCIS.

Cicero has, with his usual elegance and magnificence of language,attempted, in his relation of the dream of Scipio, to depreciate thosehonours for which he himself appears to have panted with restlesssolicitude, by shewing within what narrow limits all that fame andcelebrity which man can hope for from men is circ*mscribed.

"You see," says Africanus, pointing at the earth, from the celestialregions, "that the globe assigned to the residence and habitation ofhuman beings is of small dimensions: how then can you obtain from thepraise of men, any glory worthy of a wish? Of this little world theinhabited parts are neither numerous nor wide; even the spots where menare to be found are broken by intervening deserts, and the nations areso separated as that nothing can be transmitted from one to another.With the people of the south, by whom the opposite part of the earth ispossessed, you have no intercourse; and by how small a tract do youcommunicate with the countries of the north? The territory which youinhabit is no more than a scanty island, inclosed by a small body ofwater, to which you give the name of the great sea and the Atlantickocean. And even in this known and frequented continent, what hope canyou entertain, that your renown will pass the stream of Ganges, or thecliffs of Caucasus? or by whom will your name be uttered in theextremities of the north or south, towards the rising or the settingsun? So narrow is the space to which your fame can be propagated; andeven there how long will it remain?"

He then proceeds to assign natural causes why fame is not only narrow inits extent, but short in its duration; he observes the differencebetween the computation of time in earth and heaven, and declares, thataccording to the celestial chronology, no human honours can last asingle year.

Such are the objections by which Tully has made a shew of discouragingthe pursuit of fame; objections which sufficiently discover histenderness and regard for his darling phantom. Homer, when the plan ofhis poem made the death of Patroclus necessary, resolved, at least, thathe should die with honour; and therefore brought down against him thepatron god of Troy, and left to Hector only the mean task of giving thelast blow to an enemy whom a divine hand had disabled from resistance.Thus Tully ennobles fame, which he professes to degrade, by opposing itto celestial happiness; he confines not its extent but by the boundariesof nature, nor contracts its duration but by representing it small inthe estimation of superior beings. He still admits it the highest andnoblest of terrestrial objects, and alleges little more against it, thanthat it is neither without end, nor without limits.

What might be the effect of these observations conveyed in Ciceronianeloquence to Roman understandings, cannot be determined; but few ofthose who shall in the present age read my humble version will findthemselves much depressed in their hopes, or retarded in their designs;for I am not inclined to believe, that they who among us pass theirlives in the cultivation of knowledge, or acquisition of power, havevery anxiously inquired what opinions prevail on the further banks ofthe Ganges, or invigorated any effort by the desire of spreading theirrenown among the clans of Caucasus. The hopes and fears of modern mindsare content to range in a narrower compass; a single nation, and a fewyears, have generally sufficient amplitude to fill our imaginations.

A little consideration will indeed teach us, that fame has other limitsthan mountains and oceans; and that he who places happiness in thefrequent repetition of his name, may spend his life in propagating it,without any danger of weeping for new worlds, or necessity of passingthe Atlantick sea.

The numbers to whom any real and perceptible good or evil can be derivedby the greatest power, or most active diligence, are inconsiderable; andwhere neither benefit nor mischief operate, the only motive to themention or remembrance of others is curiosity; a passion, which, thoughin some degree universally associated to reason, is easily confined,overborne, or diverted from any particular object.

Among the lower classes of mankind, there will be found very littledesire of any other knowledge, than what may contribute immediately tothe relief of some pressing uneasiness, or the attainment of some nearadvantage. The Turks are said to hear with wonder a proposal to walkout, only that they may walk back; and inquire why any man should labourfor nothing: so those whose condition has always restrained them to thecontemplation of their own necessities, and who have been accustomed tolook forward only to a small distance, will scarcely understand, whynights and days should be spent in studies, which end in new studies,and which, according to Malherbe's observation, do not tend to lessenthe price of bread; nor will the trader or manufacturer easily bepersuaded, that much pleasure can arise from the mere knowledge ofactions, performed in remote regions, or in distant times; or that anything can deserve their inquiry, of which, [Greek: kleos oion akouomen,oide ti idmen], we can only hear the report, but which cannot influenceour lives by any consequences.

The truth is, that very few have leisure from indispensable business, toemploy their thoughts upon narrative or characters; and among those towhom fortune has given the liberty of living more by their own choice,many create to themselves engagements, by the indulgence of some pettyambition, the admission of some insatiable desire, or the toleration ofsome predominant passion. The man whose whole wish is to accumulatemoney, has no other care than to collect interest, to estimatesecurities, and to engage for mortgages: the lover disdains to turn hisear to any other name than that of Corinna; and the courtier thinks thehour lost which is not spent in promoting his interest, and facilitatinghis advancement. The adventures of valour, and the discoveries ofscience, will find a cold reception, when they are obtruded upon anattention thus busy with its favourite amusem*nt, and impatient ofinterruption or disturbance.

But not only such employments as seduce attention by appearances ofdignity, or promises of happiness, may restrain the mind from excursionand inquiry; curiosity may be equally destroyed by less formidableenemies; it may be dissipated in trifles, or congealed by indolence. Thesportsman and the man of dress have their heads filled with a fox or ahorse-race, a feather or a ball; and live in ignorance of every thingbeside, with as much content as he that heaps up gold, or solicitspreferment, digs the field, or beats the anvil; and some yet lower inthe ranks of intellect, dream out their days without pleasure orbusiness, without joy or sorrow, nor ever rouse from their lethargy tohear or think.

Even of those who have dedicated themselves to knowledge, the fargreater part have confined their curiosity to a few objects, and havevery little inclination to promote any fame, but that which their ownstudies entitle them to partake. The naturalist has no desire to knowthe opinions or conjectures of the philologer: the botanist looks uponthe astronomer as a being unworthy of his regard: the lawyer scarcelyhears the name of a physician without contempt; and he that is growinggreat and happy by electrifying a bottle, wonders how the world can beengaged by trifling prattle about war or peace.

If, therefore, he that imagines the world filled with his actions andpraises, shall subduct from the number of his encomiasts, all those whoare placed below the flight of fame, and who hear in the valleys of lifeno voice but that of necessity; all those who imagine themselves tooimportant to regard him, and consider the mention of his name as anusurpation of their time; all who are too much or too little pleasedwith themselves, to attend to any thing external; all who are attractedby pleasure, or chained down by pain, to unvaried ideas; all who arewithheld from attending his triumph by different pursuits; and all whoslumber in universal negligence; he will find his renown straitened bynearer bounds than the rocks of Caucasus, and perceive that no man canbe venerable or formidable, but to a small part of his fellow-creatures.

That we may not languish in our endeavours after excellence, it isnecessary, that, as Africanus counsels his descendant, "we raise oureyes to higher prospects, and contemplate our future and eternal state,without giving up our hearts to the praise of crowds, or fixing ourhopes on such rewards as human power can bestow."

No. 119. TUESDAY, MAY 7, 1751.

Iliacos intra muros peccatur, et extra. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. ii, 16.

Faults lay on either side the Trojan tow'rs. ELPHINSTON.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

As, notwithstanding all that wit, or malice, or pride, or prudence willbe able to suggest, men and women must at last pass their livestogether, I have never therefore thought those writers friends to humanhappiness, who endeavour to excite in either sex a general contempt orsuspicion of the other. To persuade them who are entering the world, andlooking abroad for a suitable associate, that all are equally vicious,or equally ridiculous; that they who trust are certainly betrayed, andthey who esteem are always disappointed; is not to awaken judgment, butto inflame temerity. Without hope there can be no caution. Those who areconvinced, that no reason for preference can be found, will never harasstheir thoughts with doubt and deliberation; they will resolve, sincethey are doomed to misery, that no needless anxiety shall disturb theirquiet; they will plunge at hazard into the crowd, and snatch the firsthand that shall be held toward them.

That the world is over-run with vice, cannot be denied; but vice,however predominant, has not yet gained an unlimited dominion. Simpleand unmingled good is not in our power, but we may generally escape agreater evil by suffering a less; and therefore, those who undertake toinitiate the young and ignorant in the knowledge of life, should becareful to inculcate the possibility of virtue and happiness, and toencourage endeavours by prospects of success.

You, perhaps, do not suspect, that these are the sentiments of one whohas been subject for many years to all the hardships of antiquatedvirginity; has been long accustomed to the coldness of neglect, and thepetulance of insult; has been mortified in full assemblies by inquiriesafter forgotten fashions, games long disused, and wits and beauties ofancient renown; has been invited, with malicious importunity, to thesecond wedding of many acquaintances; has been ridiculed by twogenerations of coquets in whispers intended to be heard; and been longconsidered by the airy and gay, as too venerable for familiarity, andtoo wise for pleasure. It is indeed natural for injury to provoke anger,and by continual repetition to produce an habitual asperity; yet I havehitherto struggled with so much vigilance against my pride and myresentment, that I have preserved my temper uncorrupted. I have not yetmade it any part of my employment to collect sentences against marriage;nor am inclined to lessen the number of the few friends whom time hasleft me, by obstructing that happiness which I cannot partake, andventing my vexation in censures of the forwardness and indiscretion ofgirls, or the inconstancy, tastelessness, and perfidy of men.

It is, indeed, not very difficult to bear that condition to which we arenot condemned by necessity, but induced by observation and choice; andtherefore I, perhaps, have never yet felt all the malignity with which areproach, edged with the appellation of old maid, swells some of thosehearts in which it is infixed. I was not condemned in my youth tosolitude, either by indigence or deformity, nor passed the earlier partof life without the flattery of courtship, and the joys of triumph. Ihave danced the round of gaiety amidst the murmurs of envy, andgratulations of applause; been attended from pleasure to pleasure by thegreat, the sprightly, and the vain; and seen my regard solicited by theobsequiousness of gallantry, the gaiety of wit, and the timidity oflove. If, therefore, I am yet a stranger to nuptial happiness, I sufferonly the consequences of my own resolves, and can look back upon thesuccession of lovers, whose addresses I have rejected, without grief,and without malice.

When my name first began to be inscribed upon glasses, I was honouredwith the amorous professions of the gay Venustulus, a gentleman, who,being the only son of a wealthy family, had been educated in all thewantonness of expense, and softness of effeminacy. He was beautiful inhis person, and easy in his address, and, therefore, soon gained upon myeye at an age when the sight is very little over-ruled by theunderstanding. He had not any power in himself of gladdening or amusing;but supplied his want of conversation by treats and diversions; and hischief art of courtship was to fill the mind of his mistress withparties, rambles, musick, and shows. We were often engaged in shortexcursions to gardens and seats, and I was for a while pleased with thecare which Venustulus discovered in securing me from any appearance ofdanger, or possibility of mischance. He never failed to recommendcaution to his coachman, or to promise the waterman a reward if helanded us safe; and always contrived to return by daylight, for fear ofrobbers. This extraordinary solicitude was represented for a time as theeffect of his tenderness for me; but fear is too strong for continuedhypocrisy. I soon discovered that Venustulus had the cowardice as wellas elegance of a female. His imagination was perpetually clouded withterrours, and he could scarcely refrain from screams and outcries at anyaccidental surprise. He durst not enter a room if a rat was heard behindthe wainscot, nor cross a field where the cattle were frisking in thesunshine; the least breeze that waved upon the river was a storm, andevery clamour in the street was a cry of fire. I have seen him lose hiscolour when my squirrel had broke his chain; and was forced to throwwater in his face on the sudden entrance of a black cat. Compassion onceobliged me to drive away with my fan, a beetle that kept him indistress, and chide off a dog that yelped at his heels, to which hewould gladly have given up me to facilitate his own escape. Womennaturally expect defence and protection from a lover or a husband, and,therefore, you will not think me culpable in refusing a wretch, whowould have burdened life with unnecessary fears, and flown to me forthat succour which it was his duty to have given.

My next lover was Fungoso, the son of a stockjobber, whose visits myfriends, by the importunity of persuasion, prevailed upon me to allow.Fungoso was no very suitable companion; for having been bred in acounting-house, he spoke a language unintelligible in any other place.He had no desire of any reputation but that of an acute prognosticatorof the changes in the funds; nor had any means of raising merriment, butby telling how somebody was overreached in a bargain by his father. Hewas, however, a youth of great sobriety and prudence, and frequentlyinformed us how carefully he would improve my fortune. I was not inhaste to conclude the match, but was so much awed by my parents, that Idurst not dismiss him, and might, perhaps, have been doomed for ever tothe grossness of pedlary, and the jargon of usury, had not a fraud beendiscovered in the settlement, which set me free from the persecution ofgrovelling pride, and pecuniary impudence. I was afterwards six monthswithout any particular notice but at last became the idol of theglittering Flosculus, who prescribed the mode of embroidery to all thefops of his time, and varied at pleasure the co*ck of every hat, and thesleeve of every coat that appeared in fashionable assemblies. Flosculusmade some impression upon my heart by a compliment which few ladies canhear without emotion; he commended my skill in dress, my judgment insuiting colours, and my art in disposing ornaments. But Flosculus wastoo much engaged by his own elegance, to be sufficiently attentive tothe duties of a lover, or to please with varied praise an ear madedelicate by riot of adulation. He expected to be repaid part of histribute, and staid away three days, because I neglected to take noticeof a new coat. I quickly found, that Flosculus was rather a rival thanan admirer; and that we should probably live in a perpetual struggle ofemulous finery, and spend our lives in stratagems to be first in thefashion.

I had soon after the honour at a feast of attracting the eyes ofDentatus, one of those human beings whose only happiness is to dine.Dentatus regaled me with foreign varieties, told me of measures that hehad laid for procuring the best cook in France, and entertained me withbills of fare, prescribed the arrangement of dishes, and taught me twosauces invented by himself. At length, such is the uncertainty of humanhappiness, I declared my opinion too hastily upon a pie made under hisown direction; after which he grew so cold and negligent, that he waseasily dismissed.

Many other lovers, or pretended lovers, I have had the honour to leadawhile in triumph. But two of them I drove from me, by discovering thatthey had no taste or knowledge in musick; three I dismissed, becausethey were drunkards; two, because they paid their addresses at the sametime to other ladies; and six, because they attempted to influence mychoice by bribing my maid. Two more I discarded at the second visit forobscene allusions; and five for drollery on religion. In the latter partof my reign, I sentenced two to perpetual exile, for offering mesettlements, by which the children of a former marriage would have beeninjured; four, for representing falsely the value of their estates;three for concealing their debts; and one, for raising the rent of adecrepit tenant.

I have now sent you a narrative, which the ladies may oppose, to thetale of Hymenaeus. I mean not to depreciate the sex which has producedpoets and philosophers, heroes and martyrs; but will not suffer therising generation of beauties to be dejected by partial satire; or toimagine that those who censured them have not likewise their follies,and their vices. I do not yet believe happiness unattainable inmarriage, though I have never yet been able to find a man, with whom Icould prudently venture an inseparable union. It is necessary to exposefaults, that their deformity may be seen; but the reproach ought not tobe extended beyond the crime, nor either sex to be contemned, becausesome women, or men, are indelicate or dishonest.

I am, &c.

TRANQUILLA.

No. 120. SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1751.

Redditum Cyri solio Phraaten.
Dissidens plebi, numero beatorum
Eiimit virtus, populumque falsis
Dedocet uti
Vocibus.—HOR. Lib. ii. Od. ii. 17.

True virtue can the crowd unteach
Their false mistaken forms of speech;
Virtue, to crowds a foe profest,
Disdains to number with the blest
Phraates, by his slaves ador'd,
And to the Parthian crown restor'd. FRANCIS.

In the reign of Jenghiz Can, conqueror of the east, in the city ofSamarcand, lived Nouradin the merchant, renowned throughout all theregions of India, for the extent of his commerce, and the integrity ofhis dealings. His warehouses were filled with all the commodities of theremotest nations; every rarity of nature, every curiosity of art,whatever was valuable, whatever was useful, hasted to his hand. Thestreets were crowded with his carriages; the sea was covered with hisships; the streams of Oxus were wearied with conveyance, and everybreeze of the sky wafted wealth to Nouradin.

At length Nouradin felt himself seized with a slow malady, which hefirst endeavoured to divert by application, and afterwards to relieve byluxury and indulgence; but finding his strength every day less, he wasat last terrified, and called for help upon the sages of physick; theyfilled his apartments with alexipharmicks, restoratives, and essentialvirtues; the pearls of the ocean were dissolved, the spices of Arabiawere distilled, and all the powers of nature were employed to give newspirits to his nerves, and new balsam to his blood. Nouradin was forsome time amused with promises, invigorated with cordials, or soothedwith anodynes; but the disease preyed upon his vitals, and he soondiscovered with indignation, that health was not to be bought. He wasconfined to his chamber, deserted by his physicians, and rarely visitedby his friends; but his unwillingness to die flattered him long withhopes of life.

At length, having passed the night in tedious languor, he called to himAlmamoulin, his only son, and dismissing his attendants, "My son," sayshe, "behold here the weakness and fragility of man; look backward a fewdays, thy father was great and happy, fresh as the vernal rose, andstrong as the cedar of the mountain; the nations of Asia drank his dews,and art and commerce delighted in his shade. Malevolence beheld me, andsighed: 'His root,' she cried, 'is fixed in the depths; it is watered bythe fountains of Oxus; it sends out branches afar, and bids defiance tothe blast; prudence reclines against his trunk, and prosperity dances onhis top.' Now, Almamoulin, look upon me withering and prostrate; lookupon me, and attend. I have trafficked, I have prospered, I have riotedin gain; my house is splendid, my servants are numerous; yet I displayedonly a small part of my riches; the rest, which I was hindered fromenjoying by the fear of raising envy, or tempting rapacity, I have piledin towers, I have buried in caverns, I have hidden in secretrepositories, which this scroll will discover. My purpose was, after tenmonths more spent in commerce, to have withdrawn my wealth to a safercountry; to have given seven years to delight and festivity, and theremaining part of my days to solitude and repentance; but the hand ofdeath is upon me; a frigorifick torpor encroaches upon my veins; I amnow leaving the produce of my toil, which it must be thy business toenjoy with wisdom." The thought of leaving his wealth filled Nouradinwith such grief, that he fell into convulsions, became delirious, andexpired.

Almamoulin, who loved his father, was touched a while with honestsorrow, and sat two hours in profound meditation, without perusing thepaper which he held in his hand. He then retired to his own chamber, asoverborne with affliction, and there read the inventory of his newpossessions, which swelled his heart with such transports, that he nolonger lamented his father's death. He was now sufficiently composed toorder a funeral of modest magnificence, suitable at once to the rank ofNouradin's profession, and the reputation of his wealth. The two nextnights he spent in visiting the tower and the caverns, and found thetreasures greater to his eye than to his imagination.

Almamoulin had been bred to the practice of exact frugality, and hadoften looked with envy on the finery and expenses of other young men: hetherefore believed, that happiness was now in his power, since he couldobtain all of which he had hitherto been accustomed to regret the want.He resolved to give a loose to his desires, to revel in enjoyment, andfeel pain or uneasiness no more.

He immediately procured a splendid equipage, dressed his servants inrich embroidery, and covered his horses with golden caparisons. Heshowered down silver on the populace, and suffered their acclamations toswell him with insolence. The nobles saw him with anger, the wise men ofthe state combined against him, the leaders of armies threatened hisdestruction. Almamoulin was informed of his danger: he put on the robeof mourning in the presence of his enemies, and appeased them with gold,and gems, and supplication.

He then sought to strengthen himself by an alliance with the princes ofTartary, and offered the price of kingdoms for a wife of noble birth.His suit was generally rejected, and his presents refused; but theprincess of Astracan once condescended to admit him to her presence. Shereceived him, sitting on a throne, attired in the robe of royalty, andshining with the jewels of Golconda; command sparkled in her eyes, anddignity towered on her forehead. Almamoulin approached and trembled. Shesaw his confusion and disdained him: "How," says she, "dares the wretchhope my obedience, who thus shrinks at my glance? Retire, and enjoy thyriches in sordid ostentation; thou wast born to be wealthy, but nevercanst be great."

He then contracted his desires to more private and domestick pleasures.He built palaces, he laid out gardens[d], he changed the face of theland, he transplanted forests, he levelled mountains, opened prospectsinto distant regions, poured fountains from the tops of turrets, androlled rivers through new channels.

These amusem*nts pleased him for a time; but languor and weariness sooninvaded him. His bowers lost their fragrance, and the waters murmuredwithout notice. He purchased large tracts of land in distant provinces,adorned them with houses of pleasure, and diversified them withaccommodations for different seasons. Change of place at first relievedhis satiety, but all the novelties of situation were soon exhausted; hefound his heart vacant, and his desires, for want of external objects,ravaging himself.

He therefore returned to Samarcand, and set open his doors to those whomidleness sends out in search of pleasure. His tables were always coveredwith delicacies; wines of every vintage sparkled in his bowls, and hislamps scattered perfumes. The sound of the lute, and the voice of thesinger, chased away sadness; every hour was crowded with pleasure; andthe day ended and began with feasts and dances, and revelry andmerriment. Almamoulin cried out, "I have at last found the use ofriches; I am surrounded by companions, who view my greatness withoutenvy; and I enjoy at once the raptures of popularity, and the safety ofan obscure station. What trouble can he feel, whom all are studious toplease, that they may be repaid with pleasure? What danger can he dread,to whom every man is a friend?"

Such were the thoughts of Almamoulin, as he looked down from a galleryupon the gay assembly regaling at his expense; but, in the midst of thissoliloquy, an officer of justice entered the house, and in the form oflegal citation, summoned Almamoulin to appear before the emperor. Theguests stood awhile aghast, then stole imperceptibly away, and he wasled off without a single voice to witness his integrity. He now foundone of his most frequent visitants accusing him of treason, in hopes ofsharing his confiscation; yet, unpatronized and unsupported, he clearedhimself by the openness of innocence, and the consistence of truth; hewas dismissed with honour, and his accuser perished in prison.

Almamoulin now perceived with how little reason he had hoped for justiceor fidelity from those who live only to gratify their senses; and, beingnow weary with vain experiments upon life and fruitless researches afterfelicity, he had recourse to a sage, who, after spending his youth intravel and observation, had retired from all human cares, to a smallhabitation on the banks of Oxus, where he conversed only with such assolicited his counsel. "Brother," said the philosopher, "thou hastsuffered thy reason to be deluded by idle hopes, and fallaciousappearances. Having long looked with desire upon riches, thou hadsttaught thyself to think them more valuable than nature designed them,and to expect from them, what experience has now taught thee, that theycannot give. That they do not confer wisdom, thou mayest be convinced,by considering at how dear a price they tempted thee, upon thy firstentrance into the world, to purchase the empty sound of vulgaracclamation. That they cannot bestow fortitude or magnanimity, that manmay be certain, who stood trembling at Astracan, before a being notnaturally superior to himself. That they will not supply unexhaustedpleasure, the recollection of forsaken palaces, and neglected gardens,will easily inform thee. That they rarely purchase friends, thou didstsoon discover, when thou wert left to stand thy trial uncountenanced andalone. Yet think not riches useless; there are purposes to which a wiseman may be delighted to apply them; they may, by a rational distributionto those who want them, ease the pains of helpless disease, still thethrobs of restless anxiety, relieve innocence from oppression, and raiseimbecility to cheerfulness and vigour. This they will enable thee toperform, and this will afford the only happiness ordained for ourpresent state, the confidence of Divine favour, and the hope of futurerewards."

[Footnote d: See Vathek.]

No. 121. TUESDAY, MAY 14, 1751.

O imitatores, servum pecus! Hor. Lib. i. Ep. xix. 19.

Away, ye imitators, servile herd! ELPHINSTON.

I have been informed by a letter from one of the universities, thatamong the youth from whom the next swarm of reasoners is to learnphilosophy, and the next flight of beauties to hear elegies and sonnets,there are many, who, instead of endeavouring by books and meditation toform their own opinions, content themselves with the secondaryknowledge, which a convenient bench in a coffee-house can supply; andwithout any examination or distinction, adopt the criticisms andremarks, which happen to drop from those who have risen, by merit orfortune, to reputation and authority.

These humble retailers of knowledge my correspondent stigmatises withthe name of Echoes; and seems desirous that they should be made ashamedof lazy submission, and animated to attempts after new discoveries andoriginal sentiments.

It is very natural for young men to be vehement, acrimonious, andsevere. For, as they seldom comprehend at once all the consequences of aposition, or perceive the difficulties by which cooler and moreexperienced reasoners are restrained from confidence, they form theirconclusions with great precipitance. Seeing nothing that can darken orembarrass the question, they expect to find their own opinionuniversally prevalent, and are inclined to impute uncertainty andhesitation to want of honesty, rather than of knowledge. I may, perhaps,therefore, be reproached by my lively correspondent, when it shall befound, that I have no inclination to persecute these collectors offortuitous knowledge with the severity required; yet, as I am now tooold to be much pained by hasty censure, I shall not be afraid of takinginto protection those whom I think condemned without a sufficientknowledge of their cause.

He that adopts the sentiments of another, whom he has reason to believewiser than himself, is only to be blamed when he claims the honourswhich are not due but to the author, and endeavours to deceive the worldinto praise and veneration; for, to learn, is the proper business ofyouth; and whether we increase our knowledge by books or byconversation, we are equally indebted to foreign assistance.

The greater part of students are not born with abilities to constructsystems, or advance knowledge; nor can have any hope beyond that ofbecoming intelligent hearers in the schools of art, of being able tocomprehend what others discover, and to remember what others teach. Eventhose to whom Providence hath allotted greater strength ofunderstanding, can expect only to improve a single science. In everyother part of learning, they must be content to follow opinions, whichthey are not able to examine; and, even in that which they claim aspeculiarly their own, can seldom add more than some small particle ofknowledge, to the hereditary stock devolved to them from ancient times,the collective labour of a thousand intellects.

In science, which, being fixed and limited, admits of no other varietythan such as arises from new methods of distribution, or new arts ofillustration, the necessity of following the traces of our predecessorsis indisputably evident; but there appears no reason, why imaginationshould be subject to the same restraint. It might be conceived, that ofthose who profess to forsake the narrow paths of truth, every one maydeviate towards a different point, since, though rectitude is uniformand fixed, obliquity may be infinitely diversified. The roads of scienceare narrow, so that they who travel them, must either follow or meet oneanother; but in the boundless regions of possibility, which fictionclaims for her dominion, there are surely a thousand recessesunexplored, a thousand flowers unplucked, a thousand fountainsunexhausted, combinations of imagery yet unobserved, and races of idealinhabitants not hitherto described.

Yet, whatever hope may persuade, or reason evince, experience can boastof very few additions to ancient fable. The wars of Troy, and thetravels of Ulysses, have furnished almost all succeeding poets withincidents, characters, and sentiments. The Romans are confessed to haveattempted little more than to display in their own tongue the inventionsof the Greeks. There is, in all their writings, such a perpetualrecurrence of allusions to the tales of the fabulous age, that they mustbe confessed often to want that power of giving pleasure which noveltysupplies; nor can we wonder that they excelled so much in the graces ofdiction, when we consider how rarely they were employed in search of newthoughts.

The warmest admirers of the great Mantuan poet can extol him for littlemore than the skill with which he has, by making his hero both atraveller and a warrior, united the beauties of the Iliad and theOdyssey in one composition: yet his judgment was perhaps sometimesoverborne by his avarice of the Homeric treasures; and, for fear ofsuffering a sparkling ornament to be lost, he has inserted it where itcannot shine with its original splendour.

When Ulysses visited the infernal regions, he found among the heroesthat perished at Troy, his competitor, Ajax, who, when the arms ofAchilles were adjudged to Ulysses, died by his own hand in the madnessof disappointment. He still appeared to resent, as on earth, his lossand disgrace, Ulysses endeavoured to pacify him with praises andsubmission; but Ajax walked away without reply. This passage has alwaysbeen considered as eminently beautiful; because Ajax, the haughty chief,the unlettered soldier, of unshaken courage, of immovable constancy, butwithout the power of recommending his own virtues by eloquence, orenforcing his assertions by any other argument than the sword, had noway of making his anger known, but by gloomy sullenness and dumbferocity. His hatred of a man whom he conceived to have defeated himonly by volubility of tongue, was therefore naturally shewn by silencemore contemptuous and piercing than any words that so rude an oratorcould have found, and by which he gave his enemy no opportunity ofexerting the only power in which he was superior.

When Æneas is sent by Virgil to the shades, he meets Dido the queen ofCarthage, whom his perfidy had hurried to the grave; he accosts her withtenderness and excuses; but the lady turns away like Ajax in mutedisdain. She turns away like Ajax; but she resembles him in none ofthose qualities which give either dignity or propriety to silence. Shemight, without any departure from the tenour of her conduct, have burstout like other injured women into clamour, reproach, and denunciation;but Virgil had his imagination full of Ajax, and therefore could notprevail on himself to teach Dido any other mode of resentment.

If Virgil could be thus seduced by imitation, there will be little hope,that common wits should escape; and accordingly we find, that besidesthe universal and acknowledged practice of copying the ancients, therehas prevailed in every age a particular species of fiction. At one timeall truth was conveyed in allegory; at another, nothing was seen but ina vision; at one period all the poets followed sheep, and every eventproduced a pastoral; at another they busied themselves wholly in givingdirections to a painter.

It is indeed easy to conceive why any fashion should become popular, bywhich idleness is favoured, and imbecility assisted; but surely no manof genius can much applaud himself for repeating a tale with which theaudience is already tired, and which could bring no honour to any butit* inventor.

There are, I think, two schemes of writing, on which the laborious witsof the present time employ their faculties. One is the adaptation ofsense to all the rhymes which our language can supply to some word, thatmakes the burden of the stanza; but this, as it has been only used in akind of amorous burlesque, can scarcely be censured with much acrimony.The other is the imitation of Spenser, which, by the influence of somemen of learning and genius, seems likely to gain upon the age, andtherefore deserves to be more attentively considered.

To imitate the fictions and sentiments of Spenser can incur no reproach,for allegory is perhaps one of the most pleasing vehicles ofinstruction. But I am very far from extending the same respect to hisdiction or his stanza. His style was in his own time allowed to bevicious, so darkened with old words and peculiarities of phrase, and soremote from common use, that Jonson boldly pronounces him to havewritten no language. His stanza is at once difficult and unpleasing;tiresome to the ear by its uniformity, and to the attention by itslength. It was at first formed in imitation of the Italian poets,without due regard to the genius of our language. The Italians havelittle variety of termination, and were forced to contrive such a stanzaas might admit the greatest number of similar rhymes; but our words endwith so much diversity, that it is seldom convenient for us to bringmore than two of the same sound together. If it be justly observed byMilton, that rhyme obliges poets to express their thoughts in improperterms, these improprieties must always be multiplied, as the difficultyof rhyme is increased by long concatenations.

The imitators of Spenser are indeed not very rigid censors ofthemselves, for they seem to conclude, that when they have disfiguredtheir lines with a few obsolete syllables, they have accomplished theirdesign, without considering that they ought not only to admit old words,but to avoid new. The laws of imitation are broken by every wordintroduced since the time of Spenser, as the character of Hector isviolated by quoting Aristotle in the play. It would, indeed, bedifficult to exclude from a long poem all modern phrases, though it iseasy to sprinkle it with gleanings of antiquity. Perhaps, however, thestyle of Spenser might by long labour be justly copied; but life issurely given us for higher purposes than to gather what our ancestorshave wisely thrown away, and to learn what is of no value, but becauseit has been forgotten.

No. 122. SATURDAY, MAY 18, 1751.

Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine captos
Ducit. OVID, Ex Pon. Lib. i. Ep. iii. 35.

By secret charms our native land attracts.

Nothing is more subject to mistake and disappointment than anticipatedjudgment concerning the easiness or difficulty of any undertaking,whether we form our opinion from the performances of others, or fromabstracted contemplation of the thing to be attempted.

Whatever is done skilfully appears to be done with ease; and art, whenit is once matured to habit, vanishes from observation. We are thereforemore powerfully excited to emulation, by those who have attained thehighest degree of excellence, and whom we can therefore with leastreason hope to equal.

In adjusting the probability of success by a previous consideration ofthe undertaking, we are equally in danger of deceiving ourselves. It isnever easy, nor often possible, to comprise the series of any processwith all its circ*mstances, incidents, and variations, in a speculativescheme. Experience soon shows us the tortuosities of imaginaryrectitude, the complications of simplicity, and the asperities ofsmoothness. Sudden difficulties often start up from the ambushes of art,stop the career of activity, repress the gaiety of confidence, and whenwe imagine ourselves almost at the end of our labours, drive us back tonew plans and different measures.

There are many things which we every day see others unable to perform,and perhaps have even ourselves miscarried in attempting; and yet canhardly allow to be difficult; nor can we forbear to wonder afresh atevery new failure, or to promise certainty of success to our next essay;but when we try, the same hindrances recur, the same inability isperceived, and the vexation of disappointment must again be suffered.

Of the various kinds of speaking or writing, which serve necessity, orpromote pleasure, none appears so artless or easy as simple narration;for what should make him that knows the whole order and progress of anaffair unable to relate it? Yet we hourly find such as endeavour toentertain or instruct us by recitals, clouding the facts which theyintend to illustrate, and losing themselves and their auditors in wildsand mazes, in digression and confusion. When we have congratulatedourselves upon a new opportunity of inquiry, and new means ofinformation, it often happens, that without designing either deceit orconcealment, without ignorance of the fact, or unwillingness to discloseit, the relator fills the ear with empty sounds, harasses the attentionwith fruitless impatience, and disturbs the imagination by a tumult ofevents, without order of time, or train of consequence.

It is natural to believe, upon the same principle, that no writer has amore easy task than the historian. The philosopher has the works ofomniscience to examine; and is therefore engaged in disquisitions, towhich finite intellects are utterly unequal. The poet trusts to hisinvention, and is not only in danger of those inconsistencies, to whichevery one is exposed by departure from truth; but may be censured aswell for deficiencies of matter, as for irregularity of disposition, orimpropriety of ornament. But the happy historian has no other labourthan of gathering what tradition pours down before him, or recordstreasure for his use. He has only the actions and designs of men likehimself to conceive and to relate; he is not to form, but copycharacters, and therefore is not blamed for the inconsistency ofstatesmen, the injustice of tyrants, or the cowardice of commanders. Thedifficulty of making variety consistent, or uniting probability withsurprise, needs not to disturb him; the manners and actions of hispersonages are already fixed; his materials are provided and put intohis hands, and he is at leisure to employ all his powers in arrangingand displaying them.

Yet, even with these advantages, very few in any age have been able toraise themselves to reputation by writing histories; and among theinnumerable authors, who fill every nation with accounts of theirancestors, or undertake to transmit to futurity the events of their owntime, the greater part, when fashion and novelty have ceased torecommend them, are of no other use than chronological memorials, whichnecessity may sometimes require to be consulted, but which fright awaycuriosity, and disgust delicacy.

It is observed, that our nation, which has produced so many authorseminent for almost every other species of literary excellence, has beenhitherto remarkably barren of historical genius; and so far has thisdefect raised prejudices against us, that some have doubted whether anEnglishman can stop at that mediocrity of style, or confine his mind tothat even tenour of imagination, which narrative requires.

They who can believe that nature has so capriciously distributedunderstanding, have surely no claim to the honour of seriousconfutation. The inhabitants of the same country have oppositecharacters in different ages; the prevalence or neglect of anyparticular study can proceed only from the accidental influence of sometemporary cause; and if we have failed in history, we can have failedonly because history has not hitherto been diligently cultivated.

But how is it evident, that we have not historians among us, whom we mayventure to place in comparison with any that the neighbouring nationscan produce? The attempt of Raleigh is deservedly celebrated for thelabour of his researches, and the elegance of his style; but he hasendeavoured to exert his judgment more than his genius, to select facts,rather than adorn them; and has produced an historical dissertation, butseldom risen to the majesty of history.

The works of Clarendon deserve more regard. His diction is indeedneither exact in itself, nor suited to the purpose of history. It is theeffusion of a mind crowded with ideas, and desirous of imparting them;and therefore always accumulating words, and involving one clause andsentence in another. But there is in his negligence a rude inartificialmajesty, which, without the nicety of laboured elegance, swells the mindby its plenitude and diffusion. His narration is not perhapssufficiently rapid, being stopped too frequently by particularities,which, though they might strike the author who was present at thetransactions, will not equally detain the attention of posterity. Buthis ignorance or carelessness of the art of writing is amply compensatedby his knowledge of nature and of policy; the wisdom of his maxims, thejustness of his reasonings, and the variety, distinctness, and strengthof his characters.

But none of our writers can, in my opinion, justly contest thesuperiority of Knolles, who, in his history of the Turks, has displayedall the excellencies that narration can admit. His style, thoughsomewhat obscured by time, and sometimes vitiated by false wit, is pure,nervous, elevated, and clear. A wonderful multiplicity of events is soartfully arranged, and so distinctly explained, that each facilitatesthe knowledge of the next. Whenever a new personage is introduced, thereader is prepared by his character for his actions; when a nation isfirst attacked, or city besieged, he is made acquainted with itshistory, or situation; so that a great part of the world is brought intoview. The descriptions of this author are without minuteness, and thedigressions without ostentation. Collateral events are so artfully woveninto the contexture of his principal story, that they cannot bedisjoined without leaving it lacerated and broken. There is nothingturgid in his dignity, nor superfluous in his copiousness. His orationsonly, which he feigns, like the ancient historians, to have beenpronounced on remarkable occasions, are tedious and languid; and sincethey are merely the voluntary sports of imagination, prove how much themost judicious and skilful may be mistaken in the estimate of their ownpowers.

Nothing could have sunk this author in obscurity, but the remoteness andbarbarity of the people, whose story he relates. It seldom happens, thatall circ*mstances concur to happiness or fame. The nation which producedthis great historian, has the grief of seeing his genius employed upon aforeign and uninteresting subject; and that writer who might havesecured perpetuity to his name, by a history of his own country, hasexposed himself to the danger of oblivion, by recounting enterprises andrevolutions, of which none desire to be informed.

No. 123. TUESDAY, MAY 21, 1751.

Quo semet est imbuta recens, servabit odorem Testa din.—HOR. Lib. i. Ep. ii. 69.

What season'd first the vessel, keeps the taste. CREECH.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Though I have so long found myself deluded by projects of honour anddistinction, that I often resolve to admit them no more into my heart;yet how determinately soever excluded, they always recover theirdominion by force or stratagem; and whenever, after the shortestrelaxation of vigilance, reason and caution return to their charge, theyfind hope again in possession, with all her train of pleasures dancingabout her.

Even while I am preparing to write a history of disappointedexpectations, I cannot forbear to flatter myself, that you and yourreaders are impatient for my performance; and that the sons of learninghave laid down several of your late papers with discontent, when theyfound that Misocapelus had delayed to continue his narrative.

But the desire of gratifying the expectations that I have raised, is notthe only motive of this relation, which, having once promised it, Ithink myself no longer at liberty to forbear. For, however I may havewished to clear myself from every other adhesion of trade, I hope Ishall be always wise enough to retain my punctuality, and amidst all mynew arts of politeness, continue to despise negligence, and detestfalsehood.

When the death of my brother had dismissed me from the duties of a shop,I considered myself as restored to the rights of my birth, and entitledto the rank and reception which my ancestors obtained. I was, however,embarrassed with many difficulties at my first re-entrance into theworld; for my haste to be a gentleman inclined me to precipitatemeasures; and every accident that forced me back towards my old station,was considered by me as an obstruction of my happiness.

It was with no common grief and indignation, that I found my formercompanions still daring to claim my notice, and the journeymen andapprentices sometimes pulling me by the sleeve as I was walking in thestreet, and without any terrour of my new sword, which was,notwithstanding, of an uncommon size, inviting me to partake of a bottleat the old house, and entertaining me with histories of the girls in theneighbourhood. I had always, in my officinal state, been kept in awe bylace and embroidery; and imagined that, to fright away these unwelcomefamiliarities, nothing was necessary, but that I should, by splendour ofdress, proclaim my re-union with a higher rank. I, therefore, sent formy tailor; ordered a suit with twice the usual quantity of lace; andthat I might not let my persecutors increase their confidence, by thehabit of accosting me, staid at home till it was made.

This week of confinement I passed in practising a forbidding frown, asmile of condescension, a slight salutation, and an abrupt departure;and in four mornings was able to turn upon my heel, with so much levityand sprightliness, that I made no doubt of discouraging all publickattempts upon my dignity. I therefore issued forth in my new coat, witha resolution of dazzling intimacy to a fitter distance; and pleasedmyself with the timidity and reverence, which I should impress upon allwho had hitherto presumed to harass me with their freedoms. But,whatever was the cause, I did not find myself received with any newdegree of respect; those whom I intended to drive from me, ventured toadvance with their usual phrases of benevolence; and those whoseacquaintance I solicited, grew more supercilious and reserved. I begansoon to repent the expense, by which I had procured no advantage, and tosuspect that a shining dress, like a weighty weapon, has no force initself, but owes all its efficacy to him that wears it.

Many were the mortifications and calamities which I was condemned tosuffer in my initiation to politeness. I was so much tortured by theincessant civilities of my companions, that I never passed through thatregion of the city but in a chair with the curtains drawn; and at lastleft my lodgings, and fixed myself in the verge of the court. Here Iendeavoured to be thought a gentleman just returned from his travels,and was pleased to have my landlord believe that I was in some dangerfrom importunate creditors; but this scheme was quickly defeated by aformal deputation sent to offer me, though I had now retired frombusiness, the freedom of my company.

I was now detected in trade, and therefore resolved to stay no longer. Ihired another apartment, and changed my servants. Here I lived veryhappily for three months, and, with secret satisfaction, often overheardthe family celebrating the greatness and felicity of the esquire; thoughthe conversation seldom ended without some complaint of my covetousness,or some remark upon my language, or my gait. I now began to venture inthe publick walks, and to know the faces of nobles and beauties; butcould not observe, without wonder, as I passed by them, how frequentlythey were talking of a tailor. I longed, however, to be admitted toconversation, and was somewhat weary of walking in crowds without acompanion, yet continued to come and go with the rest, till a lady whomI endeavoured to protect in a crowded passage, as she was about to stepinto her chariot, thanked me for my civility, and told me, that, as shehad often distinguished me for my modest and respectful behaviour,whenever I set up for myself, I might expect to see her among my firstcustomers.

Here was an end of all my ambulatory projects. I indeed sometimesentered the walks again, but was always blasted by this destructivelady, whose mischievous generosity recommended me to her acquaintance.Being therefore forced to practise my adscititious character uponanother stage, I betook myself to a coffee-house frequented by wits,among whom I learned in a short time the cant of criticism, and talkedso loudly and volubly of nature, and manners, and sentiment, anddiction, and similies, and contrasts, and action, and pronunciation,that I was often desired to lead the hiss and clap, and was feared andhated by the players and the poets. Many a sentence have I hissed, whichI did not understand, and many a groan have I uttered, when the ladieswere weeping in the boxes. At last a malignant author, whose performanceI had persecuted through the nine nights, wrote an epigram upon Tape thecritick, which drove me from the pit for ever.

My desire to be a fine gentleman still continued: I therefore, after ashort suspense, chose a new set of friends at the gaming-table, and wasfor some time pleased with the civility and openness with which I foundmyself treated. I was indeed obliged to play; but being naturallytimorous and vigilant, was never surprised into large sums. What mighthave been the consequence of long familiarity with these plunderers, Ihad not an opportunity of knowing; for one night the constables enteredand seized us, and I was once more compelled to sink into my formercondition, by sending for my old master to attest my character.

When I was deliberating to what new qualifications I should aspire, Iwas summoned into the country, by an account of my father's death. HereI had hopes of being able to distinguish myself, and to support thehonour of my family. I therefore bought guns and horses, and, contraryto the expectation of the tenants, increased the salary of the huntsman.But when I entered the field, it was soon discovered, that I was notdestined to the glories of the chase. I was afraid of thorns in thethicket, and of dirt in the marsh; I shivered on the brink of a riverwhile the sportsmen crossed it, and trembled at the sight of a five-bargate. When the sport and danger were over, I was still equallydisconcerted; for I was effeminate, though not delicate, and could onlyjoin a feeble whispering voice in the clamours of their triumph.

A fall, by which my ribs were broken, soon recalled me to domestickpleasures, and I exerted all my art to obtain the favour of theneighbouring ladies; but wherever I came, there was always some unluckyconversation upon ribands, fillets, pins, or thread, which drove all mystock of compliments out of my memory, and overwhelmed me with shame anddejection.

Thus I passed the ten first years after the death of my brother, inwhich I have learned at last to repress that ambition, which I couldnever gratify; and, instead of wasting more of my life in vainendeavours after accomplishments, which, if not early acquired, noendeavours can obtain, I shall confine my care to those higherexcellencies which are in every man's power, and though I cannot enchantaffection by elegance and ease, hope to secure esteem by honesty andtruth.

I am, &c.

MISOCAPELUS.

No. 124. SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1751.

—Taciturn sylvas inter reptare salubres,
Curantem quicquid dignim sapiente bonoque est?
HOR. Lib. i. Ep. iv. 4.

To range in silence through each healthful wood,
And muse what's worthy of the wise and good. ELPHINSTON.

The season of the year is now come, in which the theatres are shut, andthe card-tables forsaken; the regions of luxury are for a whileunpeopled, and pleasure leads out her votaries to groves and gardens, tostill scenes and erratick gratifications. Those who have passed manymonths in a continual tumult of diversion; who have never opened theireyes in the morning, but upon some new appointment; nor slept at nightwithout a dream of dances, musick, and good hands, or of soft sighs andhumble supplications; must now retire to distant provinces, where thesyrens of flattery are scarcely to be heard, where beauty sparkleswithout praise or envy, and wit is repeated only by the echo.

As I think it one of the most important duties of social benevolence togive warning of the approach of calamity, when by timely prevention itmay be turned aside, or by preparatory measures be more easily endured,I cannot feel the increasing warmth, or observe the lengthening days,without considering the condition of my fair readers, who are nowpreparing to leave all that has so long filled up their hours, all fromwhich they have been accustomed to hope for delight; and who, tillfashion proclaims the liberty of returning to the seats of mirth andelegance, must endure the rugged 'squire, the sober housewife, the loudhuntsman, or the formal parson, the roar of obstreperous jollity, or thedulness of prudential instruction; without any retreat, but to the gloomof solitude, where they will yet find greater inconveniencies, and mustlearn, however unwillingly, to endure themselves.

In winter, the life of the polite and gay may be said to roll on with astrong and rapid current; they float along from pleasure to pleasure,without the trouble of regulating their own motions, and pursue thecourse of the stream in all the felicity of inattention; content thatthey find themselves in progression, and careless whither they aregoing. But the months of summer are a kind of sleeping stagnationwithout wind or tide, where they are left to force themselves forward bytheir own labour, and to direct their passage by their own skill; andwhere, if they have not some internal principle of activity, they mustbe stranded upon shallows, or lie torpid in a perpetual calm.

There are, indeed, some to whom this universal dissolution of gaysocieties affords a welcome opportunity of quitting, without disgrace,the post which they have found themselves unable to maintain; and ofseeming to retreat only at the call of nature, from assemblies where,after a short triumph of uncontested superiority, they are overpoweredby some new intruder of softer elegance or sprightlier vivacity. Bythese, hopeless of victory, and yet ashamed to confess a conquest, thesummer is regarded as a release from the fatiguing service of celebrity,a dismission to more certain joys and a safer empire. They now solacethemselves with the influence which they shall obtain, where they haveno rival to fear; and with the lustre which they shall effuse, whennothing can be seen of brighter splendour. They imagine, while they arepreparing for their journey, the admiration with which the rusticks willcrowd about them; plan the laws of a new assembly; or contrive to deludeprovincial ignorance with a fictitious mode. A thousand pleasingexpectations swarm in the fancy; and all the approaching weeks arefilled with distinctions, honours, and authority.

But others, who have lately entered the world, or have yet had no proofsof its inconstancy and desertion, are cut off, by this cruelinterruption, from the enjoyment of their prerogatives, and doomed tolose four months in inactive obscurity. Many complaints do vexation anddesire extort from those exiled tyrants of the town, against theinexorable sun, who pursues his course without any regard to love orbeauty; and visits either tropick at the stated time, whether shunned orcourted, deprecated or implored.

To them who leave the places of publick resort in the full bloom ofreputation, and withdraw from admiration, courtship, submission, andapplause, a rural triumph can give nothing equivalent. The praise ofignorance, and the subjection of weakness, are little regarded bybeauties who have been accustomed to more important conquests, and morevaluable panegyricks. Nor indeed should the powers which have madehavock in the theatres, or borne down rivalry in courts, be degraded toa mean attack upon the untravelled heir, or ignoble contest with theruddy milkmaid.

How then must four long months be worn away? Four months, in which therewill be no routes, no shows, no ridottos; in which visits must beregulated by the weather, and assemblies will depend upon the moon! ThePlatonists imagine, that the future punishment of those who have in thislife debased their reason by subjection to their senses, and havepreferred the gross gratifications of lewdness and luxury, to the pureand sublime felicity of virtue and contemplation, will arise from thepredominance and solicitations of the same appetites, in a state whichcan furnish no means of appeasing them. I cannot but suspect that thismonth, bright with sunshine, and fragrant with perfumes; this month,which covers the meadow with verdure, and decks the gardens with all themixtures of colorifick radiance; this month, from which the man of fancyexpects new infusions of imagery, and the naturalist new scenes ofobservation; this month will chain down multitudes to the Platonickpenance of desire without enjoyment, and hurry them from the highestsatisfactions, which they have yet learned to conceive, into a state ofhopeless wishes and pining recollection, where the eye of vanity willlook round for admiration to no purpose, and the hand of avarice shufflecards in a bower with ineffectual dexterity.

From the tediousness of this melancholy suspension of life, I wouldwillingly preserve those who are exposed to it, only by inexperience;who want not inclination to wisdom or virtue, though they have beendissipated by negligence, or misled by example; and who would gladlyfind the way to rational happiness, though it should be necessary tostruggle with habit, and abandon fashion. To these many arts of spendingtime might be recommended, which would neither sadden the present hourwith weariness, nor the future with repentance.

It would seem impossible to a solitary speculatist, that a human beingcan want employment. To be born in ignorance with a capacity ofknowledge, and to be placed in the midst of a world filled with variety,perpetually pressing upon the senses and irritating curiosity, is surelya sufficient security against the languishment of inattention. Noveltyis indeed necessary to preserve eagerness and alacrity; but art andnature have stores inexhaustible by human intellects; and every momentproduces something new to him, who has quickened his faculties bydiligent observation.

Some studies, for which the country and the summer afford peculiaropportunities, I shall perhaps endeavour to recommend in a future essay;but if there be any apprehension not apt to admit unaccustomed ideas, orany attention so stubborn and inflexible, as not easily to comply withnew directions, even these obstructions cannot exclude the pleasure ofapplication; for there is a higher and nobler employment, to which allfaculties are adapted by Him who gave them. The duties of religion,sincerely and regularly performed, will always be sufficient to exaltthe meanest, and to exercise the highest understanding. That mind willnever be vacant, which is frequently recalled by stated duties tomeditations on eternal interests; nor can any hour be long, which isspent in obtaining some new qualification for celestial happiness.

No. 125. TUESDAY, MAY 28, 1751.

Descriptas servare vices, operumque colores,
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, poëta salutor? HOR. De Ar. Poet. 86.

But if, through weakness, or my want of art,
I can't to every different style impart
The proper strokes and colours it may claim,
Why am I honour'd with a poet's name? FRANCIS.

It is one of the maxims of the civil law, that definitions arehazardous. Things modified by human understandings, subject tovarieties of complication, and changeable as experience advancesknowledge, or accident influences caprice, are scarcely to be includedin any standing form of expression, because they are always sufferingsome alteration of their state. Definition is, indeed, not the provinceof man; every thing is set above or below our faculties. The works andoperations of nature are too great in their extent, or too much diffusedin their relations, and the performances of art too inconstant anduncertain, to be reduced to any determinate idea. It is impossible toimpress upon our minds an adequate and just representation of an objectso great that we can never take it into our view, or so mutable that itis always changing under our eye, and has already lost its form while weare labouring to conceive it.

Definitions have been no less difficult or uncertain in criticisms thanin law. Imagination, a licentious and vagrant faculty, unsusceptible oflimitations, and impatient of restraint, has always endeavoured tobaffle the logician, to perplex the confines of distinction, and burstthe inclosures of regularity. There is therefore scarcely any species ofwriting, of which we can tell what is its essence, and what are itsconstituents; every new genius produces some innovation, which, wheninvented and approved, subverts the rules which the practice offoregoing authors had established.

Comedy has been particularly unpropitious to definers; for thoughperhaps they might properly have contented themselves, with declaring itto be such a dramatick representation of human life, as may excitemirth, they have embarrassed their definition with the means by whichthe comick writers attain their end, without considering that thevarious methods of exhilarating their audience, not being limited bynature, cannot be comprised in precept. Thus, some make comedy arepresentation of mean and others of bad men; some think that itsessence consists in the unimportance, others in the fictitiousness ofthe transaction. But any man's reflections will inform him, that everydramatick composition which raises mirth, is comick; and that, to raisemirth, it is by no means universally necessary, that the personagesshould be either mean or corrupt, nor always requisite, that the actionshould be trivial, nor ever, that it should be fictitious.

If the two kinds of dramatick poetry had been defined only by theireffects upon the mind, some absurdities might have been prevented, withwhich the compositions of our greatest poets are disgraced, who, forwant of some settled ideas and accurate distinctions, have unhappilyconfounded tragick with comick sentiments. They seem to have thought,that as the meanest of personages constituted comedy, their greatnesswas sufficient to form a tragedy; and that nothing was necessary butthat they should crowd the scene with monarchs, and generals, andguards; and make them talk, at certain intervals, of the downfall ofkingdoms, and the rout of armies. They have not considered, thatthoughts or incidents, in themselves ridiculous, grow still moregrotesque by the solemnity of such characters; that reason and natureare uniform and inflexible: and that what is despicable and absurd, willnot, by any association with splendid titles, become rational or great;that the most important affairs, by an intermixture of an unseasonablelevity, may be made contemptible; and that the robes of royalty can giveno dignity to nonsense or to folly.

"Comedy," says Horace, "sometimes raises her voice;" and Tragedy maylikewise on proper occasions abate her dignity; but as the comickpersonages can only depart from their familiarity of style, when themore violent passions are put in motion, the heroes and queens oftragedy should never descend to trifle, but in the hours of ease, andintermissions of danger. Yet in the tragedy of Don Sebastian, when theking of Portugal is in the hands of his enemy, and having just drawn thelot, by which he is condemned to die, breaks out into a wild boast thathis dust shall take possession of Africk, the dialogue proceeds thusbetween the captive and his conqueror:

Muley Moluch. What shall I do to conquer thee?

Seb. Impossible! Souls know no conquerors.

M. Mol. I'll shew thee for a monster thro' my Afric.

Seb. No, thou canst only shew me for a man: Afric is stored with monsters; man's a prodigy Thy subjects have not seen.

M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if
Still at the head of battle.

Seb. Thou mistak'st,
For there I would not talk.

Benducar, the Minister. Sure he would sleep. This conversation, with the sly remark of the minister, can only befound not to be comick, because it wants the probability necessary torepresentations of common life, and degenerates too much towardsbuffoonery and farce.

The same play affords a smart return of the general to to the emperor,who, enforcing his orders for the death of Sebastian, vents hisimpatience in this abrupt threat:

—No more replies,
But see thou dost it: Or—

To which Dorax answers,

Choak in that threat: I can say Or as loud.

A thousand instances of such impropriety might be produced, were not onescene in Aureng-Zebe sufficient to exemplify it. Indamora, a captivequeen, having Aureng-Zebe for her lover, employs Arimant, to whosecharge she had been entrusted, and whom she had made sensible of hercharms, to carry her message to his rival.

ARIMANT, with a letter in his hand: INDAMORA.

Arim. And I the messenger to him from you?
Your empire you to tyranny pursue:
You lay commands both cruel and unjust,
To serve my rival, and betray my trust.

Ind. You first betray'd your trust in loving me:
And should not I my own advantage see?
Serving my love, you may my friendship gain;
You know the rest of your pretences vain.
You must, my Arimant, you must be kind:
'Tis in your nature, and your noble mind.

Arim. I'll to the king, and straight my trust resign.

Ind. His trust you may, but you shall never mine.
Heaven made you love me for no other end,
But to become my confidant and friend:
As such, I keep no secret from your sight,
And therefore make you judge how ill I write:
Read it, and tell me freely then your mind,
If 'tis indited, as I meant it, kind.

Arim. I ask not heaven my freedom to restore—[Reading.
But only for your sake—I'll read no more.
And yet I must—
Less for my own, than for your sorrow sad—[Reading.
Another line like this, would make me mad—
Heav'n! she goes on—yet more—and yet more kind!
[—As reading.
Each sentence is a dagger to my mind.
See me this night—[Reading.
Thank fortune who did such a friend provide;
For faithful Arimant shall be your guide.
Not only to be made an instrument,
But pre-engaged without my own consent!

Ind. Unknown to engage you still augments my score,
And gives you scope of meriting the more.

Arim. The best of men
Some int'rest in their actions must confess;
None merit, but in hope they may possess:
The fatal paper rather let me tear,
Than, like Bellerophon, my own sentence hear.

Ind. You may; but 'twill not be your best advice:
'Twill only give me pains of writing twice.
You know you must obey me, soon or late:
Why should you vainly struggle with your fate?

Arim. I thank thee, heav'n! thou hast been wondrous kind!
Why am I thus to slavery design'd,
And yet am cheated with a free-born mind!
Or make thy orders with my reason suit,
Or let me live by sense, a glorious brute—[She frowns.
You frown, and I obey with speed, before
That dreadful sentence comes, See me no more.

In this scene, every circ*mstance concurs to turn tragedy to farce. Thewild absurdity of the expedient; the contemptible subjection of thelover; the folly of obliging him to read the letter, only because itought to have been concealed from him; the frequent interruptions ofamorous impatience; the faint expostulations of a voluntary slave; theimperious haughtiness of a tyrant without power; the deep reflection ofthe yielding rebel upon fate and free-will; and his wise wish to losehis reason as soon as he finds himself about to do what he cannotpersuade his reason to approve, are sufficient to awaken the most torpidrisibility.

There is scarce a tragedy of the last century which has not debased itsmost important incidents, and polluted its most serious interlocutions,with buffoonery and meanness; but though, perhaps, it cannot bepretended that the present age has added much to the force and efficacyof the drama, it has at least been able to escape many faults, whicheither ignorance had overlooked, or indulgence had licensed. The latertragedies, indeed, have faults of another kind, perhaps more destructiveto delight, though less open to censure. That perpetual tumour of phrasewith which every thought is now expressed by every personage, thepaucity of adventures which regularity admits, and the unvaried equalityof flowing dialogue, has taken away from our present writers almost allthat dominion over the passions which was the boast of theirpredecessors. Yet they may at least claim this commendation, that theyavoid gross faults, and that if they cannot often move terrour or pity,they are always careful not to provoke laughter.

No. 126. SATURDAY, JUNE 1, 1751.

—Nihil est aliud magnum quam multa minuta. VET. AUCT.

Sands form the mountain, moments make the year. YOUNG.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Among other topicks of conversation which your papers supply, I waslately engaged in a discussion of the character given by Tranquilla ofher lover Venustulus, whom, notwithstanding the severity of hismistress, the greater number seemed inclined to acquit of unmanly orculpable timidity.

One of the company remarked that prudence ought to be distinguished fromfear; and that if Venustulus was afraid of nocturnal adventures, no manwho considered how much every avenue of the town was infested withrobbers could think him blameable; for why should life be hazardedwithout prospect of honour or advantage? Another was of opinion, that abrave man might be afraid of crossing the river in the calmest weather,and declared, that, for his part, while there were coaches and a bridge,he would never be seen tottering in a wooden case, out of which he mightbe thrown by any irregular agitation, or which might be overset byaccident, or negligence, or by the force of a sudden gust, or the rushof a larger vessel. It was his custom, he said, to keep the security ofdaylight, and dry ground; for it was a maxim with him, that no wise manever perished by water, or was lost in the dark.

The next was humbly of opinion, that if Tranquilla had seen, like him,the cattle run roaring about the meadows in the hot months, she wouldnot have thought meanly of her lover for not venturing his safety amongthem. His neighbour then told us, that for his part he was not ashamedto confess, that he could not see a rat, though it was dead, withoutpalpitation; that he had been driven six times out of his lodgingseither by rats or mice; and that he always had a bed in the closet forhis servant, whom he called up whenever the enemy was in motion. Anotherwondered that any man should think himself disgraced by a precipitateretreat from a dog; for there was always a possibility that a dog mightbe mad; and that surely, though there was no danger but of being bit bya fierce animal, there was more wisdom in flight than contest. By allthese declarations another was encouraged to confess, that if he hadbeen admitted to the honour of paying his addresses to Tranquilla, heshould have been likely to incur the same censure; for, among all theanimals upon which nature has impressed deformity and horrour, there isnone whom he durst not encounter rather than a beetle.

Thus, Sir, though cowardice is universally defined too close and anxiousan attention to personal safety, there will be found scarcely any fear,however excessive in its degree, or unreasonable in its object, whichwill be allowed to characterise a coward. Fear is a passion which everyman feels so frequently predominant in his own breast, that he isunwilling to hear it censured with great asperity; and, perhaps, if weconfess the truth, the same restraint which would hinder a man fromdeclaiming against the frauds of any employment among those who professit, should withhold him from treating fear with contempt among humanbeings.

Yet, since fortitude is one of those virtues which the condition of ournature makes hourly necessary, I think you cannot better direct youradmonitions than against superfluous and panick terrours. Fear isimplanted in us as a preservative from evil; but its duty, like that ofother passions, is not to overbear reason, but to assist it; nor shouldit be suffered to tyrannize in the imagination, to raise phantoms ofhorrour, or beset life with supernumerary distresses.

To be always afraid of losing life is, indeed, scarcely to enjoy a lifethat can deserve the care of preservation. He that once indulges idlefears will never be at rest. Our present state admits only of a kind ofnegative security; we must conclude ourselves safe when we see nodanger, or none inadequate to our powers of opposition. Death, indeed,continually hovers about us, but hovers commonly unseen, unless wesharpen our sight by useless curiosity.

There is always a point at which caution, however solicitous, must limitit* preservatives, because one terrour often counteracts another. I onceknew one of the speculatists of cowardice, whose reigning disturbancewas the dread of housebreakers. His inquiries were for nine yearsemployed upon the best method of barring a window, or a door; and manyan hour has he spent in establishing the preference of a bolt to a lock.He had at last, by the daily superaddition of new expedients, contriveda door which could never be forced; for one bar was secured by anotherwith such intricacy of subordination, that he was himself not alwaysable to disengage them in the proper method. He was happy in thisfortification, till being asked how he would escape if he was threatenedby fire, he discovered, that with all his care and expense, he had onlybeen assisting his own destruction. He then immediately tore off hisbolts, and now leaves at night his outer door half-locked, that he maynot by his own folly perish in the flames.

There is one species of terrour which those who are unwilling to sufferthe reproach of cowardice have wisely dignified with the name ofantipathy. A man who talks with intrepidity of the monsters of thewilderness while they are out of sight, will readily confess hisantipathy to a mole, a weasel, or a frog. He has indeed no dread of harmfrom an insect or a worm, but his antipathy turns him pale whenever theyapproach him. He believes that a boat will transport him with as muchsafety as his neighbours, but he cannot conquer his antipathy to thewater. Thus he goes on without any reproach from his own reflections,and every day multiplies antipathies, till he becomes contemptible toothers, and burdensome to himself. It is indeed certain, thatimpressions of dread may sometimes be unluckily made by objects not inthemselves justly formidable; but when fear is discovered to begroundless, it is to be eradicated like other false opinions, andantipathies are generally superable by a single effort. He that has beentaught to shudder at a mouse, if he can persuade himself to risk oneencounter, will find his own superiority, and exchange his terrours forthe pride of conquest.

I am, Sir, &c.

THRASO.

SIR, As you profess to extend your regard to the minuteness of decency,as well as to the dignity of science, I cannot forbear to lay before youa mode of persecution by which I have been exiled to taverns andcoffee-houses, and deterred from entering the doors of my friends. Amongthe ladies who please themselves with splendid furniture, or elegantentertainment, it is a practice very common, to ask every guest how helikes the carved work of the cornice, or the figures of the tapestry;the china at the table, or the plate on the side-board: and on alloccasions to inquire his opinion of their judgment and their choice.Melania has laid her new watch in the window nineteen times, that shemay desire me to look upon it. Calista has an art of dropping hersnuff-box by drawing out her handkerchief, that when I pick it up I mayadmire it; and Fulgentia has conducted me, by mistake, into the wrongroom, at every visit I have paid since her picture was put into a newframe.

I hope, Mr. Rambler, you will inform them, that no man should be deniedthe privilege of silence, or tortured to false declarations; and thatthough ladies may justly claim to be exempt from rudeness, they have noright to force unwilling civilities. To please is a laudable and elegantambition, and is properly rewarded with honest praise; but to seizeapplause by violence, and call out for commendation, without knowing, orcaring to know, whether it be given from conviction, is a species oftyranny by which modesty is oppressed, and sincerity corrupted. Thetribute of admiration, thus exacted by impudence and importunity,differs from the respect paid to silent merit, as the plunder of apirate from the merchant's profit.

I am, &c.

MISOCOLAX

SIR,

Your great predecessor, the Spectator, endeavoured to diffuse among hisfemale readers a desire of knowledge; nor can I charge you, though youdo not seem equally attentive to the ladies, with endeavouring todiscourage them from any laudable pursuit. But however either he or youmay excite our curiosity, you have not yet informed us how it may begratified. The world seems to have formed an universal conspiracyagainst our understandings; our questions are supposed not to expectanswers, our arguments are confuted with a jest, and we are treated likebeings who transgress the limits of our nature whenever we aspire toseriousness or improvement.

I inquired yesterday of a gentleman eminent for astronomical skill, whatmade the day long in summer, and short in winter; and was told thatnature protracted the days in summer, lest ladies should want time towalk in the park; and the nights in winter, lest they should not havehours sufficient to spend at the card-table.

I hope you do not doubt but I heard such information with just contempt,and I desire you to discover to this great master of ridicule, that Iwas far from wanting any intelligence which he could have given me. Iasked the question with no other intention than to set him free from thenecessity of silence, and give him an opportunity of mingling on equalterms with a polite assembly, from which, however uneasy, he could notthen escape, by a kind introduction of the only subject on which Ibelieved him able to speak with propriety.

I am, &c.

GENEROSA.

No. 127. TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1751.

Capisti meliust, quam desinis. Ultima primis
Cedunt: dissimiles hic vir et ille puer. Ovid. Ep. ix. 24.

Succeeding years thy early fame destroy;
Thou, who began'st a man, wilt end a boy.

Politian, a name eminent among the restorers of polite literature, whenhe published a collection of epigrams, prefixed to many of them the yearof his age at which they were composed. He might design, by thisinformation, either to boast the early maturity of his genius, or toconciliate indulgence to the puerility of his performances. But whateverwas his intent, it is remarked by Scaliger, that he very little promotedhis own reputation, because he fell below the promise which his firstproductions had given, and, in the latter part of his life, seldomequalled the sallies of his youth.

It is not uncommon for those who, at their first entrance into theworld, were distinguished for attainments or abilities, to disappointthe hopes which they had raised, and to end in neglect and obscuritythat life which they began in celebrity and honour. To the longcatalogue of the inconveniencies of old age, which moral and satiricalwriters have so copiously displayed, may be often added the loss offame.

The advance of the human mind towards any object of laudable pursuit,may be compared to the progress of a body driven by a blow. It moves,for a time, with great velocity and vigour, but the force of the firstimpulse is perpetually decreasing, and though it should encounter noobstacle capable of quelling it by a sudden stop, the resistance of themedium through which it passes, and the latent inequalities of thesmoothest surface, will, in a short time, by continued retardation,wholly overpower it. Some hindrances will be found in every road oflife, but he that fixes his eyes upon any thing at a distance,necessarily loses sight of all that fills up the intermediate space, andtherefore sets forward with alacrity and confidence, nor suspects athousand obstacles, by which he afterwards finds his passage embarrassedand obstructed. Some are indeed stopt at once in their career by asudden shock of calamity, or diverted to a different direction by thecross impulse of some violent passion; but far the greater part languishby slow degrees, deviate at first into slight obliquities, andthemselves scarcely perceive at what time their ardour forsook them, orwhen they lost sight of their original design.

Weariness and negligence are perpetually prevailing by silentencroachments, assisted by different causes, and not observed till theycannot, without great difficulty, be opposed. Labour necessarilyrequires pauses of ease and relaxation, and the deliciousness of easecommonly makes us unwilling to return to labour. We, perhaps, prevailupon ourselves to renew our attempts, but eagerly listen to everyargument for frequent interpositions of amusem*nt; for, when indolencehas once entered upon the mind, it can scarcely be dispossessed but bysuch efforts as very few are willing to exert.

It is the fate of industry to be equally endangered by miscarriage andsuccess, by confidence and despondency. He that engages in a greatundertaking, with a false opinion of its facility, or too highconceptions of his own strength, is easily discouraged by the firsthindrance of his advances, because he had promised himself an equal andperpetual progression without impediment or disturbance; when unexpectedinterruptions break in upon him, he is in the state of a man surprisedby a tempest, where he purposed only to bask in the calm, or sport inthe shallows.

It is not only common to find the difficulty of an enterprize greater,but the profit less, than hope had pictured it. Youth enters the worldwith very happy prejudices in her own favour. She imagines herself notonly certain of accomplishing every adventure, but of obtaining thoserewards which the accomplishment may deserve. She is not easilypersuaded to believe that the force of merit can be resisted byobstinacy and avarice, or its lustre darkened by envy and malignity. Shehas not yet learned that the most evident claims to praise or prefermentmay be rejected by malice against conviction, or by indolence withoutexamination; that they may be sometimes defeated by artifices, andsometimes overborne by clamour; that, in the mingled numbers of mankind,many need no other provocation to enmity than that they find themselvesexcelled; that others have ceased their curiosity, and consider everyman who fills the mouth of report with a new name, as an intruder upontheir retreat, and disturber of their repose; that some are engaged incomplications of interest which they imagine endangered by everyinnovation; that many yield themselves up implicitly to every reportwhich hatred disseminates or folly scatters; and that whoever aspires tothe notice of the publick, has in almost every man an enemy and a rival;and must struggle with the opposition of the daring, and elude thestratagems of the timorous, must quicken the frigid and soften theobdurate, must reclaim perverseness and inform stupidity.

It is no wonder that when the prospect of reward has vanished, the zealof enterprize should cease; for who would persevere to cultivate thesoil which he has, after long labour, discovered to be barren? He whohath pleased himself with anticipated praises, and expected that heshould meet in every place with patronage or friendship, will soon remithis vigour, when he finds that, from those who desire to be consideredas his admirers, nothing can be hoped but cold civility, and that manyrefuse to own his excellence, lest they should be too justly expected toreward it.

A man, thus cut off from the prospect of that port to which his addressand fortitude had been employed to steer him, often abandons himself tochance and to the wind, and glides careless and idle down the current oflife, without resolution to make another effort, till he is swallowed upby the gulph of mortality.

Others are betrayed to the same desertion of themselves by a contraryfallacy. It was said of Hannibal, that he wanted nothing to thecompletion of his martial virtues, but that when he had gained a victoryhe should know how to use it. The folly of desisting too soon fromsuccessful labours, and the haste of enjoying advantages before they aresecured, are often fatal to men of impetuous desire, to men whoseconsciousness of uncommon powers fills them with presumption, and who,having borne opposition down before them, and left emulation pantingbehind, are early persuaded to imagine that they have reached theheights of perfection, and that now, being no longer in danger fromcompetitors, they may pass the rest of their days in the enjoyment oftheir acquisitions, in contemplation of their own superiority, and inattention to their own praises, and look unconcerned from their eminenceupon the toils and contentions of meaner beings.

It is not sufficiently considered in the hour of exultation, that allhuman excellence is comparative; that no man performs much but inproportion to what others accomplish, or to the time and opportunitieswhich have been allowed him; and that he who stops at any point ofexcellence is every day sinking in estimation, because his improvementgrows continually more incommensurate to his life. Yet, as no manwillingly quits opinions favourable to himself, they who have once beenjustly celebrated, imagine that they still have the same pretensions toregard, and seldom perceive the diminution of their character whilethere is time to recover it. Nothing then remains but murmurs andremorse; for if the spendthrift's poverty be embittered by thereflection that he once was rich, how must the idler's obscurity beclouded by remembering that he once had lustre!

These errours all arise from an original mistake of the true motives ofaction. He that never extends his view beyond the praises or rewards ofmen will be dejected by neglect and envy, or infatuated by honours andapplause. But the consideration that life is only deposited in his handsto be employed in obedience to a Master who will regard his endeavours,not his success, would have preserved him from trivial elations anddiscouragements, and enabled him to proceed with constancy andcheerfulness, neither enervated by commendation, nor intimidated bycensure.

No. 128. SATURDAY, JUNE 8, 1751.

[Greek:
Aion d asphalaes
Ouk egent, out Aiakida para Paelei,
Oute par antitheo
Kadmo legontai man broton
Olbon hupertaton hoi
Schein.] PIND. Py. iii. 153.

For not the brave, or wise, or great,
E'er yet had happiness complete:
Nor Peleus, grandson of the sky,
Nor Cadmus, scap'd the shafts of pain,
Though favour'd by the Pow'rs on high,
With every bliss that man can gain.

The writers who have undertaken the task of reconciling mankind to theirpresent state, and relieving the discontent produced by the variousdistribution of terrestrial advantages, frequently remind us that wejudge too hastily of good and evil, that we view only the superfices oflife, and determine of the whole by a very small part; and that in thecondition of men it frequently happens, that grief and anxiety lie hidunder the golden robes of prosperity, and the gloom of calamity ischeered by secret radiations of hope and comfort; as in the works ofnature the bog is sometimes covered with flowers, and the mine concealedin the barren crags.

None but those who have learned the art of subjecting their senses aswell as reason to hypothetical systems, can be persuaded by the mostspecious rhetorician that the lots of life are equal; yet it cannot bedenied that every one has his peculiar pleasures and vexations, thatexternal accidents operate variously upon different minds, and that noman can exactly judge from his own sensations, what another would feelin the same circ*mstances.

If the general disposition of things be estimated by the representationwhich every one makes of his own estate, the world must be considered asthe abode of sorrow and misery; for how few can forbear to relate theirtroubles and distresses? If we judge by the account which may beobtained of every man's fortune from others, it may be concluded, thatwe all are placed in an elysian region, overspread with the luxurianceof plenty, and fanned by the breezes of felicity; since scarcely anycomplaint is uttered without censure from those that hear it, and almostall are allowed to have obtained a provision at least adequate to theirvirtue or their understanding, to possess either more than they deserve,or more than they enjoy.

We are either born with such dissimilitude of temper and inclination, orreceive so many of our ideas and opinions from the state of life inwhich we are engaged, that the griefs and cares of one part of mankindseem to the other hypocrisy, folly, and affectation. Every class ofsociety has its cant of lamentation, which is understood or regarded bynone but themselves; and every part of life has its uneasiness, whichthose who do not feel them will not commiserate. An event which spreadsdistraction over half the commercial world, assembles the tradingcompanies in councils and committees, and shakes the nerves of athousand stockjobbers, is read by the landlord and the farmer withfrigid indifference. An affair of love, which fills the young breastwith incessant alternations of hope and fear, and steals away the nightand day from every other pleasure or employment, is regarded by themwhose passions time has extinguished, as an amusem*nt, which canproperly raise neither joy nor sorrow, and, though it may be suffered tofill the vacuity of an idle moment, should always give way to prudenceor interest.

He that never had any other desire than to fill a chest with money, orto add another manor to his estate, who never grieved but at a badmortgage, or entered a company but to make a bargain, would beastonished to hear of beings known among the polite and gay by thedenomination of wits. How would he gape with curiosity, or grin withcontempt, at the mention of beings who have no wish but to speak whatwas never spoken before; who, if they happen to inherit wealth, oftenexhaust their patrimonies in treating those who will hear them talk; andif they are poor, neglect opportunities of improving their fortunes, forthe pleasure of making others laugh? How slowly would he believe thatthere are men who would rather lose a legacy than the reputation of adistich; who think it less disgrace to want money than repartee; whomthe vexation of having been foiled in a contest of raillery is sometimessufficient to deprive of sleep; and who would esteem it a lighter evilto miss a profitable bargain by some accidental delay, than not to havethought of a smart reply till the time of producing it was past? Howlittle would he suspect that this child of idleness and frolick entersevery assembly with a beating bosom, like a litigant on the day ofdecision, and revolves the probability of applause with the anxiety of aconspirator, whose fate depends upon the next night; that at the hour ofretirement he carries home, under a show of airy negligence, a heartlacerated with envy, or depressed with disappointment; and immureshimself in his closet, that he may disencumber his memory at leisure,review the progress of the day, state with accuracy his loss or gain ofreputation, and examine the causes of his failure or success?

Yet more remote from common conceptions are the numerous and restlessanxieties, by which female happiness is particularly disturbed. Asolitary philosopher would imagine ladies born with an exemption fromcare and sorrow, lulled in perpetual quiet, and feasted with unmingledpleasure; for what can interrupt the content of those, upon whom one agehas laboured after another to confer honours, and accumulate immunities;those to whom rudeness is infamy, and insult is cowardice; whose eyecommands the brave, and whose smiles soften the severe; whom the sailortravels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to defend, and the poet wears outlife to celebrate; who claim tribute from every art and science, and forwhom all who approach them endeavour to multiply delights, withoutrequiring from them any returns but willingness to be pleased?

Surely, among these favourites of nature, thus unacquainted with toiland danger, felicity must have fixed her residence; they must know onlythe changes of more vivid or more gentle joys: their life must alwaysmove either to the slow or sprightly melody of the lyre of gladness;they can never assemble but to pleasure, or retire but to peace.

Such would be the thoughts of every man who should hover at a distanceround the world, and know it only by conjecture and speculation. Butexperience will soon discover how easily those are disgusted who havebeen made nice by plenty and tender by indulgence. He will soon see tohow many dangers power is exposed which has no other guard than youthand beauty, and how easily that tranquillity is molested which can onlybe soothed with the songs of flattery. It is impossible to supply wantsas fast as an idle imagination may be able to form them, or to removeall inconveniencies by which elegance refined into impatience may beoffended. None are so hard to please, as those whom satiety of pleasuremakes weary of themselves; nor any so readily provoked as those who havebeen always courted with an emulation of civility.

There are, indeed, some strokes which the envy of fate aims immediatelyat the fair. The mistress of Catullus wept for her sparrow manycenturies ago, and lapdogs will be sometimes sick in the present age.The most fashionable brocade is subject to stains; a pinner, the prideof Brussels, may be torn by a careless washer; a picture may drop from awatch; or the triumph of a new suit may be interrupted on the first dayof its enjoyment, and all distinctions of dress unexpectedly obliteratedby a general mourning.

Such is the state of every age, every sex, and every condition: all havetheir cares, either from nature or from folly: and whoever thereforefinds himself inclined to envy another, should remember that he knowsnot the real condition which he desires to obtain, but is certain thatby indulging a vicious passion, he must lessen that happiness which hethinks already too sparingly bestowed.

No. 129. TUESDAY, JUNE 11. 1751.

—Nunc, O nunc, Daedale, dixit,
Materiam, qua sis ingeniosus, habes.
Possidet en terras, et possidet aequara, Minos:
Nec tellus nostrae, nec patet undo fugae.
Restat iter coelo: tentabimus ire.
Da veniam caepto, Jupiter alte, meo. OVID. Ar. Am. Lib. ii. 33.

Now, Daedalus, behold, by fate assign'd,
A task proportion'd to thy mighty mind!
Unconquer'd bars on earth and sea withstand;
Thine, Minos, is the main, and thine the land.
The skies are open—let us try the skies:
Forgive, great Jove, the daring enterprize.

Moralists, like other writers, instead of casting their eyes abroad inthe living world, and endeavouring to form maxims of practice and newhints of theory, content their curiosity with that secondary knowledgewhich books afford, and think themselves entitled to reverence by a newarrangement of an ancient system, or new illustration of establishedprinciples[e]. The sage precepts of the first instructors of the worldare transmitted from age to age with little variation, and echoed fromone author to another, not perhaps without some loss of their originalforce at every repercussion.

I know not whether any other reason than this idleness of imitation canbe assigned for that uniform and constant partiality, by which somevices have hitherto escaped censure, and some virtues wantedrecommendation; nor can I discover why else we have been warned onlyagainst part of our enemies, while the rest have been suffered to stealupon us without notice; why the heart has on one side been doublyfortified, and laid open on the other to the incursions of errour, andthe ravages of vice.

Among the favourite topicks of moral declamation, may be numbered themiscarriages of imprudent boldness, and the folly of attempts beyond ourpower. Every page of every philosopher is crowded with examples oftemerity that sunk under burdens which she laid upon herself, and calledout enemies to battle by whom she was destroyed.

Their remarks are too just to be disputed, and too salutary to berejected; but there is likewise some danger lest timorous prudenceshould be inculcated, till courage and enterprise are wholly repressed,and the mind congealed in perpetual inactivity by the fatal influence offrigorifick wisdom.

Every man should, indeed, carefully compare his force with hisundertaking; for though we ought not to live only for our own sakes, andthough therefore danger or difficulty should not be avoided merelybecause we may expose ourselves to misery or disgrace; yet it may bejustly required of us, not to throw away our lives upon inadequate andhopeless designs, since we might, by a just estimate of our abilities,become more useful to mankind.

There is an irrational contempt of danger, which approaches nearly tothe folly, if not the guilt of suicide; there is a ridiculousperseverance in impracticable schemes, which is justly punished withignominy and reproach. But in the wide regions of probability, which arethe proper province of prudence and election, there is always room todeviate on either side of rectitude without rushing against apparentabsurdity; and according to the inclinations of nature, or theimpressions of precept, the daring and the cautious may move indifferent directions without touching upon rashness or cowardice.

That there is a middle path which it is every man's duty to find, and tokeep, is unanimously confessed: but it is likewise acknowledged thatthis middle path is so narrow, that it cannot easily be discovered, andso little beaten, that there are no certain marks by which it can befollowed: the care, therefore, of all those who conduct others has been,that whenever they decline into obliquities, they should tend towardsthe side of safety.

It can, indeed, raise no wonder that temerity has been generallycensured; for it is one of the vices with which few can be charged, andwhich therefore, great numbers are ready to condemn. It is the vice ofnoble and generous minds, the exuberance of magnanimity, and theebullition of genius; and is therefore not regarded with muchtenderness, because it never flatters us by that appearance of softnessand imbecility which is commonly necessary to conciliate compassion. Butif the same attention had been applied to the search of argumentsagainst the folly of pre-supposing impossibilities, and anticipatingfrustration, I know not whether many would not have been roused tousefulness, who, having been taught to confound prudence with timidity,never ventured to excel, lest they should unfortunately fail.

It is necessary to distinguish our own interest from that of others, andthat distinction will perhaps assist us in fixing the just limits ofcaution and adventurousness. In an undertaking that involves thehappiness or the safety of many, we have certainly no right to hazardmore than is allowed by those who partake the danger; but where onlyourselves can suffer by miscarriage, we are not confined within suchnarrow limits; and still less is the reproach of temerity, when numberswill receive advantage by success, and only one be incommoded byfailure.

Men are generally willing to hear precepts by which ease is favoured;and as no resentment is raised by general representations of humanfolly, even in those who are most eminently jealous of comparativereputation, we confess, without reluctance, that vain man is ignorant ofhis own weakness, and therefore frequently presumes to attempt what hecan never accomplish; but it ought likewise to be remembered, that manis no less ignorant of his own powers, and might perhaps haveaccomplished a thousand designs, which the prejudices of cowardicerestrained him from attempting.

It is observed in the golden verses of Pythagoras, that "Power is neverfar from necessity." The vigour of the human mind quickly appears, whenthere is no longer any place for doubt and hesitation, when diffidenceis absorbed in the sense of danger, or overwhelmed by some resistlesspassion. We then soon discover, that difficulty is, for the most part,the daughter of idleness, that the obstacles with which our way seemedto be obstructed were only phantoms, which we believed real, because wedurst not advance to a close examination; and we learn that it isimpossible to determine without experience how much constancy mayendure, or perseverance perform.

But whatever pleasure may be found in the review of distresses when artor courage has surmounted them, few will be persuaded to wish that theymay be awakened by want, or terrour, to the conviction of their ownabilities. Every one should therefore endeavour to invigorate himself byreason and reflection, and determine to exert the latent force thatnature may have reposed in him, before the hour of exigence comes uponhim, and compulsion shall torture him to diligence. It is below thedignity of a reasonable being to owe that strength to necessity whichought always to act at the call of choice, or to need any other motiveto industry than the desire of performing his duty.

Reflections that may drive away despair, cannot be wanting to him whoconsiders how much life is now advanced beyond the state of naked,undisciplined, uninstructed nature. Whatever has been effected forconvenience or elegance, while it was yet unknown, was believedimpossible; and therefore would never have been attempted, had not some,more daring than the rest, adventured to bid defiance to prejudice andcensure. Nor is there yet any reason to doubt that the same labour wouldbe rewarded with the same success. There are qualities in the productsof nature yet undiscovered, and combinations in the powers of art yetuntried. It is the duty of every man to endeavour that something may beadded by his industry to the hereditary aggregate of knowledge andhappiness. To add much can indeed be the lot of few, but to addsomething, however little, every one may hope; and of every honestendeavour, it is certain, that, however unsuccessful, it will be at lastrewarded.

[Footnote e: Johnson gained his knowledge from actual experience. Hetold Boswell that before he wrote the Rambler he had been running aboutthe world more than almost any body. Boswell's Life of Johnson, vol. i.p. 196.; and vol. iii. pp. 20, 21.]

No. 130. SATURDAY, JUNE 15, 1751.

Non sic prata novo vere decentia
Æstatis calidtæ dispoliat vapor:
Sævit solstitio cum medius dies;—
Ut fulgor teneris qui radiat genis
Momento rapitur! nullaque non dies
Formosi spolium corporis abstulit.
Res est forma fugax: quis sapiens bono
Confidat fragili? SENECA, Hippol. act. ii. 764.

Not faster in the summer's ray
The spring's frail beauty fades away,
Than anguish and decay consume
The smiling virgin's rosy bloom.
Some beauty's snatch'd each day, each hour;
For beauty is a fleeting flow'r:
Then how can wisdom e'er confide
In beauty's momentary pride? ELPHINSTON

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

You have very lately observed that in the numerous subdivisions of theworld, every class and order of mankind have joys and sorrows of theirown; we all feel hourly pain and pleasure from events which passunheeded before other eyes, but can scarcely communicate our perceptionsto minds pre-occupied by different objects, any more than the delight ofwell-disposed colours or harmonious sounds can be imparted to such aswant the senses of hearing or of sight.

I am so strongly convinced of the justness of this remark, and have onso many occasions discovered with how little attention pride looks uponcalamity of which she thinks herself not in danger, and indolencelistens to complaint when it is not echoed by her own remembrance, thatthough I am about to lay the occurrences of my life before you, Iquestion whether you will condescend to peruse my narrative, or, withoutthe help of some female speculatists, to be able to understand it.

I was born a beauty. From the dawn of reason I had my regard turnedwholly upon myself, nor can recollect any thing earlier than praise andadmiration. My mother, whose face had luckily advanced her to acondition above her birth, thought no evil so great as deformity. Shehad not the power of imagining any other defect than a cloudycomplexion, or disproportionate features; and therefore contemplated meas an assemblage of all that could raise envy or desire, and predictedwith triumphant fondness the extent of my conquests, and the number ofmy slaves.

She never mentioned any of my young acquaintance before me, but toremark how much they fell below my perfection; how one would have had afine face, but that her eyes were without lustre; how another struck thesight at a distance, but wanted my hair and teeth at a nearer view;another disgraced an elegant shape with a brown skin; some had shortfingers, and others dimples in a wrong place.

As she expected no happiness nor advantage but from beauty, she thoughtnothing but beauty worthy of her care; and her maternal kindness waschiefly exercised in contrivances to protect me from any accident thatmight deface me with a scar, or stain me with a freckle: she neverthought me sufficiently shaded from the sun, or screened from the fire.She was severe or indulgent with no other intention than thepreservation of my form; she excused me from work, lest I should learnto hang down my head, or harden my finger with a needle; she snatchedaway my book, because a young lady in the neighbourhood had made hereyes red with reading by a candle; but she would scarcely suffer me toeat, lest I should spoil my shape, nor to walk lest I should swell myancle with a sprain. At night I was accurately surveyed from head tofoot, lest I should have suffered any diminution of my charms in theadventures of the day; and was never permitted to sleep, till I hadpassed through the cosmetick discipline, part of which was a regularlustration performed with bean-flower water and May-dews; my hair wasperfumed with variety of unguents, by some of which it was to bethickened, and by others to be curled. The softness of my hands wassecured by medicated gloves, and my bosom rubbed with a pomade preparedby my mother, of virtue to discuss pimples, and clear discolorations.

I was always called up early, because the morning air gives a freshnessto the cheeks; but I was placed behind a curtain in my mother's chamber,because the neck is easily tanned by the rising sun. I was then dressedwith a thousand precautions, and again heard my own praises, andtriumphed in the compliments and prognostications of all that approachedme.

My mother was not so much prepossessed with an opinion of my naturalexcellencies as not to think some cultivation necessary to theircompletion. She took care that I should want none of the accomplishmentsincluded in female education, or considered necessary in fashionablelife. I was looked upon in my ninth year as the chief ornament of thedancing-master's ball; and Mr. Ariet used to reproach his other scholarswith my performances on the harpsichord. At twelve I was remarkable forplaying my cards with great elegance of manner, and accuracy ofjudgment.

At last the time came when my mother thought me perfect in my exercises,and qualified to display in the open world those accomplishments whichhad yet only been discovered in select parties, or domestick assemblies.Preparations were therefore made for my appearance on a publick night,which she considered as the most important and critical moment of mylife. She cannot be charged with neglecting any means of recommendation,or leaving any thing to chance which prudence could ascertain. Everyornament was tried in every position, every friend was consulted aboutthe colour of my dress, and the mantua-makers were harassed withdirections and alterations.

At last the night arrived from which my future life was to be reckoned.I was dressed and sent out to conquer, with a heart beating like that ofan old knight-errant at his first sally. Scholars have told me of aSpartan matron, who, when she armed her son for battle, bade him bringback his shield, or be brought upon it. My venerable parent dismissed meto a field, in her opinion of equal glory, with a command to shew that Iwas her daughter, and not to return without a lover.

I went, and was received like other pleasing novelties with a tumult ofapplause. Every man who valued himself upon the graces of his person, orthe elegance of his address, crowded about me, and wit and splendourcontended for my notice. I was delightfully fatigued with incessantcivilities, which were made more pleasing by the apparent envy of thosewhom my presence exposed to neglect, and returned with an attendantequal in rank and wealth to my utmost wishes, and from this time stoodin the first rank of beauty, was followed by gazers in the Mall,celebrated in the papers of the day, imitated by all who endeavoured torise into fashion, and censured by those whom age or disappointmentforced to retire.

My mother, who pleased herself with the hopes of seeing my exaltation,dressed me with all the exuberance of finery; and when I represented toher that a fortune might be expected proportionate to my appearance,told me that she should scorn the reptile who could inquire after thefortune of a girl like me. She advised me to prosecute my victories, andtime would certainly bring me a captive who might deserve the honour ofbeing enchained for ever.

My lovers were indeed so numerous, that I had no other care than that ofdetermining to whom I should seem to give the preference. But havingbeen steadily and industriously instructed to preserve my heart from anyimpressions which might hinder me from consulting my interest, I actedwith less embarrassment, because my choice was regulated by principlesmore clear and certain than the caprice of approbation. When I hadsingled out one from the rest as more worthy of encouragement, Iproceeded in my measures by the rules of art; and yet when the ardour ofthe first visits was spent, generally found a sudden declension of myinfluence; I felt in myself the want of some power to diversifyamusem*nt, and enliven conversation, and could not but suspect that mymind failed in performing the promises of my face. This opinion was soonconfirmed by one of my lovers, who married Lavinia with less beauty andfortune than mine, because he thought a wife ought to have qualitieswhich might make her amiable when her bloom was past.

The vanity of my mother would not suffer her to discover any defect inone that had been formed by her instructions, and had all the excellencewhich she herself could boast. She told me that nothing so much hinderedthe advancement of women as literature and wit, which generallyfrightened away those that could make the best settlements, and drewabout them a needy tribe of poets and philosophers, that filled theirheads with wild notions of content, and contemplation, and virtuousobscurity. She therefore enjoined me to improve my minuet-step with anew French dancing-master, and wait the event of the next birth-night.

I had now almost completed my nineteenth year: if my charms had lost anyof their softness, it was more than compensated by additional dignity;and if the attractions of innocence were impaired, their place wassupplied by the arts of allurement. I was therefore preparing for a newattack, without any abatement of my confidence, when, in the midst of myhopes and schemes, I was seized by that dreadful malady which has sooften put a sudden end to the tyranny of beauty. I recovered my healthafter a long confinement; but when I looked again on that face which hadbeen often flushed with transport at its own reflection, and saw allthat I had learned to value, all that I had endeavoured to improve, allthat had procured me honours or praises, irrecoverably destroyed, I sunkat once into melancholy and despondence. My pain was not much consoledor alleviated by my mother, who grieved that I had not lost my lifetogether with my beauty; and declared, that she thought a young womandivested of her charms had nothing for which those who loved her coulddesire to save her from the grave.

Having thus continued my relation to the period from which my life tooka new course, I shall conclude it in another letter, if, by publishingthis, you shew any regard for the correspondence of,

Sir, &c.

VICTORIA.

No. 131. TUESDAY, JUNE 18, 1751.

—Fatis accede, Deisque,
Et cole felices, miseros fuge. sidera terrae
Ut distant, ut flamma mari, sic utile recto. LUCAN. Lib. viii. 486.
[Transcriber's note: punctuation in original.]

Still follow where auspicious fates invite;
Caress the happy, and the wretched slight.
Sooner shall jarring elements unite,
Than truth with gain, than interest with right. F. LEWIS.

There is scarcely any sentiment in which, amidst the innumerablevarieties of inclination that nature or accident have scattered in theworld, we find greater numbers concurring, than in the wish for riches;a wish, indeed, so prevalent that it may be considered as universal andtranscendental, as the desire in which all other desires are included,and of which the various purposes which actuate mankind are onlysubordinate species and different modifications.

Wealth is the general centre of inclination, the point to which allminds preserve an invariable tendency, and from which they afterwardsdiverge in numberless directions. Whatever is the remote or ultimatedesign, the immediate care is to be rich; and in whatever enjoyment weintend finally to acquiesce, we seldom consider it as attainable but bythe means of money. Of wealth therefore all unanimously confess thevalue, nor is there any disagreement but about the use.

No desire can be formed which riches do not assist to gratify. He thatplaces his happiness in splendid equipage or numerous dependants, inrefined praise or popular acclamations, in the accumulation ofcuriosities or the revels of luxury, in splendid edifices or wideplantations, must still, either by birth or acquisition, possess riches.They may be considered as the elemental principles of pleasure, whichmay be combined with endless diversity; as the essential and necessarysubstance, of which only the form is left to be adjusted by choice.

The necessity of riches being thus apparent, it is not wonderful thatalmost every mind has been employed in endeavours to acquire them; thatmultitudes have vied in arts by which life is furnished withaccommodations, and which therefore mankind may reasonably be expectedto reward.

It had, indeed, been happy, if this predominant appetite had operatedonly in concurrence with virtue, by influencing none but those who werezealous to deserve what they were eager to possess, and had abilities toimprove their own fortunes by contributing to the ease or happiness ofothers. To have riches and to have merit would then have been the same,and success might reasonably have been considered as a proof ofexcellence.

But we do not find that any of the wishes of men keep a statedproportion to their powers of attainment. Many envy and desire wealth,who can never procure it by honest industry or useful knowledge. Theytherefore turn their eyes about to examine what other methods can befound of gaining that which none, however impotent or worthless, will becontent to want.

A little inquiry will discover that there are nearer ways to profit thanthrough the intricacies of art, or up the steeps of labour; what wisdomand virtue scarcely receive at the close of life, as the recompense oflong toil and repeated efforts, is brought within the reach of subtiltyand dishonesty by more expeditious and compendious measures: the wealthof credulity is an open prey to falsehood; and the possessions ofignorance and imbecility are easily stolen away by the conveyances ofsecret artifice, or seized by the gripe of unresisted violence.

It is likewise not hard to discover that riches always procureprotection for themselves, that they dazzle the eyes of inquiry, divertthe celerity of pursuit, or appease the ferocity of vengeance. When anyman is incontestably known to have large possessions, very few think itrequisite to inquire by what practices they were obtained; theresentment of mankind rages only against the struggles of feeble andtimorous corruption, but when it has surmounted the first opposition, itis afterwards supported by favour, and animated by applause.

The prospect of gaining speedily what is ardently desired, and thecertainty of obtaining by every accession of advantage an addition ofsecurity, have so far prevailed upon the passions of mankind, that thepeace of life is destroyed by a general and incessant struggle forriches. It is observed of gold, by an old epigrammatist, that "To haveit is to be in fear, and to want it is to be in sorrow." There is nocondition which is not disquieted either with the care of gaining or ofkeeping money; and the race of man may be divided in a politicalestimate between those who are practising fraud, and those who arerepelling it.

If we consider the present state of the world, it will be found, thatall confidence is lost among mankind, that no man ventures to act, wheremoney can be endangered upon the faith of another. It is impossible tosee the long scrolls in which every contract is included, with all theirappendages of seals and attestation, without wondering at the depravityof those beings, who must be restrained from violation of promise bysuch formal and publick evidences, and precluded from equivocation andsubterfuge by such punctilious minuteness. Among all the satires towhich folly and wickedness have given occasion, none is equally severewith a bond or a settlement.

Of the various arts by which riches may be obtained, the greater partare at the first view irreconcileable with the laws of virtue; some areopenly flagitious, and practised not only in neglect, but in defiance offaith and justice; and the rest are on every side so entangled withdubious tendencies, and so beset with perpetual temptations, that veryfew, even of those who are not yet abandoned, are able to preserve theirinnocence, or can produce any other claim to pardon than that theydeviated from the right less than others, and have sooner and morediligently endeavoured to return.

One of the chief characteristicks of the golden age, of the age in whichneither care nor danger had intruded on mankind, is the community ofpossessions: strife and fraud were totally excluded, and every turbulentpassion was stilled by plenty and equality. Such were indeed happytimes, but such times can return no more. Community of possession mustinclude spontaneity of production; for what is obtained by labour willbe of right the property of him by whose labour it is gained. And whilea rightful claim to pleasure or to affluence must be procured either byslow industry or uncertain hazard, there will always be multitudes whomcowardice or impatience incite to more safe and more speedy methods, whostrive to pluck the fruit without cultivating the tree, and to share theadvantages of victory without partaking the danger of the battle. Inlater ages, the conviction of the danger to which virtue is exposedwhile the mind continues open to the influence of riches, has determinedmany to vows of perpetual poverty; they have suppressed desire bycutting off the possibility of gratification, and secured their peace bydestroying the enemy whom they had no hope of reducing to quietsubjection. But, by debarring themselves from evil, they have rescindedmany opportunities of good; they have too often sunk into inactivity anduselessness; and, though they have forborne to injure society, have notfully paid their contributions to its happiness.

While riches are so necessary to present convenience, and so much moreeasily obtained by crimes than virtues, the mind can only be securedfrom yielding to the continual impulse of covetousness by thepreponderation of unchangeable and eternal motives. Gold will turn theintellectual balance, when weighed only against reputation; but will belight and ineffectual when the opposite scale is charged with justice,veracity, and piety[f].

No. 132. SATURDAY, JUNE 22, 1751.

—Dociles imitandis
Turpibus ac pravis omnes sumus.—JUV. Sat. xiv. 40.

The mind of mortals, in perverseness strong,
Imbibes with dire docility the wrong.

TO THE RAMBLER.

MR. RAMBLER,

I was bred a scholar, and after the usual course of education, found itnecessary to employ for the support of life that learning which I hadalmost exhausted my little fortune in acquiring. The lucrativeprofessions drew my regard with equal attraction; each presented ideaswhich excited my curiosity, and each imposed duties which terrified myapprehension.

There is no temper more unpropitious to interest than desultoryapplication and unlimited inquiry, by which the desires are held in aperpetual equipoise, and the mind fluctuates between different purposeswithout determination. I had books of every kind round me, among which Idivided my time as caprice or accident directed. I often spent the firsthours of the day, in considering to what study I should devote the rest,and at last snatched up any author that lay upon the table, or perhapsfled to a coffee-house for deliverance from the anxiety of irresolution,and the gloominess of solitude.

Thus my little patrimony grew imperceptibly less, till I was roused frommy literary slumber by a creditor, whose importunity obliged me topacify him with so large a sum, that what remained was not sufficient tosupport me more than eight months. I hope you will not reproach me withavarice or cowardice, if I acknowledge that I now thought myself indanger of distress, and obliged to endeavour after some certaincompetence.

There have been heroes of negligence, who have laid the price of theirlast acre in a drawer, and, without the least interruption of theirtranquillity, or abatement of their expenses, taken out one piece afteranother, till there was no more remaining. But I was not born to suchdignity of imprudence, or such exaltation above the cares andnecessities of life; I therefore immediately engaged my friends toprocure me a little employment, which might set me free from the dreadof poverty, and afford me time to plan out some final scheme of lastingadvantage.

My friends were struck with honest solicitude, and immediately promisedtheir endeavours for my extrication. They did not suffer their kindnessto languish by delay, but prosecuted their inquiries with such success,that in less than a month I was perplexed with variety of offers andcontrariety of prospects.

I had however no time for long pauses of consideration; and thereforesoon resolved to accept the office of instructing a young nobleman inthe house of his father: I went to the seat at which the family thenhappened to reside, was received with great politeness, and invited toenter immediately on my charge. The terms offered were such as I shouldwillingly have accepted, though my fortune had allowed me greaterliberty of choice: the respect with which I was treated, flattered myvanity; and perhaps the splendour of the apartments, and the luxury ofthe table, were not wholly without their influence. I immediatelycomplied with the proposals, and received the young lord into my care.

Having no desire to gain more than I should truly deserve, I verydiligently prosecuted my undertaking, and had the satisfaction ofdiscovering in my pupil a flexible temper, a quick apprehension, and aretentive memory. I did not much doubt that my care would, in time,produce a wise and useful counsellor to the state, though my labourswere somewhat obstructed by want of authority, and the necessity ofcomplying with the freaks of negligence, and of waiting patiently forthe lucky moment of voluntary attention. To a man whose imagination wasfilled with the dignity of knowledge, and to whom a studious life hadmade all the common amusem*nts insipid and contemptible, it was not veryeasy to suppress his indignation, when he saw himself forsaken in themidst of his lecture, for an opportunity to catch an insect, and foundhis instructions debarred from access to the intellectual faculties, bythe memory of a childish frolick, or the desire of a new play-thing.

Those vexations would have recurred less frequently, had not his mamma,by entreating at one time that he should be excused from a task as areward for some petty compliance, and withholding him from his book atanother, to gratify herself or her visitants with his vivacity, shewnhim that every thing was more pleasing and more important thanknowledge, and that study was to be endured rather than chosen, and wasonly the business of those hours which pleasure left vacant, ordiscipline usurped.

I thought it my duty to complain, in tender terms, of these frequentavocations; but was answered, that rank and fortune might reasonablyhope for some indulgence; that the retardation of my pupil's progresswould not be imputed to any negligence or inability of mine; and thatwith the success which satisfied every body else, I might surely satisfymyself. I had now done my duty, and without more remonstrances continuedto inculcate my precepts whenever they could be heard, gained every daynew influence, and found that by degrees my scholar began to feel thequick impulses of curiosity, and the honest ardour of studious ambition.

At length it was resolved to pass a winter in London. The lady had toomuch fondness for her son to live five months without him, and too highan opinion of his wit and learning to refuse her vanity thegratification of exhibiting him to the publick. I remonstrated againsttoo early an acquaintance with cards and company; but, with a softcontempt of my ignorance and pedantry, she said, that he had beenalready confined too long to solitary study, and it was now time to shewhim the world; nothing was more a brand of meanness than bashfultimidity; gay freedom and elegant assurance were only to be gained bymixed conversation, a frequent intercourse with strangers, and a timelyintroduction to splendid assemblies; and she had more than onceobserved, that his forwardness and complaisance began to desert him,that he was silent when he had not something of consequence to say,blushed whenever he happened to find himself mistaken, and hung down hishead in the presence of the ladies, without the readiness of reply, andactivity of officiousness, remarkable in young gentlemen that are bredin London.

Again I found resistance hopeless, and again thought it proper tocomply. We entered the coach, and in four days were placed in the gayestand most magnificent region of the town. My pupil, who had for severalyears lived at a remote seat, was immediately dazzled with a thousandbeams of novelty and shew. His imagination was filled with the perpetualtumult of pleasure that passed before him, and it was impossible toallure him from the window, or to overpower by any charm of eloquencethe rattle of coaches, and the sounds which echoed from the doors in theneighbourhood. In three days his attention, which he began to regain,was disturbed by a rich suit, in which he was equipped for the receptionof company, and which, having been long accustomed to a plain dress, hecould not at first survey without ecstacy.

The arrival of the family was now formally notified; every hour of everyday brought more intimate or more distant acquaintances to the door; andmy pupil was indiscriminately introduced to all, that he might accustomhimself to change of faces, and be rid with speed of his rustickdiffidence. He soon endeared himself to his mother by the speedyacquisition or recovery of her darling qualities; his eyes sparkle at anumerous assembly, and his heart dances at the mention of a ball. He hasat once caught the infection of high life, and has no other test ofprinciples or actions than the quality of those to whom they areascribed. He begins already to look down on me with superiority, andsubmits to one short lesson in a week, as an act of condescension ratherthan obedience; for he is of opinion, that no tutor is properlyqualified who cannot speak French; and having formerly learned a fewfamiliar phrases from his sister's governess, he is every day solicitinghis mamma to procure him a foreign footman, that he may grow polite byhis conversation. I am not yet insulted, but find myself likely tobecome soon a superfluous incumbrance, for my scholar has now no timefor science, or for virtue; and the lady yesterday declared him so muchthe favourite of every company, that she was afraid he would not have anhour in the day to dance and fence.

I am, &c.

EUMATHES.

[Footnote f: Johnson often conversed, as well as wrote, on riches. Inhis conversations on the subject, amidst his often indulged laxity oftalk, there was ever a deep insight into the human heart. "All thearguments," he once with keen satire remarked, "which are brought torepresent poverty as no evil, shew it to be evidently a great evil. Younever find people labouring to convince you that you may live happilyupon a plentiful fortune. So you hear people talking how miserable aking must be, and yet they all wish to be in his place." Boswell vol.i. p. 422.

When Simonides was asked whether it were better to be wise or rich, hegave an answer in favour of wealth. "For," said he, "I always behold thewise lingering at the gates of the wealthy." Aristot. Rhet. ii. 18.]

No. 133. TUESDAY, JUNE 25, 1751.

Magna quidem, sacris quæ dat præcepta libellis
Victrix fortune sapientia. Dicimus autem
Hos quoque felices, qui ferre incommoda vitæ,
Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra. Juv. Sat. xiii. 19.

Let Stoicks ethicks' haughty rules advance
To combat fortune, and to conquer chance:
Yet happy those, though not so learn'd are thought,
Whom life instructs, who by experience taught,
For new to come from past misfortunes look,
Nor shake the yoke, which galls the more 'tis shook. CREECH.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

You have shewn, by the publication of my letter, that you think thelife of Victoria not wholly unworthy of the notice of a philosopher: Ishall therefore continue my narrative, without any apology forunimportance which you have dignified, or for inaccuracies which you areto correct.

When my life appeared to be no longer in danger, and as much of mystrength was recovered as enabled me to bear the agitation of a coach, Iwas placed at a lodging in a neighbouring village, to which my motherdismissed me with a faint embrace, having repeated her command not toexpose my face too soon to the sun or wind, and told me that with care Imight perhaps become tolerable again. The prospect of being tolerablehad very little power to elevate the imagination of one who had so longbeen accustomed to praise and ecstacy; but it was some satisfaction tobe separated from my mother, who was incessantly ringing the knell ofdeparted beauty, and never entered my room without the whine ofcondolence, or the growl of anger. She often wandered over my face, astravellers over the ruins of a celebrated city, to note every placewhich had once been remarkable for a happy feature. She condescended tovisit my retirement, but always left me more melancholy; for after athousand trifling inquiries about my diet, and a minute examination ofmy looks, she generally concluded with a sigh, that I should never morebe fit to be seen.

At last I was permitted to return home, but found no great improvementof my condition; for I was imprisoned in my chamber as a criminal, whoseappearance would disgrace my friends, and condemn me to be tortured intonew beauty. Every experiment which the officiousness of folly couldcommunicate, or the credulity of ignorance admit, was tried upon me.Sometimes I was covered with emollients, by which it was expected thatall the scars would be filled, and my cheeks plumped up to their formersmoothness; and sometimes I was punished with artificial excoriations,in hopes of gaining new graces with a new skin. The cosmetick sciencewas exhausted upon me; but who can repair the ruins of nature? My motherwas forced to give me rest at last, and abandon me to the fate of afallen toast, whose fortune she considered as a hopeless game, no longerworthy of solicitude or attention.

The condition of a young woman who has never thought or heard of anyother excellence than beauty, and whom the sudden blast of diseasewrinkles in her bloom, is indeed sufficiently calamitous. She is at oncedeprived of all that gave her eminence or power; of all that elated herpride, or animated her activity; all that filled her days with pleasure,and her nights with hope; all that gave gladness to the present hour, orbrightened her prospects of futurity. It is perhaps not in the power ofa man whose attention has been divided by diversity of pursuits, and whohas not been accustomed to derive from others much of his happiness, toimage to himself such helpless destitution, such dismal inanity. Everyobject of pleasing contemplation is at once snatched away, and the soulfinds every receptacle of ideas empty, or filled only with the memory ofjoys that can return no more. All is gloomy privation, or impotentdesire; the faculties of anticipation slumber in despondency, or thepowers of pleasure mutiny for employment.

I was so little able to find entertainment for myself, that I was forcedin a short time to venture abroad as the solitary savage is driven byhunger from his cavern. I entered with all the humility of disgrace intoassemblies, where I had lately sparkled with gaiety, and towered withtriumph. I was not wholly without hope, that dejection hadmisrepresented me to myself, and that the remains of my former facemight yet have some attraction and influence; but the first circle ofvisits convinced me, that my reign was at an end; that life and deathwere no longer in my hands; that I was no more to practise the glance ofcommand, or the frown of prohibition; to receive the tribute of sighsand praises, or be soothed with the gentle murmurs of amorous timidity.My opinion was now unheard, and my proposals were unregarded; thenarrowness of my knowledge, and the meanness of my sentiments, wereeasily discovered, when the eyes were no longer engaged against thejudgment; and it was observed, by those who had formerly been charmedwith my vivacious loquacity, that my understanding was impaired as wellas my face, and that I was no longer qualified to fill a place in anycompany but a party at cards.

It is scarcely to be imagined how soon the mind sinks to a level withthe condition. I, who had long considered all who approached me asvassals condemned to regulate their pleasures by my eyes, and harasstheir inventions for my entertainment, was in less than three weeksreduced to receive a ticket with professions of obligation; to catchwith eagerness at a compliment; and to watch with all the anxiousness ofdependance, lest any little civility that was paid me should passunacknowledged.

Though the negligence of the men was not very pleasing when comparedwith vows and adoration, yet it was far more supportable than theinsolence of my own sex. For the first ten months after my return intothe world, I never entered a single house in which the memory of mydownfall was not revived. At one place I was congratulated on my escapewith life; at another I heard of the benefits of early inoculation; bysome I have been told in express terms, that I am not yet without mycharms; others have whispered at my entrance, This is the celebratedbeauty. One told me of a wash that would smooth the skin; and anotheroffered me her chair that I might not front the light. Some soothed mewith the observation that none can tell how soon my case may be her own;and some thought it proper to receive me with mournful tenderness,formal condolence, and consolatory blandishments.

Thus was I every day harassed with all the stratagems of well-bredmalignity; yet insolence was more tolerable than solitude, and Itherefore persisted to keep my time at the doors of my acquaintance,without gratifying them with any appearance of resentment or depression.I expected that their exultation would in time vapour away; that the joyof their superiority would end with its novelty; and that I should besuffered to glide along in my present form among the nameless multitude,whom nature never intended to excite envy or admiration, nor enabled todelight the eye or inflame the heart.

This was naturally to be expected, and this I began to experience. Butwhen I was no longer agitated by the perpetual ardour of resistance, andeffort of perseverance, I found more sensibly the want of thoseentertainments which had formerly delighted me; the day rose upon mewithout an engagement; and the evening closed in its natural gloom,without summoning me to a concert or a ball. None had any care to findamusem*nts for me, and I had no power of amusing myself. Idlenessexposed me to melancholy, and life began to languish in motionlessindifference.

Misery and shame are nearly allied. It was not without many strugglesthat I prevailed on myself to confess my uneasiness to Euphemia, theonly friend who had never pained me with comfort or with pity. I at lastlaid my calamities before her, rather to ease my heart, than receiveassistance. "We must distinguish," said she, "my Victoria, those evilswhich are imposed by Providence, from those to which we ourselves givethe power of hurting us. Of your calamity, a small part is theinfliction of Heaven, the rest is little more than the corrosion of idlediscontent. You have lost that which may indeed sometimes contribute tohappiness, but to which happiness is by no means inseparably annexed.You have lost what the greater number of the human race never havepossessed; what those on whom it is bestowed for the most part possessin vain; and what you, while it was yours, knew not how to use: you haveonly lost early what the laws of nature forbid you to keep long, andhave lost it while your mind is yet flexible, and while you have time tosubstitute more valuable and more durable excellencies. Consideryourself, my Victoria, as a being born to know, to reason, and to act;rise at once from your dream of melancholy to wisdom and to piety; youwill find that there are other charms than those of beauty, and otherjoys than the praise of fools."

I am, Sir, &c.

VICTORIA.

No. 134. SATURDAY, JUNE 29, 1751.

Quis scit an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summae
Tempora Dii superi? HOR. Lib. iv. Ode vii. 16.

Who knows if Heav'n, with ever-bounteous pow'r,
Shall add to-morrow to the present hour? FRANCIS.

I sat yesterday morning employed in deliberating on which, among thevarious subjects that occurred to my imagination, I should bestow thepaper of to-day. After a short effort of meditation by which nothing wasdetermined, I grew every moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered fromthe first intention, and I rather wished to think, than thought upon anysettled subject; till at last I was awakened from this dream of study bya summons from the press; the time was now come for which I had beenthus negligently purposing to provide, and, however dubious or sluggish,I was now necessitated to write.

Though to a writer whose design is so comprehensive and miscellaneous,that he may accommodate himself with a topick from every scene of life,or view of nature, it is no great aggravation of his task to be obligedto a sudden composition; yet I could not forbear to reproach myself forhaving so long neglected what was unavoidably to be done, and of whichevery moment's idleness increased the difficulty. There was however somepleasure in reflecting that I, who had only trifled till diligence wasnecessary, might still congratulate myself upon my superiority tomultitudes, who have trifled till diligence is vain; who can by nodegree of activity or resolution recover the opportunities which haveslipped away; and who are condemned by their own carelessness tohopeless calamity and barren sorrow.

The folly of allowing ourselves to delay what we know cannot be finallyescaped, is one of the general weaknesses, which, in spite of theinstruction of moralists, and the remonstrances of reason, prevail to agreater or less degree in every mind; even they who most steadilywithstand it, find it, if not the most violent, the most pertinacious oftheir passions, always renewing its attacks, and though oftenvanquished, never destroyed.

It is indeed natural to have particular regard to the time present, andto be most solicitous for that which is by its nearness enabled to makethe strongest impressions. When therefore any sharp pain is to besuffered, or any formidable danger to be incurred, we can scarcelyexempt ourselves wholly from the seducements of imagination; we readilybelieve that another day will bring some support or advantage which wenow want; and are easily persuaded, that the moment of necessity whichwe desire never to arrive, is at a great distance from us.

Thus life is languished away in the gloom of anxiety, and consumed incollecting resolutions which the next morning dissipates; in formingpurposes which we scarcely hope to keep, and reconciling ourselves toour own cowardice by excuses, which, while we admit them, we know to beabsurd. Our firmness is by the continual contemplation of misery, hourlyimpaired; every submission to our fear enlarges its dominion; we notonly waste that time in which the evil we dread might have been sufferedand surmounted, but even where procrastination produces no absoluteincrease of our difficulties, make them less superable to ourselves byhabitual terrours. When evils cannot be avoided, it is wise to contractthe interval of expectation; to meet the mischiefs which will overtakeus if we fly; and suffer only their real malignity, without theconflicts of doubt, and anguish of anticipation.

To act is far easier than to suffer; yet we every day see the progressof life retarded by the vis inertiae, the mere repugnance to motion,and find multitudes repining at the want of that which nothing butidleness hinders them from enjoying. The case of Tantalus, in the regionof poetick punishment, was somewhat to be pitied, because the fruitsthat hung about him retired from his hand; but what tenderness can beclaimed by those who, though perhaps they suffer the pains of Tantalus,will never lift their hands for their own relief?

There is nothing more common among this torpid generation than murmursand complaints; murmurs at uneasiness which only vacancy and suspicionexpose them to feel, and complaints of distresses which it is in theirown power to remove. Laziness is commonly associated with timidity.Either fear originally prohibits endeavours by infusing despair ofsuccess; or the frequent failure of irresolute struggles, and theconstant desire of avoiding labour, impress by degrees false terrours onthe mind. But fear, whether natural or acquired, when once it has fullpossession of the fancy, never fails to employ it upon visions ofcalamity, such as, if they are not dissipated by useful employment, willsoon overcast it with horrours, and embitter life not only with thosemiseries by which all earthly beings are really more or less tormented,but with those which do not yet exist, and which can only be discernedby the perspicacity of cowardice.

Among all who sacrifice future advantage to present inclination,scarcely any gain so little as those that suffer themselves to freeze inidleness. Others are corrupted by some enjoyment of more or less powerto gratify the passions; but to neglect our duties, merely to avoid thelabour of performing them, a labour which is always punctually rewarded,is surely to sink under weak temptations. Idleness never can securetranquillity; the call of reason and of conscience will pierce theclosest pavilion of the sluggard, and though it may not have force todrive him from his down, will be loud enough to hinder him from sleep.Those moments which he cannot resolve to make useful, by devoting themto the great business of his being, will still be usurped by powers thatwill not leave them to his disposal; remorse and vexation will seizeupon them, and forbid him to enjoy what he is so desirous toappropriate.

There are other causes of inactivity incident to more active facultiesand more acute discernment. He to whom many objects of pursuit arise atthe same time, will frequently hesitate between different desires, tilla rival has precluded him, or change his course as new attractionsprevail, and harass himself without advancing. He who sees differentways to the same end, will, unless he watches carefully over his ownconduct, lay out too much of his attention upon the comparison ofprobabilities, and the adjustment of expedients, and pause in the choiceof his road till some accident intercepts his journey. He whosepenetration extends to remote consequences, and who, whenever he applieshis attention to any design, discovers new prospects of advantage, andpossibilities of improvement, will not easily be persuaded that hisproject is ripe for execution; but will superadd one contrivance toanother, endeavour to unite various purposes in one operation, multiplycomplications, and refine niceties, till he is entangled in his ownscheme, and bewildered in the perplexity of various intentions. He thatresolves to unite all the beauties of situation in a new purchase, mustwaste his life in roving to no purpose from province to province. Hethat hopes in the same house to obtain every convenience, may draw plansand study Palladio, but will never lay a stone. He will attempt atreatise on some important subject, and amass materials, consultauthors, and study all the dependant and collateral parts of learning,but never conclude himself qualified to write. He that has abilities toconceive perfection, will not easily be content without it; and sinceperfection cannot be reached, will lose the opportunity of doing well inthe vain hope of unattainable excellence.

The certainty that life cannot be long, and the probability that it willbe much shorter than nature allows, ought to awaken every man to theactive prosecution of whatever he is desirous to perform. It is true,that no diligence can ascertain success; death may intercept theswiftest career; but he who is cut off in the execution of an honestundertaking, has at least the honour of falling in his rank, and hasfought the battle though he missed the victory.

No. 135. TUESDAY, JULY 2, 1751.

Coelum, non animum, mutant. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xi. 27.

Place may be chang'd; but who can change his mind?

It is impossible to take a view on any side, or observe any of thevarious classes that form the great community of the world, withoutdiscovering the influence of example; and admitting with new convictionthe observation of Aristotle, that man is an imitative being. Thegreater, far the greater number, follow the track which others havebeaten, without any curiosity after new discoveries, or ambition oftrusting themselves to their own conduct. And, of those who break theranks and disorder the uniformity of the march, most return in a shorttime from their deviation, and prefer the equal and steady satisfactionof security before the frolicks of caprice and the honours of adventure.

In questions difficult or dangerous it is indeed natural to repose uponauthority, and, when fear happens to predominate, upon the authority ofthose whom we do not in general think wiser than ourselves. Very fewhave abilities requisite for the discovery of abstruse truth; and ofthose few some want leisure, and some resolution. But it is not so easyto find the reason of the universal submission to precedent where everyman might safely judge for himself; where no irreparable loss can behazarded, nor any mischief of long continuance incurred. Vanity might beexpected to operate where the more powerful passions are not awakened;the mere pleasure of acknowledging no superior might produce slightsingularities, or the hope of gaining some new degree of happinessawaken the mind to invention or experiment.

If in any case the shackles of prescription could be wholly shaken off,and the imagination left to act without control, on what occasion shouldit be expected, but in the selection of lawful pleasure? Pleasure, ofwhich the essence is choice; which compulsion dissociates from everything to which nature has united it; and which owes not only its vigourbut its being to the smiles of liberty. Yet we see that the senses, aswell as the reason, are regulated by credulity; and that most will feel,or say that they feel, the gratifications which others have taught themto expect.

At this time of universal migration, when almost every one, considerableenough to attract regard, has retired, or is preparing with all theearnestness of distress to retire, into the country; when nothing is tobe heard but the hopes of speedy departure, or the complaints ofinvoluntary delay; I have often been tempted to inquire what happinessis to be gained, or what inconvenience to be avoided, by this statedrecession? Of the birds of passage, some follow the summer and some thewinter, because they live upon sustenance which only summer or wintercan supply; but of the annual flight of human rovers it is much harderto assign the reason, because they do not appear either to find or seekany thing which is not equally afforded by the town and country.

I believe that many of these fugitives may have heard of men whosecontinual wish was for the quiet of retirement, who watched everyopportunity to steal away from observation, to forsake the crowd, anddelight themselves with the society of solitude. There is indeedscarcely any writer who has not celebrated the happiness of ruralprivacy, and delighted himself and his reader with the melody of birds,the whisper of groves, and the murmur of rivulets; nor any man eminentfor extent of capacity, or greatness of exploits, that has not leftbehind him some memorials of lonely wisdom, and silent dignity.

But almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of thosewhom we cannot resemble. Those who thus testified their weariness oftumult and hurry, and hasted with so much eagerness to the leisure ofretreat, were either men overwhelmed with the pressure of difficultemployments, harassed with importunities, and distracted withmultiplicity; or men wholly engrossed by speculative sciences, whohaving no other end of life but to learn and teach, found their searchesinterrupted by the common commerce of civility, and their reasoningsdisjointed by frequent interruptions. Such men might reasonably fly tothat ease and convenience which their condition allowed them to findonly in the country. The statesman who devoted the greater part of histime to the publick, was desirous of keeping the remainder in his ownpower. The general, ruffled with dangers, wearied with labours, andstunned with acclamations, gladly snatched an interval of silence andrelaxation. The naturalist was unhappy where the works of Providencewere not always before him. The reasoner could adjust his systems onlywhere his mind was free from the intrusion of outward objects.

Such examples of solitude very few of those who are now hastening fromthe town, have any pretensions to plead in their own justification,since they cannot pretend either weariness of labour, or desire ofknowledge. They purpose nothing more than to quit one scene of idlenessfor another, and after having trifled in publick, to sleep in secrecy.The utmost that they can hope to gain is the change of ridiculousness toobscurity, and the privilege of having fewer witnesses to a life offolly. He who is not sufficiently important to be disturbed in hispursuits, but spends all his hours according to his own inclination, andhas more hours than his mental faculties enable him to fill either withenjoyment or desires, can have nothing to demand of shades and valleys.As bravery is said to be a panoply, insignificancy is always a shelter.

There are, however, pleasures and advantages in a rural situation, whichare not confined to philosophers and heroes. The freshness of the air,the verdure of the woods, the paint of the meadows, and the unexhaustedvariety which summer scatters upon the earth, may easily give delight toan unlearned spectator. It is not necessary that he who looks withpleasure on the colours of a flower should study the principles ofvegetation, or that the Ptolemaick and Copernican system should becompared before the light of the sun can gladden, or its warmthinvigorate. Novelty is itself a source of gratification; and Miltonjustly observes, that to him who has been long pent up in cities, norural object can be presented, which will not delight or refresh some ofhis senses.

Yet even these easy pleasures are missed by the greater part of thosewho waste their summer in the country. Should any man pursue hisacquaintances to their retreats, he would find few of them listening toPhilomel, loitering in woods, or plucking daisies, catching the healthygale of the morning, or watching the gentle coruscations of decliningday. Some will be discovered at a window by the road side, rejoicingwhen a new cloud of dust gathers towards them, as at the approach of amomentary supply of conversation, and a short relief from thetediousness of unideal vacancy. Others are placed in the adjacentvillages, where they look only upon houses as in the rest of the year,with no change of objects but what a remove to any new street in Londonmight have given them. The same set of acquaintances still settletogether, and the form of life is not otherwise diversified than bydoing the same things in a different place. They pay and receive visitsin the usual form, they frequent the walks in the morning, they dealcards at night, they attend to the same tattle, and dance with the samepartners; nor can they, at their return to their former habitation,congratulate themselves on any other advantage, than that they havepassed their time like others of the same rank; and have the same rightto talk of the happiness and beauty of the country, of happiness whichthey never felt, and beauty which they never regarded.

To be able to procure its own entertainments, and to subsist upon itsown stock, is not the prerogative of every mind. There are indeedunderstandings so fertile and comprehensive, that they can always feedreflection with new supplies, and suffer nothing from the preclusion ofadventitious amusem*nts; as some cities have within their own wallsenclosed ground enough to feed their inhabitants in a siege. But otherslive only from day to day, and must be constantly enabled, by foreignsupplies, to keep out the encroachments of languor and stupidity. Suchcould not indeed be blamed for hovering within reach of their usualpleasure, more than any other animal for not quitting its nativeelement, were not their faculties contracted by their own fault. But letnot those who go into the country, merely because they dare not be leftalone at home, boast their love of nature, or their qualifications forsolitude; nor pretend that they receive instantaneous infusions ofwisdom from the Dryads, and are able, when they leave smoke and noisebehind, to act, or think, or reason for themselves.

No. 136. SATURDAY, JULY 6, 1751.

[Greek: Echthrus gar moi keimos, omos aidao pulusin,
Os ch eteron men keuthei eni phresin, allo de bazei.]
HOMER, [Greek: I'.] 313.

Who dares think one thing, and another tell,
My heart detests him as the gates of Hell. POPE.

The regard which they whose abilities are employed in the works ofimagination claim from the rest of mankind, arises in a great measurefrom their influence on futurity. Rank may be conferred by princes, andwealth bequeathed by misers or by robbers; but the honours of a lastingname, and the veneration of distant ages, only the sons of learning havethe power of bestowing. While therefore it continues one of thecharacteristicks of rational nature to decline oblivion, authors nevercan be wholly overlooked in the search after happiness, nor becomecontemptible but by their own fault.

The man who considers himself as constituted the ultimate judge ofdisputable characters, and entrusted with the distribution of the lastterrestrial rewards of merit, ought to summon all his fortitude to thesupport of his integrity, and resolve to discharge an office of suchdignity with the most vigilant caution and scrupulous justice. Todeliver examples to posterity, and to regulate the opinion of futuretimes, is no slight or trivial undertaking; nor is it easy to commitmore atrocious treason against the great republick of humanity, than byfalsifying its records and misguiding its decrees.

To scatter praise or blame without regard to justice, is to destroy thedistinction of good and evil. Many have no other test of actions thangeneral opinion; and all are so far influenced by a sense of reputation,that they are often restrained by fear of reproach, and excited by hopeof honour, when other principles have lost their power; nor can anyspecies of prostitution promote general depravity more than that whichdestroys the force of praise, by shewing that it may be acquired withoutdeserving it, and which, by setting free the active and ambitious fromthe dread of infamy, lets loose the rapacity of power, and weakens theonly authority by which greatness is controlled.

Praise, like gold and diamonds, owes its value only to its scarcity. Itbecomes cheap as it becomes vulgar, and will no longer raiseexpectation, or animate enterprise. It is therefore not only necessary,that wickedness, even when it is not safe to censure it, be deniedapplause, but that goodness be commended only in proportion to itsdegree; and that the garlands, due to the great benefactors of mankind,be not suffered to fade upon the brow of him who can boast only pettyservices and easy virtues.

Had these maxims been universally received, how much would have beenadded to the task of dedication, the work on which all the power ofmodern wit has been exhausted. How few of these initial panegyricks hadappeared, if the author had been obliged first to find a man of virtue,then to distinguish the distinct species and degree of his desert, andat last to pay him only the honours which he might justly claim. It ismuch easier to learn the name of the last man whom chance has exalted towealth and power, to obtain by the intervention of some of hisdomesticks the privilege of addressing him, or, in confidence of thegeneral acceptance of flattery, to venture on an address without anyprevious solicitation; and after having heaped upon him all the virtuesto which philosophy had assigned a name, inform him how much more mightbe truly said, did not the fear of giving pain to his modesty repressthe raptures of wonder and the zeal of veneration.

Nothing has so much degraded literature from its natural rank, as thepractice of indecent and promiscuous dedication; for what credit can heexpect who professes himself the hireling of vanity, however profligate,and without shame or scruple, celebrates the worthless, dignifies themean, and gives to the corrupt, licentious, and oppressive, theornaments which ought only to add grace to truth, and loveliness toinnocence? Every other kind of adulation, however shameful, howevermischievous, is less detestable than the crime of counterfeitingcharacters, and fixing the stamp of literary sanction upon the dross andrefuse of the world.

Yet I would not overwhelm the authors with the whole load of infamy, ofwhich part, perhaps the greater part, ought to fall upon their patrons.If he that hires a bravo, partakes the guilt of murder, why should hewho bribes a flatterer, hope to be exempted from the shame of falsehood?The unhappy dedicator is seldom without some motives which obstruct,though not destroy, the liberty of choice; he is oppressed by miserieswhich he hopes to relieve, or inflamed by ambition which he expects togratify. But the patron has no incitements equally violent; he canreceive only a short gratification, with which nothing but stupiditycould dispose him to be pleased. The real satisfaction which praise canafford is by repeating aloud the whispers of conscience, and by shewingus that we have not endeavoured to deserve well in vain. Every otherencomium is, to an intelligent mind, satire and reproach; thecelebration of those virtues which we feel ourselves to want, can onlyimpress a quicker sense of our own defects, and shew that we have notyet satisfied the expectations of the world, by forcing us to observehow much fiction must contribute to the completion of our character.

Yet sometimes the patron may claim indulgence; for it does not alwayshappen, that the encomiast has been much encouraged to his attempt. Manya hapless author, when his book, and perhaps his dedication, was readyfor the press, has waited long before any one would pay the price ofprostitution, or consent to hear the praises destined to insure his nameagainst the casualties of time; and many a complaint has been ventedagainst the decline of learning, and neglect of genius, when eitherparsimonious prudence has declined expense, or honest indignationrejected falsehood. But if at last, after long inquiry and innumerabledisappointments, he find a lord willing to hear of his own eloquence andtaste, a statesman desirous of knowing how a friendly historian willrepresent his conduct, or a lady delighted to leave to the world somememorial of her wit and beauty, such weakness cannot be censured as aninstance of enormous depravity. The wisest man may, by a diligentsolicitor, be surprised in the hour of weakness, and persuaded to solacevexation, or invigorate hope, with the musick of flattery.

To censure all dedications as adulatory and servile, would discoverrather envy than justice. Praise is the tribute of merit, and he thathas incontestably distinguished himself by any publick performance, hasa right to all the honours which the publick can bestow. To men thusraised above the rest of the community, there is no need that the bookor its author should have any particular relation; that the patron isknown to deserve respect, is sufficient to vindicate him that pays it.To the same regard from particular persons, private virtue and lessconspicuous excellence may be sometimes entitled. An author may withgreat propriety inscribe his work to him by whose encouragement it wasundertaken, or by whose liberality he has been enabled to prosecute it,and he may justly rejoice in his own fortitude that dares to rescuemerit from obscurity.

Acribus exemplis videor te claudere: misce
Ergo aliquid nostris de moribus.—

Thus much I will indulge thee for thy ease,
And mingle something of our times to please. Dryden, jun.

I know not whether greater relaxation may not he indulged, and whetherhope as well as gratitude may not unblamably produce a dedication; butlet the writer who pours out his praises only to propitiate power, orattract the attention of greatness, be cautious lest his desire betrayhim to exuberant eulogies. We are naturally more apt to please ourselveswith the future than the past, and while we luxuriate in expectation,may be easily persuaded to purchase what we yet rate, only byimagination, at a higher price than experience will warrant.

But no private views of personal regard can discharge any man from hisgeneral obligations to virtue and to truth. It may happen in the variouscombinations of life, that a good man may receive favours from one, who,notwithstanding his accidental beneficence, cannot be justly proposed tothe imitation of others, and whom therefore he must find some other wayof rewarding than by public celebrations. Self-love has indeed manypowers of seducement; but it surely ought not to exalt any individual toequality with the collective body of mankind, or persuade him that abenefit conferred on him is equivalent to every other virtue. Yet many,upon false principles of gratitude, have ventured to extol wretches,whom all but their dependents numbered among the reproaches of thespecies, and whom they would likewise have beheld with the same scorn,had they not been hired to dishonest approbation.

To encourage merit with praise is the great business of literature; butpraise must lose its influence, by unjust or negligent distribution; andhe that impairs its value may be charged with misapplication of thepower that genius puts into his hands, and with squandering on guilt therecompense of virtue.

No. 137. TUESDAY, JULY 9, 1751.

Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt.
Hor. Lib. i. Sat. ii. 24.

—Whilst fools one vice condemn,
They run into the opposite extreme. CREECH.

That wonder is the effect of ignorance, has been often observed. Theawful stillness of attention, with which the mind is overspread at thefirst view of an unexpected effect, ceases when we have leisure todisentangle complications and investigate causes. Wonder is a pause ofreason, a sudden cessation of the mental progress, which lasts onlywhile the understanding is fixed upon some single idea, and is at an endwhen it recovers force enough to divide the object into its parts, ormark the intermediate gradations from the first agent to the lastconsequence.

It may be remarked with equal truth, that ignorance is often the effectof wonder. It is common for those who have never accustomed themselvesto the labour of inquiry, nor invigorated their confidence by conquestsover difficulty, to sleep in the gloomy quiescence of astonishment,without any effort to animate inquiry, or dispel obscurity. What theycannot immediately conceive, they consider as too high to be reached, ortoo extensive to be comprehended; they therefore content themselves withthe gaze of folly, forbear to attempt what they have no hopes ofperforming, and resign the pleasure of rational contemplation to morepertinacious study, or more active faculties.

Among the productions of mechanick art, many are of a form so differentfrom that of their first materials, and many consist of parts sonumerous and so nicely adapted to each other, that it is not possible toview them without amazement. But when we enter the shops of artificers,observe the various tools by which every operation is facilitated, andtrace the progress of a manufacture through the different hands, that,in succession to each other, contribute to its perfection, we soondiscover that every single man has an easy task, and that the extremes,however remote, of natural rudeness and artificial elegance, are joinedby a regular concatenation of effects, of which every one is introducedby that which precedes it, and equally introduces that which is tofollow.

The same is the state of intellectual and manual performances. Longcalculations or complex diagrams affright the timorous and unexperiencedfrom a second view; but if we have skill sufficient to analyze them intosimple principles, it will be discovered that our fear was groundless.Divide and conquer, is a principle equally just in science as inpolicy. Complication is a species of confederacy, which, while itcontinues united, bids defiance to the most active and vigorousintellect; but of which every member is separately weak, and which maytherefore be quickly subdued, if it can once be broken.

The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, is to attempt butlittle at a time. The widest excursions of the mind are made by shortflights frequently repeated; the most lofty fabricks of science areformed by the continued accumulation of single propositions.

It often happens, whatever be the cause, that impatience of labour, ordread of miscarriage, seizes those who are most distinguished forquickness of apprehension; and that they who might with greatest reasonpromise themselves victory, are least willing to hazard the encounter.This diffidence, where the attention is not laid asleep by laziness, ordissipated by pleasures, can arise only from confused and general views,such as negligence snatches in haste, or from the disappointment of thefirst hopes formed by arrogance without reflection. To expect that theintricacies of science will be pierced by a careless glance, or theeminences of fame ascended without labour, is to expect a particularprivilege, a power denied to the rest of mankind; but to suppose thatthe maze is inscrutable to diligence, or the heights inaccessible toperseverance, is to submit tamely to the tyranny of fancy, and enchainthe mind in voluntary shackles.

It is the proper ambition of the heroes in literature to enlarge theboundaries of knowledge by discovering and conquering new regions of theintellectual world. To the success of such undertakings perhaps somedegree of fortuitous happiness is necessary, which no man can promise orprocure to himself; and therefore doubt and irresolution may be forgivenin him that ventures into the unexplored abysses of truth, and attemptsto find his way through the fluctuations of uncertainty, and theconflicts of contradiction. But when nothing more is required, than topursue a path already beaten, and to trample obstacles which others havedemolished, why should any man so much distrust his own intellect as toimagine himself unequal to the attempt?

It were to be wished that they who devote their lives to study would atonce believe nothing too great for their attainment, and considernothing as too little for their regard; that they would extend theirnotice alike to science and to life, and unite some knowledge of thepresent world to their acquaintance with past ages and remote events.

Nothing has so much exposed men of learning to contempt and ridicule, astheir ignorance of things which are known to all but themselves. Thosewho have been taught to consider the institutions of the schools, asgiving the last perfection to human abilities, are surprised to see menwrinkled with study, yet wanting to be instructed in the minutecirc*mstances of propriety, or the necessary forms of daily transaction;and quickly shake off their reverence for modes of education, which theyfind to produce no ability above the rest of mankind.

"Books," says Bacon, "can never teach the use of books." The studentmust learn by commerce with mankind to reduce his speculations topractice, and accommodate his knowledge to the purposes of life.

It is too common for those who have been bred to scholastickprofessions, and passed much of their time in academies where nothingbut learning confers honours, to disregard every other qualification,and to imagine that they shall find mankind ready to pay homage to theirknowledge, and to crowd about them for instruction. They therefore stepout from their cells into the open world with all the confidence ofauthority and dignity of importance; they look round about them at oncewith ignorance and scorn on a race of beings to whom they are equallyunknown and equally contemptible, but whose manners they must imitate,and with whose opinions they must comply, if they desire to pass theirtime happily among them.

To lessen that disdain with which scholars are inclined to look on thecommon business of the world, and the unwillingness with which theycondescend to learn what is not to be found in any system of philosophy,it may be necessary to consider that though admiration is excited byabstruse researches and remote discoveries, yet pleasure is not given,nor affection conciliated, but by softer accomplishments, and qualitiesmore easily communicable to those about us. He that can only converseupon questions, about which only a small part of mankind has knowledgesufficient to make them curious, must lose his days in unsocial silence,and live in the crowd of life without a companion. He that can only beuseful on great occasions, may die without exerting his abilities, andstand a helpless spectator of a thousand vexations which fret awayhappiness, and which nothing is required to remove but a littledexterity of conduct and readiness of expedients.

No degree of knowledge attainable by man is able to set him above thewant of hourly assistance, or to extinguish the desire of fondendearments, and tender officiousness; and therefore, no one shouldthink it unnecessary to learn those arts by which friendship may begained. Kindness is preserved by a constant reciprocation of benefits orinterchange of pleasures; but such benefits only can be bestowed, asothers are capable to receive, and such pleasures only imparted, asothers are qualified to enjoy.

By this descent from the pinnacles of art no honour will be lost; forthe condescensions of learning are always overpaid by gratitude. Anelevated genius employed in little things, appears, to use the simile ofLonginus, like the sun in his evening declination: he remits hissplendour but retains his magnitude, and pleases more though he dazzlesless.

No. 138. SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1751.

O tantum libeat mecum tibi sordida rura,
Atque humiles habitare casas, et figere cervos. VIRG. EC. ii 28.

With me retire, and leave the pomp of courts
For humble cottages and rural sports.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Though the contempt with which you have treated the annual migrations ofthe gay and busy part of mankind is justified by daily observation;since most of those who leave the town, neither vary theirentertainments nor enlarge their notions; yet I suppose you do notintend to represent the practice itself as ridiculous, or to declarethat he whose condition puts the distribution of his time into his ownpower may not properly divide it between the town and country.

That the country, and only the country, displays the inexhaustiblevarieties of nature, and supplies the philosophical mind with matter foradmiration and inquiry, never was denied; but my curiosity is verylittle attracted by the colour of a flower, the anatomy of an insect, orthe structure of a nest; I am generally employed upon human manners, andtherefore fill up the months of rural leisure with remarks on those wholive within the circle of my notice. If writers would more frequentlyvisit those regions of negligence and liberty, they might diversifytheir representations, and multiply their images, for in the country areoriginal characters chiefly to be found. In cities, and yet more incourts, the minute discriminations which distinguish one from anotherare for the most part effaced, the peculiarities of temper and opinionare gradually worn away by promiscuous converse, as angular bodies anduneven surfaces lose their points and asperities by frequent attritionagainst one another, and approach by degrees to uniform rotundity. Theprevalence of fashion, the influence of example, the desire of applause,and the dread of censure, obstruct the natural tendencies of the mind,and check the fancy in its first efforts to break forth into experimentsof caprice.

Few inclinations are so strong as to grow up into habits, when they muststruggle with the constant opposition of settled forms and establishedcustoms. But in the country every man is a separate and independentbeing: solitude flatters irregularity with hopes of secrecy; and wealth,removed from the mortification of comparison, and the awe of equality,swells into contemptuous confidence, and sets blame and laughter atdefiance; the impulses of nature act unrestrained, and the dispositiondares to shew itself in its true form, without any disguise ofhypocrisy, or decorations of elegance. Every one indulges the fullenjoyment of his own choice, and talks and lives with no other view thanto please himself, without inquiring how far he deviates from thegeneral practice, or considering others as entitled to any account ofhis sentiments or actions. If he builds or demolishes, opens orencloses, deluges or drains, it is not his care what may be the opinionof those who are skilled in perspective or architecture, it issufficient that he has no landlord to controul him, and that none hasany right to examine in what projects the lord of the manour spends hisown money on his own grounds.

For this reason it is not very common to want subjects for ruralconversation. Almost every man is daily doing something which producesmerriment, wonder, or resentment, among his neighbours. This utterexemption from restraint leaves every anomalous quality to operate inits full extent, and suffers the natural character to diffuse itself toevery part of life. The pride which, under the check of publickobservation, would have been only vented among servants and domesticks,becomes in a country baronet the torment of a province, and instead ofterminating in the destruction of China-ware and glasses, ruins tenants,dispossesses cottagers, and harasses villages with actions of trespassand bills of indictment.

It frequently happens that, even without violent passions, or enormouscorruption, the freedom and laxity of a rustick life produces remarkableparticularities of conduct or manner. In the province where I nowreside, we have one lady eminent for wearing a gown always of the samecut and colour; another for shaking hands with those that visit her; anda third for unshaken resolution never to let tea or coffee enter herhouse.

But of all the female characters which this place affords, I have foundnone so worthy of attention as that of Mrs. Busy, a widow, who lost herhusband in her thirtieth year, and has since passed her time at themanour-house in the government of her children, and the management ofthe estate.

Mrs. Busy was married at eighteen from a boarding-school, where she hadpassed her time like other young ladies, in needle-work, with a fewintervals of dancing and reading. When she became a bride she spent onewinter with her husband in town, where, having no idea of anyconversation beyond the formalities of a visit, she found nothing toengage her passions: and when she had been one night at court, and twoat an opera, and seen the Monument, the Tombs, and the Tower, sheconcluded that London had nothing more to shew, and wondered that whenwomen had once seen the world, they could not be content to stay athome. She therefore went willingly to the ancient seat, and for someyears studied housewifery under Mr. Busy's mother, with so muchassiduity, that the old lady, when she died, bequeathed her acaudle-cup, a soup-dish, two beakers, and a chest of table-linen spunby herself.

Mr. Busy, finding the economical qualities of his lady, resigned hisaffairs wholly into her hands, and devoted his life to his pointers andhis hounds. He never visited his estates but to destroy the partridgesor foxes; and often committed such devastations in the rage of pleasure,that some of his tenants refused to hold their lands at the usual rent.Their landlady persuaded them to be satisfied, and entreated her husbandto dismiss his dogs, with many exact calculations of the ale drunk byhis companions, and corn consumed by the horses, and remonstrancesagainst the insolence of the huntsman, and the frauds of the groom. Thehuntsman was too necessary to his happiness to be discarded; and he hadstill continued to ravage his own estate, had he not caught a cold and afever by shooting mallards in the fens. His fever was followed by aconsumption, which in a few months brought him to the grave.

Mrs. Busy was too much an economist to feel either joy or sorrow at hisdeath. She received the compliments and consolations of her neighboursin a dark room, out of which she stole privately every night and morningto see the cows milked; and after a few days declared that she thought awidow might employ herself better than in nursing grief; and that, forher part, she was resolved that the fortunes of her children should notbe impaired by her neglect.

She therefore immediately applied herself to the reformation of abuses.She gave away the dogs, discharged the servants of the kennel andstable, and sent the horses to the next fair, but rated at so high aprice that they returned unsold. She was resolved to have nothing idleabout her, and ordered them to be employed in common drudgery. They losttheir sleekness and grace, and were soon purchased at half the value.

She soon disencumbered herself from her weeds, and put on a riding-hood,a coarse apron, and short petticoats, and has turned a large manour intoa farm, of which she takes the management wholly upon herself. She risesbefore the sun to order the horses to their gears, and sees them wellrubbed down at their return from work; she attends the dairy morning andevening, and watches when a calf falls that it may be carefully nursed;she walks out among the sheep at noon, counts the lambs, and observesthe fences, and, where she finds a gap, stops it with a bush till it canbe better mended. In harvest she rides a-field in the waggon, and isvery liberal of her ale from a wooden bottle. At her leisure hours shelooks goose eggs, airs the wool-room, and turns the cheese.

When respect or curiosity brings visitants to her house, she entertainsthem with prognosticks of a scarcity of wheat, or a rot among the sheep,and always thinks herself privileged to dismiss them, when she is to seethe hogs fed, or to count her poultry on the roost.

The only things neglected about her are her children, whom she hastaught nothing but the lowest household duties. In my last visit I metMiss Busy carrying grains to a sick cow, and was entertained with theaccomplishments of her eldest son, a youth of such early maturity, thatthough he is only sixteen, she can trust him to sell corn in the market.Her younger daughter, who is eminent for her beauty, though somewhattanned in making hay, was busy in pouring out ale to the ploughmen, thatevery one might have an equal share.

I could not but look with pity on this young family, doomed by theabsurd prudence of their mother to ignorance and meanness: but when Irecommended a more elegant education, was answered, that she never sawbookish or finical people grow rich, and that she was good for nothingherself till she had forgotten the nicety of the boarding-school.

I am, Yours, &c.

BUCOLUS.

No. 139. TUESDAY, JULY 16, 1751

—Sit quod vis simplex duntanat et unum. Hor. Art. Poet. 23.

Let ev'ry piece be simple and be one.

It is required by Aristotle to the perfection of a tragedy, and isequally necessary to every other species of regular composition, that itshould have a beginning, a middle, and an end. "The beginning," says he,"is that which hath nothing necessarily previous, but to which thatwhich follows is naturally consequent; the end, on the contrary, is thatwhich by necessity, or, at least, according to the common course ofthings, succeeds something else, but which implies nothing consequent toitself; the middle is connected on one side to something that naturallygoes before, and on the other to something that naturally follows it."

Such is the rule laid down by this great critick, for the disposition ofthe different parts of a well-constituted fable. It must begin where itmay be made intelligible without introduction; and end where the mind isleft in repose, without expectation of any further event. Theintermediate passages must join the last effect to the first cause, by aregular and unbroken concatenation; nothing must be, therefore,inserted, which does not apparently arise from something foregoing, andproperly make way for something that succeeds it.

This precept is to be understood in its rigour only with respect togreat and essential events, and cannot be extended in the same force tominuter circ*mstances and arbitrary decorations, which yet are morehappy, as they contribute more to the main design; for it is always aproof of extensive thought and accurate circ*mspection, to promotevarious purposes by the same act; and the idea of an ornament admitsuse, though it seems to exclude necessity.

Whoever purposes, as it is expressed by Milton, to build the loftyrhyme, must acquaint himself with this law of poetical architecture,and take care that his edifice be solid as well as beautiful; thatnothing stand single or independent, so as that it may be taken awaywithout injuring the rest; but that, from the foundation to thepinnacles, one part rest firm upon another.

The regular and consequential distribution is among common authorsfrequently neglected; but the failures of those, whose example can haveno influence, may be safely overlooked, nor is it of much use to recallobscure and unguarded names to memory for the sake of sporting withtheir infamy. But if there is any writer whose genius can embellishimpropriety, and whose authority can make errour venerable, his worksare the proper objects of critical inquisition. To expunge faults wherethere are no excellencies is a task equally useless with that of thechymist, who employs the arts of separation and refinement upon ore inwhich no precious metal is contained to reward his operations.

The tragedy of Samson Agonistes has been celebrated as the second workof the great author of Paradise Lost, and opposed, with all theconfidence of triumph, to the dramatick performances of other nations.It contains, indeed, just sentiments, maxims of wisdom, and oracles ofpiety, and many passages written with the ancient spirit of choralpoetry, in which there is a just and pleasing mixture of Seneca's moraldeclamation, with the wild enthusiasm of the Greek writers. It is,therefore, worthy of examination, whether a performance thus illuminatedwith genius, and enriched with learning, is composed according to theindispensable laws of Aristotelian criticism: and, omitting, at present,all other considerations, whether it exhibits a beginning, a middle, andan end.

The beginning is undoubtedly beautiful and proper, opening with agraceful abruptness, and proceeding naturally to a mournful recital offacts necessary to be known:

Samson. A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun and shade:
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me.—
O, wherefore was my birth from Heav'n foretold
Twice by an Angel?—
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd,
As of a person separate to God,
Design'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out?—
Whom have I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep:
But weakly to a woman must reveal it.

His soliloquy is interrupted by a chorus or company of men of his owntribe, who condole his miseries, extenuate his fault, and conclude witha solemn vindication of divine justice. So that at the conclusion of thefirst act there is no design laid, no discovery made, nor anydisposition formed towards the consequent event.

In the second act, Manoah, the father of Samson, comes to seek his son,and, being shewn him by the chorus, breaks out into lamentations of hismisery, and comparisons of his present with his former state,representing to him the ignominy which his religion suffers, by thefestival this day celebrated in honour of Dagon, to whom the idolatersascribed his overthrow.

—Thou bear'st
Enough, and more, the burthen of that fault;
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains,
This day the Philistines a popular feast
Here celebrate in Gaza; and proclaim
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud
To Dagon, as their God who hath deliver'd
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands,
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain.

Samson, touched with this reproach, makes a reply equally penitentialand pious, which his father considers as the effusion of prophetickconfidence:

Samson.—He, be sure,
Will not connive, or linger, thus provok'd,
But will arise and his great name assert:
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive
Such a discomfit, as shall quite despoil him
Of all these boasted trophies won on me.

Manoah. With cause this hope relieves thee, and these words
I as a prophecy receive; for God,
Nothing more certain, will not long defer
To vindicate the glory of his name.

This part of the dialogue, as it might tend to animate or exasperateSamson, cannot, I think, be censured as wholly superfluous; but thesucceeding dispute, in which Samson contends to die, and which hisfather breaks off, that he may go to solicit his release, is onlyvaluable for its own beauties, and has no tendency to introduce anything that follows it.

The next event of the drama is the arrival of Dalila, with all hergraces, artifices, and allurements. This produces a dialogue, in a veryhigh degree elegant and instructive, from which she retires, after shehas exhausted her persuasions, and is no more seen nor heard of; nor hasher visit any effect but that of raising the character of Samson.

In the fourth act enters Harapha, the giant of Gath, whose name hadnever been mentioned before, and who has now no other motive of coming,than to see the man whose strength and actions are so loudly celebrated:

Haraph.—Much I have heard
Of thy prodigious might and feats perform'd,
Incredible to me, in this displeas'd,
That I was never present in the place
Of those encounters, where we might have tried
Each other's force in camp or listed fields;
And now am come to see of whom such noise
Hath walk'd about, and each limb to survey,
If thy appearance answer loud report.

Samson challenges him to the combat; and, after an interchange ofreproaches, elevated by repeated defiance on one side, and imbittered bycontemptuous insults on the other, Harapha retires; we then hear itdetermined by Samson, and the chorus, that no consequence good or badwill proceed from their interview:

Chorus. He will directly to the lords, I fear,
And with malicious counsel stir them up
Some way or other yet farther to afflict thee.

Sams. He must allege some cause, and offer'd fight
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise
Whether he durst accept the offer or not;
And, that he durst not, plain enough appear'd.

At last, in the fifth act, appears a messenger from the lords assembledat the festival of Dagon, with a summons by which Samson is required tocome and entertain them with some proof of his strength. Samson, after ashort expostulation, dismisses him with a firm and resolute refusal;but, during the absence of the messenger, having a while defended thepropriety of his conduct, he at last declares himself moved by a secretimpulse to comply, and utters some dark presages of a great event to bebrought to pass by his agency, under the direction of Providence:

Sams. Be of good courage, I begin to feel
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose
To something extraordinary my thoughts.
I with this messenger will go along,
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour
Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite.
If there be aught of presage in the mind,
This day will be remarkable in my life
By some great act, or of my days the last.

While Samson is conducted off by the messenger, his father returns withhopes of success in his solicitation, upon which he confers with thechorus till their dialogue is interrupted, first by a shout of triumph,and afterwards by screams of horrour and agony. As they standdeliberating where they shall be secure, a man who had been present atthe show enters, and relates how Samson, having prevailed on his guideto suffer him to lean against the main pillars of the theatricaledifice, tore down the roof upon the spectators and himself:

—Those two massy pillars,
With horrible convulsion, to and fro
He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came, and drew
The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath—
Samson, with these immixt, inevitably
Pull'd down the same destruction on himself.

This is undoubtedly a just and regular catastrophe, and the poem,therefore, has a beginning and an end which Aristotle himself could nothave disapproved; but it must be allowed to want a middle, since nothingpasses between the first act and the last, that either hastens or delaysthe death of Samson. The whole drama, if its superfluities were cut off,would scarcely fill a single act; yet this is the tragedy whichignorance has admired, and bigotry applauded.

No. 140. SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1751.

—Quis tam Lucili fautor inepte est,
Ut non hoc fateatur? HOR. Lib. i. Sat. x. 2.

What doating bigot, to his faults so blind,
As not to grant me this, can Milton find?

It is common, says Bacon, to desire the end without enduring the means.Every member of society feels and acknowledges the necessity ofdetecting crimes, yet scarce any degree of virtue or reputation is ableto secure an informer from publick hatred. The learned world has alwaysadmitted the usefulness of critical disquisitions, yet he that attemptsto show, however modestly, the failures of a celebrated writer, shallsurely irritate his admirers, and incur the imputation of envy,captiousness, and malignity.

With this danger full in my view, I shall proceed to examine thesentiments of Milton's tragedy, which, though much less liable tocensure than the disposition of his plan, are, like those of otherwriters, sometimes exposed to just exceptions for want of care, or wantof discernment.

Sentiments are proper and improper as they consist more or less with thecharacter and circ*mstances of the person to whom they are attributed,with the rules of the composition in which they are found, or with thesettled and unalterable nature of things.

It is common among the tragick poets to introduce their persons alludingto events or opinions, of which they could not possibly have anyknowledge. The barbarians of remote or newly discovered regions oftendisplay their skill in European learning. The god of love is mentionedin Tamerlane with all the familiarity of a Roman epigrammatist; and alate writer has put Harvey's doctrine of the circulation of the bloodinto the mouth of a Turkish statesman, who lived near two centuriesbefore it was known even to philosophers or anatomists.

Milton's learning, which acquainted him with the manners of the ancienteastern nations, and his invention, which required no assistance fromthe common cant of poetry, have preserved him from frequent outrages oflocal or chronological propriety. Yet he has mentioned Chalybean steel,of which it is not very likely that his chorus should have heard, andhas made Alp the general name of a mountain, in a region where the Alpscould scarcely be known:

No medicinal liquor can assuage,
Nor breath of cooling air from snowy Alp.

He has taught Samson the tales of Circe, and the Syrens, at which heapparently hints in his colloquy with Dalila:

—I know thy trains,
Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils;
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms
No more on me have pow'r.

But the grossest errour of this kind is the solemn introduction of thePhoenix in the last scene; which is faulty, not only as it isincongruous to the personage to whom it is ascribed, but as it is soevidently contrary to reason and nature, that it ought never to bementioned but as a fable in any serious poem:

—Virtue giv'n for lost,
Deprest, and overthrown, as seem'd,
Like that self-begotten bird
In the Arabian woods embost,
That no second knows nor third,
And lay ere while a holocaust,
From out her ashy womb now teem'd,
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most
When most unactive deem'd,
And though her body die, her fame survives
A secular bird, ages of lives.

Another species of impropriety is the unsuitableness of thoughts to thegeneral character of the poem. The seriousness and solemnity of tragedynecessarily reject all pointed or epigrammatical expressions, all remoteconceits and opposition of ideas. Samson's complaint is therefore tooelaborate to be natural:

As in the land of darkness, yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And bury'd; but, O yet more miserable!
Myself, my sepulchre, a moving grave,
Buried, yet not exempt,
By privilege of death and burial,
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs.

All allusions to low and trivial objects, with which contempt is usuallyassociated, are doubtless unsuitable to a species of composition whichought to be always awful, though not always magnificent. The remarktherefore of the chorus on good or bad news seems to want elevation:

Manoah. A little stay will bring some notice hither. Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner; For evil news rides post, while good news baits.

But of all meanness that has least to plead which is produced by mereverbal conceits, which, depending only upon sounds, lose their existenceby the change of a syllable. Of this kind is the following dialogue:

Chor. But had we best retire? I see a storm.

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain.

Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings.

Sams. Be less abstruse, my riddling days are past.

Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear
The bait of honied words; a rougher tongue
Draws hitherward; I know him by his stride,
The giant Harapha.—

And yet more despicable are the lines in which Manoah's paternalkindness is commended by the chorus:

Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons,
Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all.

Samson's complaint of the inconveniencies of imprisonment is not whollywithout verbal quaintness:

—I, a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw
The air, imprison'd also, close and damp.

From the sentiments we may properly descend to the consideration of thelanguage, which, in imitation of the ancients, is through the wholedialogue remarkably simple and unadorned, seldom heightened by epithets,or varied by figures; yet sometimes metaphors find admission, even wheretheir consistency is not accurately preserved. Thus Samson confoundsloquacity with a shipwreck:

How could I once look up, or heave the head,
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwreck'd
My vessel trusted to me from above,
Gloriously rigg'd; and for a word, a tear,
Fool! have divulg'd the secret gift of God
To a deceitful woman?—

And the chorus talks of adding fuel to flame in a report:

He's gone, and who knows how he may report
Thy words, by adding fuel to the flame?

The versification is in the dialogue much more smooth and harmonious,than in the parts allotted to the chorus, which are often so harsh anddissonant, as scarce to preserve, whether the lines end with or withoutrhymes, any appearance of metrical regularity:

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he,
That heroic, that renown'd,
Irresistible Samson? whom unarm'd
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand;
Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid.

Since I have thus pointed out the faults of Milton, critical integrityrequires that I should endeavour to display his excellencies, thoughthey will not easily be discovered in short quotations, because theyconsist in the justness of diffuse reasonings, or in the contexture andmethod of continued dialogues; this play having none of thosedescriptions, similies, or splendid sentences, with which othertragedies are so lavishly adorned. Yet some passages may be selectedwhich seem to deserve particular notice, either as containing sentimentsof passion, representations of life, precepts of conduct, or sallies ofimagination. It is not easy to give a stronger representation of theweariness of despondency, than in the words of Samson to his father:

—I feel my genial spirits droop,
My hopes all flat, Nature within me seems
In all her functions weary of herself,
My race of glory run, and race of shame,
And I shall shortly be with them that rest.

The reply of Samson to the flattering Dalila affords a just and strikingdescription of the stratagems and allurements of feminine hypocrisy:

—These are thy wonted arts,
And arts of every woman false like thee,
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray,
Then as repentant to submit, beseech,
And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse,
Confess and promise wonders in her change;
Not truly penitent, but chief to try
Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears,
His virtue or weakness which way to assail:
Then with more cautious and instructed skill
Again transgresses, and again submits.

When Samson has refused to make himself a spectacle at the feast ofDagon, he first justifies his behaviour to the chorus, who charge himwith having served the Philistines, by a very just distinction: and thendestroys the common excuse of cowardice and servility, which alwaysconfound temptation with compulsion:

Chor. Yet with thy strength thou serv'st the Philistines.

Sams. Not in their idol worship, but by labour Honest and lawful to deserve my food Of those, who have me in their civil power.

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not.

Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds.
But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon,
Not dragging? The Philistine lords command.
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them,
I do it freely, venturing to displease
God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer,
Set God behind.

The complaint of blindness which Samson pours out at the beginning ofthe tragedy is equally addressed to the passions and the fancy. Theenumeration of his miseries is succeeded by a very pleasing train ofpoetical images, and concluded by such expostulation and wishes, asreason too often submits to learn from despair:

O first created Beam, and thou great Word
"Let there be light, and light was over all;"
Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree?
The sun to me is dark
And silent as the moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
She all in every part; why was the sight
To such a tender hall as the eye confin'd,
So obvious and so easy to be quench'd?
And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus'd,
That she may look at will through every pore?

Such are the faults and such the beauties of Samson Agonistes, which Ihave shown with no other purpose than to promote the knowledge of truecriticism. The everlasting verdure of Milton's laurels has nothing tofear from the blasts of malignity; nor can my attempt produce any othereffect, than to strengthen their shoots by lopping their luxuriance[g].[Footnote g: This is not the language of an accomplice in Lauder'simposition.—ED.]

No. 141. TUESDAY, JULY 23, 1751.

Hilarisque, tamen cum pondere, virtus. STAT.

Greatness with ease, and gay severity.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Politicians have long observed, that the greatest events may beoften traced back to slender causes. Petty competition or casualfriendship, the prudence of a slave, or the garrulity of a woman, havehindered or promoted the most important schemes, and hastened orretarded the revolutions of empire.

Whoever shall review his life will generally find, that the whole tenourof his conduct has been determined by some accident of no apparentmoment, or by a combination of inconsiderable circ*mstances, acting whenhis imagination was unoccupied, and his judgment unsettled; and that hisprinciples and actions have taken their colour from some secretinfusion, mingled without design in the current of his ideas. Thedesires that predominate in our hearts, are instilled by imperceptiblecommunications at the time when we look upon the various scenes of theworld, and the different employments of men, with the neutrality ofinexperience; and we come forth from the nursery or the school,invariably destined to the pursuit of great acquisitions, or pettyaccomplishments.

Such was the impulse by which I have been kept in motion from myearliest years. I was born to an inheritance which gave my childhood aclaim to distinction and caresses, and was accustomed to hear applauses,before they had much influence on my thoughts. The first praise of whichI remember myself sensible was that of good-humour, which, whether Ideserved it or not when it was bestowed, I have since made it my wholebusiness to propagate and maintain.

When I was sent to school, the gaiety of my look, and the liveliness ofmy loquacity, soon gained me admission to hearts not yet fortifiedagainst affection by artifice or interest. I was entrusted with everystratagem, and associated in every sport; my company gave alacrity to afrolick, and gladness to a holiday. I was indeed so much employed inadjusting or executing schemes of diversion, that I had no leisure formy tasks, but was furnished with exercises, and instructed in mylessons, by some kind patron of the higher classes. My master, notsuspecting my deficiency, or unwilling to detect what his kindness wouldnot punish nor his impartiality excuse, allowed me to escape with aslight examination, laughed at the pertness of my ignorance, and thesprightliness of my absurdities, and could not forbear to show that heregarded me with such tenderness, as genius and learning can seldomexcite.

From school I was dismissed to the university, where I soon drew upon methe notice of the younger students, and was the constant partner oftheir morning walks, and evening compotations. I was not indeed muchcelebrated for literature, but was looked on with indulgence as a man ofparts, who wanted nothing but the dulness of a scholar, and might becomeeminent whenever he should condescend to labour and attention. My tutora while reproached me with negligence, and repressed my sallies withsupercilious gravity; yet, having natural good-humour lurking in hisheart, he could not long hold out against the power of hilarity, butafter a few months began to relax the muscles of disciplinarianmoroseness, received me with smiles after an elopement, and, that hemight not betray his trust to his fondness, was content to spare mydiligence by increasing his own.

Thus I continued to dissipate the gloom of collegiate austerity, towaste my own life in idleness, and lure others from their studies, tillthe happy hour arrived, when I was sent to London. I soon discovered thetown to be the proper element of youth and gaiety, and was quicklydistinguished as a wit by the ladies, a species of beings only heard ofat the university, whom I had no sooner the happiness of approachingthan I devoted all my faculties to the ambition of pleasing them.

A wit, Mr. Rambler, in the dialect of ladies, is not always a man who,by the action of a vigorous fancy upon comprehensive knowledge, bringsdistant ideas unexpectedly together, who, by some peculiar acuteness,discovers resemblance in objects dissimilar to common eyes, or, bymixing heterogeneous notions, dazzles the attention with suddenscintillations of conceit. A lady's wit is a man who can make ladieslaugh, to which, however easy it may seem, many gifts of nature, andattainments of art, must commonly concur. He that hopes to be receivedas a wit in female assemblies, should have a form neither so amiable asto strike with admiration, nor so coarse as to raise disgust, with anunderstanding too feeble to be dreaded, and too forcible to be despised.The other parts of the character are more subject to variation; it wasformerly essential to a wit, that half his back should be covered with asnowy fleece, and, at a time yet more remote, no man was a wit withouthis boots. In the days of the Spectator a snuff-box seems to have beenindispensable; but in my time an embroidered coat was sufficient,without any precise regulation of the rest of his dress.

But wigs and boots and snuff-boxes are vain, without a perpetualresolution to be merry, and who can always find supplies of mirth?Juvenal indeed, in his comparison of the two opposite philosophers,wonders only whence an unexhausted fountain of tears could bedischarged: but had Juvenal, with all his spirit, undertaken myprovince, he would have found constant gaiety equally difficult to besupported. Consider, Mr. Rambler, and compassionate the condition of aman, who has taught every company to expect from him a continual feastof laughter, an unintermitted stream of jocularity. The task of everyother slave has an end. The rower in time reaches the port; thelexicographer at last finds the conclusion of his alphabet; only thehapless wit has his labour always to begin, the call for novelty isnever satisfied, and one jest only raises expectation of another.

I know that among men of learning and asperity the retainers to thefemale world are not much regarded: yet I cannot but hope that if youknew at how dear a rate our honours are purchased, you would look withsome gratulation on our success, and with some pity on our miscarriages.Think on the misery of him who is condemned to cultivate barrenness andransack vacuity; who is obliged to continue his talk when his meaning isspent, to raise merriment without images, to harass his imagination inquest of thoughts which he cannot start, and his memory in pursuit ofnarratives which he cannot overtake; observe the effort with which hestrains to conceal despondency by a smile, and the distress in which hesits while the eyes of the company are fixed upon him as the last refugefrom silence and dejection.

It were endless to recount the shifts to which I have been reduced, orto enumerate the different species of artificial wit. I regularlyfrequented coffee-houses, and have often lived a week upon anexpression, of which he who dropped it did not know the value. Whenfortune did not favour my erratick industry, I gleaned jests at homefrom obsolete farces. To collect wit was indeed safe, for I consortedwith none that looked much into books, but to disperse it was thedifficulty. A seeming negligence was often useful, and I have verysuccessfully made a reply not to what the lady had said, but to what itwas convenient for me to hear; for very few were so perverse as torectify a mistake which had given occasion to a burst of merriment.Sometimes I drew the conversation up by degrees to a proper point, andproduced a conceit which I had treasured up, like sportsmen who boast ofkilling the foxes which they lodge in the covert. Eminence is, however,in some happy moments, gained at less expense; I have delighted a wholecircle at one time with a series of quibbles, and made myself goodcompany at another, by scalding my fingers, or mistaking a lady's lapfor my own chair.

These are artful deceits and useful expedients; but expedients are atlength exhausted, and deceits detected. Time itself, among otherinjuries, diminishes the power of pleasing, and I now find, in myforty-fifth year, many pranks and pleasantries very coldly received,which had formerly filled a whole room with jollity and acclamation.I am under the melancholy necessity of supporting that character by study,which I gained by levity, having learned too late that gaiety must berecommended by higher qualities, and that mirth can never please longbut as the efflorescence of a mind loved for its luxuriance, butesteemed for its usefulness.

I am, &c.

PAPILIUS.

No. 142. SATURDAY, JULY 27, 1751.

[Greek: Entha d aner eniaue pelorios—
—oude, met allous
Poleit, all apaneuthen eon athemistia ede.
Kai gar Oaum etetukto pelorion oude epskei
Andri ge sitophagps.] HOMER. Od. [Greek: I'.] 187.

A giant shepherd here his flock maintains
Far from the rest, and solitary reigns,
In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin'd;
And gloomy mischiefs labour in the mind.
A form enormous! far unlike the race
Of human birth, in stature or in face. POPE.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Having been accustomed to retire annually from the town, I latelyaccepted the invitation of Eugenio, who has an estate and seat in adistant county. As we were unwilling to travel without improvement, weturned often from the direct road to please ourselves with the view ofnature or of art; we examined every wild mountain and medicinal spring,criticised every edifice, contemplated every ruin, and compared everyscene of action with the narratives of historians. By this succession ofamusem*nts we enjoyed the exercise of a journey without suffering thefatigue, and had nothing to regret but that, by a progress so leisurelyand gentle, we missed the adventures of a post-chaise, and the pleasureof alarming villages with the tumult of our passage, and of disguisingour insignificancy by the dignity of hurry.

The first week after our arrival at Eugenio's house was passed inreceiving visits from his neighbours, who crowded about him with all theeagerness of benevolence; some impatient to learn the news of the courtand town, that they might be qualified by authentick information todictate to the rural politicians on the next bowling day; othersdesirous of his interest to accommodate disputes, or his advice in thesettlement of their fortunes and the marriage of their children.

The civilities which he had received were soon to be returned; and Ipassed sometime with great satisfaction in roving through the country,and viewing the seats, gardens, and plantations, which are scatteredover it. My pleasure would indeed have been greater had I been sometimesallowed to wander in a park or wilderness alone; but to appear as afriend of Eugenio was an honour not to be enjoyed without someinconveniencies: so much was every one solicitous for my regard, that Icould seldom escape to solitude, or steal a moment from the emulation ofcomplaisance, and the vigilance of officiousness.

In these rambles of good neighbourhood, we frequently passed by a houseof unusual magnificence. While I had my curiosity yet distracted amongmany novelties, it did not much attract my observation; but in a shorttime I could not forbear surveying it with particular notice; for thelength of the wall which inclosed the gardens, the disposition of theshades that waved over it, and the canals of which I could obtain someglimpses through the trees from our own windows, gave me reason toexpect more grandeur and beauty than I had yet seen in that province. Itherefore inquired, as we rode by it, why we never, amongst ourexcursions, spent an hour where there was such an appearance ofsplendour and affluence? Eugenio told me that the seat which I so muchadmired, was commonly called in the country the haunted house, andthat no visits were paid there by any of the gentlemen whom I had yetseen. As the haunts of incorporeal beings are generally ruinous,neglected, and desolate, I easily conceived that there was something tobe explained, and told him that I supposed it only fairy ground, onwhich we might venture by day-light without danger. The danger, says he,is indeed only that of appearing to solicit the acquaintance of a man,with whom it is not possible to converse without infamy, and who hasdriven from him, by his insolence or malignity, every human being whocan live without him.

Our conversation was then accidentally interrupted; but my inquisitivehumour being now in motion, could not rest without a full account ofthis newly discovered prodigy. I was soon informed that the fine houseand spacious gardens were haunted by squire Bluster, of whom it was veryeasy to learn the character, since nobody had regard for him sufficientto hinder them from telling whatever they could discover.

Squire Bluster is descended of an ancient family. The estate which hisancestors had immemorially possessed was much augmented by captainBluster, who served under Drake in the reign of Elizabeth; and theBlusters, who were before only petty gentlemen, have from that timefrequently represented the shire in parliament, been chosen to presentaddresses, and given laws at hunting-matches and races. They wereeminently hospitable and popular, till the father of this gentleman diedof an election. His lady went to the grave soon after him, and left theheir, then only ten years old, to the care of his grandmother, who wouldnot suffer him to be controlled, because she could not bear to hear himcry; and never sent him to school, because she was not able to livewithout his company. She taught him however very early to inspect thesteward's accounts, to dog the butler from the cellar, and to catch theservants at a junket; so that he was at the age of eighteen a completemaster of all the lower arts of domestick policy, had often on the roaddetected combinations between the coachman and the ostler, and procuredthe discharge of nineteen maids for illicit correspondence withcottagers and charwomen.

By the opportunities of parsimony which minority affords, and which theprobity of his guardians had diligently improved, a very large sum ofmoney was accumulated, and he found himself, when he took his affairsinto his own hands, the richest man in the county. It has been long thecustom of this family to celebrate the heir's completion of histwenty-first year, by an entertainment, at which the house is thrownopen to all that are inclined to enter it, and the whole province flockstogether as to a general festivity. On this occasion young Blusterexhibited the first tokens of his future eminence, by shaking his purseat an old gentleman who had been the intimate friend of his father, andoffering to wager a greater sum than he could afford to venture; apractice with which he has, at one time or other, insulted everyfreeholder within ten miles round him.

His next acts of offence were committed in a contentious and spitefulvindication of the privileges of his manours, and a rigorous andrelentless prosecution of every man that presumed to violate his game.As he happens to have no estate adjoining equal to his own, hisoppressions are often borne without resistance, for fear of a long suit,of which he delights to count the expenses without the least solicitudeabout the event; for he knows, that where nothing but an honorary rightis contested, the poorer antagonist must always suffer, whatever shallbe the last decision of the law.

By the success of some of these disputes, he has so elated hisinsolence, and, by reflection upon the general hatred which they havebrought upon him, so irritated his virulence, that his whole life isspent in meditating or executing mischief. It is his common practice toprocure his hedges to be broken in the night, and then to demandsatisfaction for damages which his grounds have suffered from hisneighbour's cattle. An old widow was yesterday soliciting Eugenio toenable her to replevin her only cow, then in the pound by squireBluster's order, who had sent one of his agents to take advantage of hercalamity, and persuade her to sell the cow at an under rate. He hasdriven a day-labourer from his cottage, for gathering blackberries in ahedge for his children, and has now an old woman in the county-gaol fora trespass which she committed, by coming into his ground to pick upacorns for her hog.

Money, in whatever hands, will confer power. Distress will fly toimmediate refuge, without much consideration of remote consequences.Bluster has therefore a despotick authority in many families, whom hehas assisted, on pressing occasions, with larger sums than they caneasily repay. The only visits that he makes are to these houses ofmisfortune, where he enters with the insolence of absolute command,enjoys the terrours of the family, exacts their obedience, riots attheir charge, and in the height of his joy insults the father withmenaces, and the daughters with obscenity.

He is of late somewhat less offensive; for one of his debtors, aftergentle expostulations, by which he was only irritated to grosseroutrage, seized him by the sleeve, led him trembling into thecourt-yard, and closed the door upon him in a stormy night. He took hisusual revenge next morning by a writ; but the debt was discharged by theassistance of Eugenio.

It is his rule to suffer his tenants to owe him rent, because by thisindulgence he secures to himself the power of seizure whenever he has aninclination to amuse himself with calamity, and feast his ears withentreaties and lamentations. Yet as he is sometimes capriciously liberalto those whom he happens to adopt as favourites, and lets his lands at acheap rate, his farms are never long unoccupied; and when one is ruinedby oppression, the possibility of better fortune quickly lures anotherto supply his place.

Such is the life of squire Bluster; a man in whose power fortune hasliberally placed the means of happiness, but who has defeated all hergifts of their end by the depravity of his mind. He is wealthy withoutfollowers; he is magnificent without witnesses; he has birth withoutalliance, and influence without dignity. His neighbours scorn him as abrute; his dependants dread him as an oppressor; and he has only thegloomy comfort of reflecting, that if he is hated, he is likewisefeared.

I am, Sir, &c.

VAGULUS.

No. 143. TUESDAY, JULY 30, 1751.

—Moveat cornicula risum
Furtivis nudata coloribus.— HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 19.

Lest when the birds their various colours claim,
Stripp'd of his stolen pride, the crow forlorn
Should stand the laughter of the publick scorn. FRANCIS.

Among the innumerable practices by which interest or envy have taughtthose who live upon literary fame to disturb each other at their airybanquets, one of the most common is the charge of plagiarism. When theexcellence of a new composition can no longer be contested, and maliceis compelled to give way to the unanimity of applause, there is yet thisone expedient to be tried, by which the author may be degraded, thoughhis work be reverenced; and the excellence which we cannot obscure, maybe set at such a distance as not to overpower our fainter lustre.

This accusation is dangerous, because, even when it is false, it may besometimes urged with probability. Bruyere declares, that we are comeinto the world too late to produce any thing new, that nature and lifeare preoccupied, and that description and sentiment have been longexhausted. It is indeed certain, that whoever attempts any commontopick, will find unexpected coincidences of his thoughts with those ofother writers; nor can the nicest judgment always distinguish accidentalsimilitude from artful imitation. There is likewise a common stock ofimages, a settled mode of arrangement, and a beaten track of transition,which all authors suppose themselves at liberty to use, and whichproduce the resemblance generally observable among contemporaries. Sothat in books which best deserve the name of originals, there is littlenew beyond the disposition of materials already provided; the same ideasand combinations of ideas have been long in the possession of otherhands; and, by restoring to every man his own, as the Romans must havereturned to their cots from the possession of the world, so the mostinventive and fertile genius would reduce his folios to a few pages. Yetthe author who imitates his predecessors only by furnishing himself withthoughts and elegancies out of the same general magazine of literature,can with little more propriety be reproached as a plagiary, than thearchitect can be censured as a mean copier of Angelo or Wren, because hedigs his marble from the same quarry, squares his stones by the sameart, and unites them in the columns of the same orders.

Many subjects fall under the consideration of an author, which, beinglimited by nature, can admit only of slight and accidental diversities.All definitions of the same thing must be nearly the same; anddescriptions, which are definitions of a more lax and fanciful kind,must always have in some degree that resemblance to each other whichthey all have to their object. Different poets describing the spring orthe sea would mention the zephyrs and the flowers, the billows and therocks; reflecting on human life, they would, without any communicationof opinions, lament the deceitfulness of hope, the fugacity of pleasure,the fragility of beauty, and the frequency of calamity; and forpalliatives of these incurable miseries, they would concur inrecommending kindness, temperance, caution, and fortitude.

When therefore there are found in Virgil and Horace two similarpassages—

Hæ tibi erunt artes—
Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos. VIRG.

To tame the proud, the fetter'd slave to free:
These are imperial arts, and worthy thee. DRYDEN.

Imperet bellante prior, jacentem
Lenis in hostem. HOR.

Let Cæsar spread his conquests far,
Less pleas'd to triumph than to spare—

it is surely not necessary to suppose with a late critick, that one iscopied from the other, since neither Virgil nor Horace can be supposedignorant of the common duties of humanity, and the virtue of moderationin success.

Cicero and Ovid have on very different occasions remarked how little ofthe honour of a victory belongs to the general, when his soldiers andhis fortune have made their deductions; yet why should Ovid be suspectedto have owed to Tully an observation which perhaps occurs to every manthat sees or hears of military glories?

Tully observes of Achilles, that had not Homer written, his valour hadbeen without praise:

Nisi Ilias illa extitisset, idem tumulus qui corpus ejus contexerat,
nomen ejus obruisset.

Unless the Iliad had been published, his name had been lost in the
tomb that covered his body.

Horace tells us with more energy that there were brave men before thewars of Troy, but they were lost in oblivion for want of a poet:

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longá
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.

Before great Agamemnon reign'd,
Reign'd kings as great as he, and brave,
Whose huge ambition's now contain'd
In the small compass of a grave:
In endless night they sleep, unwept, unknown:
No bard had they to make all time their own. FRANCIS.

Tully inquires, in the same oration, why, but for fame, we disturb ashort life with so many fatigues?

Quid est quod in hoc tam exiguo vitae curriculo et tam brevi, tantis
nos in laboribus exerceamus?

Why in so small a circuit of life should we employ ourselves in so
many fatigues?

Horace inquires in the same manner,

Quid brevi fortes jaculamur aevo
Multa?

Why do we aim, with eager strife,
At things beyond the mark of life? FRANCIS.

when our life is of so short duration, why we form such numerousdesigns? But Horace, as well as Tully, might discover that records areneedful to preserve the memory of actions, and that no records were sodurable as poems; either of them might find out that life is short, andthat we consume it in unnecessary labour.

There are other flowers of fiction so widely scattered and so easilycropped, that it is scarcely just to tax the use of them as an act bywhich any particular writer is despoiled of his garland; for they may besaid to have been planted by the ancients in the open road of poetry forthe accommodation of their successors, and to be the right of every onethat has art to pluck them without injuring their colours or theirfragrance. The passage of Orpheus to hell, with the recovery and secondloss of Eurydice, have been described after Boetius by Pope, in such amanner as might justly leave him suspected of imitation, were not theimages such as they might both have derived from more ancient writers.

Quae sontes agitant metu,
Ultrices scelerum deæ
Jam masta: lacrymis madent,
Non Ixionium caput
Velox præcipitat rota.

The pow'rs of vengeance, while they hear,
Touch'd with compassion, drop a tear:
Ixion's rapid wheel is bound,
Fix'd in attention to the sound. F. LEWIS.

Thy stone, O Sysiphus, stands still,
Ixion rests upon the wheel,
And the pale spectres dance!
The furies sink upon their iron beds. POPE

Tandem, vincimur, arbiter
Umbrarum, miserans, ait—
Donemus, comitem viro,
Emtam carmine, conjugem.

Subdu'd at length, Hell's pitying monarch cry'd,
The song rewarding, let us yield the bride. F. LEWIS.

He sung; and hell consented
To hear the poet's prayer;
Stern Proserpine relented,
And gave him back the fair. POPE

Heu, noctis prope terminos
Orpheus Eurydicen suam
Vidit, perdidit, occidit.

Nor yet the golden verge of day begun,
When Orpheus, her unhappy lord,
Eurydice to life restor'd,
At once beheld, and lost, and was undone. F. LEWIS.

But soon, too soon, the lover turns his eyes:
Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! POPE.

No writer can be fully convicted of imitation, except there is aconcurrence of more resemblance than can be imagined to have happened bychance; as where the same ideas are conjoined without any natural seriesor necessary coherence, or where not only the thought but the words arecopied. Thus it can scarcely be doubted, that in the first of thefollowing passages Pope remembered Ovid, and that in the second hecopied Crashaw:

Saepe pater dixit, studium quid inutile tentas?
Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes—
Sponte suâ carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,
Et quod conabar scribere, versus erat. OVID.

Quit, quit this barren trade, my father cry'd:
Ev'n Homer left no riches when he dy'd—
In verse spontaneous flow'd my native strain,
Forc'd by no sweat or labour of the brain. F. LEWIS.

I left no calling for this idle trade;
No duty broke, no father disobey'd;
While yet a child, ere yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. POPE.

—This plain floor,
Believe me, reader, can say more
Than many a braver marble can,
Here lies a truly honest man. CRASHAW.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an honest man. POPE.

Conceits, or thoughts not immediately impressed by sensible objects, ornecessarily arising from the coalition or comparison of commonsentiments, may be with great justice suspected whenever they are founda second time. Thus Wallar probably owed to Grotius an elegantcompliment:

Here lies the learned Savil's heir,
So early wise, and lasting fair,
That none, except her years they told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old. WALLER.

[Transcriber's note: Inconsistency in spelling Waller/Wallar inoriginal]

Unica lux saecli, genitoris gloria, nemo
Quem puerum, nemo credidit esse senem. GROT.

The age's miracle, his father's joy!
Nor old you would pronounce him, nor a boy. F. LEWIS.

And Prior was indebted for a pretty illustration to Alleyne's poeticalhistory of Henry the Seventh:

For nought but light itself, itself can shew,
And only kings can write, what kings can do. ALLEYNE.

Your musick's pow'r, your musick must disclose,
For what light is, 'tis only light that shews. PRIOR.

And with yet more certainty may the same writer be censured, forendeavouring the clandestine appropriation of a thought which heborrowed, surely without thinking himself disgraced, from an epigram ofPlato:

[Greek: Tae Paphiae to katoptron, epei toiae men orasthai
Ouk ethelo, oiae d' aen paros, ou dunamai.]

Venus, take my votive glass,
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see.

As not every instance of similitude can be considered as a proof ofimitation, so not every imitation ought to be stigmatized as plagiarism.The adoption of a noble sentiment, or the insertion of a borrowedornament, may sometimes display so much judgment as will almostcompensate for invention: and an inferior genius may, without anyimputation of servility, pursue the path of the ancients, provided hedeclines to tread in their footsteps.

No. 144. SATURDAY, AUGUST 3, 1751.

—Daphnidis arcum
Fregisti et calamos: quae tu, perverse Menalea,
Et quum vidisti puero donata, dolebas;
Et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses. VIRG. EC. iii. 12.

The bow of Daphnis and the shafts you broke;
When the fair boy receiv'd the gift of right;
And but for mischief, you had dy'd for spite. DRYDEN.

It is impossible to mingle in conversation without observing thedifficulty with which a new name makes its way into the world. The firstappearance of excellence unites multitudes against it; unexpectedopposition rises up on every side; the celebrated and the obscure joinin the confederacy; subtlety furnishes arms to impudence, and inventionleads on credulity.

The strength and unanimity of this alliance is not easily conceived. Itmight be expected that no man should suffer his heart to be inflamedwith malice, but by injuries; that none should busy himself incontesting the pretensions of another, but when some right of his ownwas involved in the question; that at least hostilities, commencedwithout cause, should quickly cease; that the armies of malignity shouldsoon disperse, when no common interest could be found to hold themtogether; and that the attack upon a rising character should be left tothose who had something to hope or fear from the event.

The hazards of those that aspire to eminence, would be much diminishedif they had none but acknowledged rivals to encounter. Their enemieswould then be few, and, what is yet of greater importance, would beknown. But what caution is sufficient to ward off the blows of invisibleassailants, or what force can stand against uninterrupted attacks, and acontinual succession of enemies? Yet such is the state of the world,that no sooner can any man emerge from the crowd, and fix the eyes ofthe publick upon him, than he stands as a mark to the arrows of lurkingcalumny, and receives in the tumult of hostility, from distant and fromnameless hands, wounds not always easy to be cured.

It is probable that the onset against the candidates for renown, isoriginally incited by those who imagine themselves in danger ofsuffering by their success; but, when war is once declared, volunteersflock to the standard, multitudes follow the camp only for want ofemployment, and flying squadrons are dispersed to every part, so pleasedwith an opportunity of mischief, that they toil without prospect ofpraise, and pillage without hope of profit.

When any man has endeavoured to deserve distinction, he will besurprised to hear himself censured where he could not expect to havebeen named; he will find the utmost acrimony of malice among those whomhe never could have offended.

As there are to be found in the service of envy men of every diversityof temper and degree of understanding, calumny is diffused by all artsand methods of propagation. Nothing is too gross or too refined, toocruel or too trifling, to be practised; very little regard is had to therules of honourable hostility, but every weapon is accounted lawful, andthose that cannot make a thrust at life are content to keep themselvesin play with petty malevolence, to tease with feeble blows and impotentdisturbance.

But as the industry of observation has divided the most miscellaneousand confused assemblages into proper classes, and ranged the insects ofthe summer, that torment us with their drones or stings, by theirseveral tribes; the persecutors of merit, notwithstanding their numbers,may be likewise commodiously distinguished into Roarers, Whisperers, andModerators.

The Roarer is an enemy rather terrible than dangerous. He has no otherqualification for a champion of controversy than a hardened front andstrong voice. Having seldom so much desire to confute as to silence, hedepends rather upon vociferation than argument, and has very little careto adjust one part of his accusation to another, to preserve decency inhis language, or probability in his narratives.

He has always a store of reproachful epithets and contemptuousappellations, ready to be produced as occasion may require, which byconstant use he pours out with resistless volubility. If the wealth of atrader is mentioned, he without hesitation devotes him to bankruptcy; ifthe beauty and elegance of a lady be commended, he wonders how the towncan fall in love with rustick deformity; if a new performance of geniushappens to be celebrated, he pronounces the writer a hopeless idiot,without knowledge of books or life, and without the understanding bywhich it must be acquired. His exaggerations are generally withouteffect upon those whom he compels to hear them; and though it willsometimes happen that the timorous are awed by his violence, and thecredulous mistake his confidence for knowledge, yet the opinions whichhe endeavours to suppress soon recover their former strength, as thetrees that bend to the tempest erect themselves again when its force ispast.

The Whisperer is more dangerous. He easily gains attention by a softaddress, and excites curiosity by an air of importance. As secrets arenot to be made cheap by promiscuous publication, he calls a selectaudience about him, and gratifies their vanity with an appearance oftrust by communicating his intelligence in a low voice. Of the trader hecan tell that, though he seems to manage an extensive commerce, andtalks in high terms of the funds, yet his wealth is not equal to hisreputation; he has lately suffered much by an expensive project, and hada greater share than is acknowledged in the rich ship that perished bythe storm. Of the beauty he has little to say, but that they who see herin a morning do not discover all those graces which are admired in thePark. Of the writer he affirms with great certainty, that though theexcellence of the work be incontestible, he can claim but a small partof the reputation; that he owed most of the images and sentiments to asecret friend; and that the accuracy and equality of the style wasproduced by the successive correction of the chief criticks of the age.

As every one is pleased with imagining that he knows something not yetcommonly divulged, secret history easily gains credit; but it is for themost part believed only while it circulates in whispers; and when onceit is openly told, is openly confuted.

The most pernicious enemy is the man of Moderation. Without interest inthe question, or any motive but honest curiosity, this impartial andzealous inquirer after truth is ready to hear either side, and alwaysdisposed to kind interpretations and favourable opinions. He hath heardthe trader's affairs reported with great variation, and, after adiligent comparison of the evidence, concludes it probable that thesplendid superstructure of business being originally built upon a narrowbasis, has lately been found to totter; but between dilatory payment andbankruptcy there is a great distance; many merchants have supportedthemselves by expedients for a time, without any final injury to theircreditors; and what is lost by one adventure may be recovered byanother. He believes that a young lady pleased with admiration, anddesirous to make perfect what is already excellent, may heighten hercharms by artificial improvements, but surely most of her beauties mustbe genuine, and who can say that he is wholly what he endeavours toappear? The author he knows to be a man of diligence, who perhaps doesnot sparkle with the fire of Homer, but has the judgment to discover hisown deficiencies, and to supply them by the help of others; and, in hisopinion, modesty is a quality so amiable and rare, that it ought to finda patron wherever it appears, and may justly be preferred by the publicksuffrage to petulant wit and ostentatious literature.

He who thus discovers failings with unwillingness, and extenuates thefaults which cannot be denied, puts an end at once to doubt orvindication; his hearers repose upon his candour and veracity, and admitthe charge without allowing the excuse.

Such are the arts by which the envious, the idle, the peevish, and thethoughtless, obstruct that worth which they cannot equal, and, byartifices thus easy, sordid, and detestable, is industry defeated,beauty blasted, and genius depressed.

No. 145. TUESDAY, AUGUST 6, 1751.

Non, si priores Maeonius tenet
Sedes Homerus, Pindaricae latent,
Ceaeque, et Alcaei minaces,
Stesichorique graves Camoenae. HOR. Lib. iv. Od. ix. 5.

What though the muse her Homer thrones
High above all the immortal quire;
Nor Pindar's raptures she disowns,
Nor hides the plaintive Caean lyre;
Alcaeus strikes the tyrant soul with dread,
Nor yet is grave Stesichorus unread. FRANCIS.

It is allowed that vocations and employments of least dignity are of themost apparent use; that the meanest artizan or manufacturer contributesmore to the accommodation of life, than the profound scholar andargumentative theorist; and that the publick would suffer less presentinconvenience from the banishment of philosophers than from theextinction of any common trade.

Some have been so forcibly struck with this observation, that they have,in the first warmth of their discovery, thought it reasonable to alterthe common distribution of dignity, and ventured to condemn mankind ofuniversal ingratitude. For justice exacts, that those by whom we aremost benefited should be most honoured. And what labour can be moreuseful than that which procures to families and communities thosenecessaries which supply the wants of nature, or those conveniencies bywhich ease, security, and elegance, are conferred?

This is one of the innumerable theories which the first attempt toreduce them into practice certainly destroys. If we estimate dignity byimmediate usefulness, agriculture is undoubtedly the first and noblestscience; yet we see the plough driven, the clod broken, the manurespread, the seeds scattered, and the harvest reaped, by men whom thosethat feed upon their industry will never be persuaded to admit into thesame rank with heroes, or with sages; and who, after all the confessionswhich truth may extort in favour of their occupation, must be content tofill up the lowest class of the commonwealth, to form the base of thepyramid of subordination, and lie buried in obscurity themselves, whilethey support all that is splendid, conspicuous, or exalted.

It will be found upon a closer inspection, that this part of the conductof mankind is by no means contrary to reason or equity. Remuneratoryhonours are proportioned at once to the usefulness and difficulty ofperformances, and are properly adjusted by comparison of the mental andcorporeal abilities, which they appear to employ. That work, howevernecessary, which is carried on only by muscular strength and manualdexterity, is not of equal esteem, in the consideration of rationalbeings, with the tasks that exercise the intellectual powers, andrequire the active vigour of imagination or the gradual and laboriousinvestigations of reason.

The merit of all manual occupations seems to terminate in the inventor;and surely the first ages cannot be charged with ingratitude; sincethose who civilized barbarians, and taught them how to secure themselvesfrom cold and hunger, were numbered amongst their deities. But thesearts once discovered by philosophy, and facilitated by experience, areafterwards practised with very little assistance from the faculties ofthe soul; nor is any thing necessary to the regular discharge of theseinferior duties, beyond that rude observation which the most sluggishintellect may practise, and that industry which the stimulations ofnecessity naturally enforce.

Yet though the refusal of statues and panegyrick to those who employonly their hands and feet in the service of mankind may be easilyjustified, I am far from intending to incite the petulance of pride, tojustify the superciliousness of grandeur, or to intercept any part ofthat tenderness and benevolence which, by the privilege of their commonnature, one may claim from another.

That it would be neither wise nor equitable to discourage thehusbandman, the labourer, the miner, or the smith, is generally granted;but there is another race of beings equally obscure and equallyindigent, who, because their usefulness is less obvious to vulgarapprehensions, live unrewarded and die unpitied, and who have been longexposed to insult without a defender, and to censure without anapologist.

The authors of London were formerly computed by Swift at severalthousands, and there is not any reason for suspecting that their numberhas decreased. Of these only a very few can be said to produce, orendeavour to produce, new ideas, to extend any principle of science, orgratify the imagination with any uncommon train of images or contextureof events; the rest, however laborious, however arrogant, can only beconsidered as the drudges of the pen, the manufacturers of literature,who have set up for authors, either with or without a regularinitiation, and, like other artificers, have no other care than todeliver their tale of wares at the stated time.

It has been formerly imagined, that he who intends the entertainment orinstruction of others, must feel in himself some peculiar impulse ofgenius; that he must watch the happy minute in which his natural fire isexcited, in which his mind is elevated with nobler sentiments,enlightened with clearer views, and invigorated with strongercomprehension; that he must carefully select his thoughts and polish hisexpressions; and animate his efforts with the hope of raising a monumentof learning, which neither time nor envy shall be able to destroy.

But the authors whom I am now endeavouring to recommend have been toolong hackneyed in the ways of men to indulge the chimerical ambitionof immortality; they have seldom any claim to the trade of writing, butthat they have tried some other without success; they perceive noparticular summons to composition, except the sound of the clock; theyhave no other rule than the law or the fashion for admitting theirthoughts or rejecting them; and about the opinion of posterity they havelittle solicitude, for their productions are seldom intended to remainin the world longer than a week.

That such authors are not to be rewarded with praise is evident, sincenothing can be admired when it ceases to exist; but surely, though theycannot aspire to honour, they may be exempted from ignominy, and adoptedin that order of men which deserves our kindness, though not ourreverence. These papers of the day, the Ephemerae of learning, haveuses more adequate to the purposes of common life than more pompous anddurable volumes. If it is necessary for every man to be more acquaintedwith his contemporaries than with past generations, and to rather knowthe events which may immediately affect his fortune or quiet, than therevolutions of ancient kingdoms, in which he has neither possessions norexpectations; if it be pleasing to hear of the preferment and dismissionof statesmen, the birth of heirs, and the marriage of beauties, thehumble author of journals and gazettes must be considered as a liberaldispenser of beneficial knowledge.

Even the abridger, compiler, and translator, though their labours cannotbe ranked with those of the diurnal historiographer, yet must not berashly doomed to annihilation. Every size of readers requires a geniusof correspondent capacity; some delight in abstracts and epitomes,because they want room in their memory for long details, and contentthemselves with effects, without inquiry after causes; some minds areoverpowered by splendour of sentiment, as some eyes are offended by aglaring light; such will gladly contemplate an author in an humbleimitation, as we look without pain upon the sun in the water.

As every writer has his use, every writer ought to have his patrons; andsince no man, however high he may now stand, can be certain that heshall not be soon thrown down from his elevation by criticism orcaprice, the common interest of learning requires that her sons shouldcease from intestine hostilities, and, instead of sacrificing each otherto malice and contempt, endeavour to avert persecution from the meanestof their fraternity.

No. 146. SATURDAY, AUGUST 10, 1751.

Sunt illic duo, tresve, qui revolvant
Nostrarum tineas ineptiarum;
Sed cum sponsio, fabultaeque lassae
De scarpo fuerint incitato. MART.

'Tis possible that one or two
These fooleries of mine may view;
But then the bettings must be o'er,
Nor Crab or Childers talk'd of more. F. LEWIS.

None of the projects or designs which exercise the mind of man areequally subject to obstructions and disappointments with the pursuit offame. Riches cannot easily be denied to them who have something ofgreater value to offer in exchange; he whose fortune is endangered bylitigation, will not refuse to augment the wealth of the lawyer; hewhose days are darkened by langour, or whose nerves are excruciated bypain, is compelled to pay tribute to the science of healing. But praisemay be always omitted without inconvenience. When once a man has madecelebrity necessary to his happiness, he has put it in the power of theweakest and most timorous malignity, if not to take away hissatisfaction, at least to withhold it. His enemies may indulge theirpride by airy negligence, and gratify their malice by quiet neutrality.They that could never have injured a character by invectives, maycombine to annihilate it by silence; as the women of Rome threatened toput an end to conquest and dominion, by supplying no children to thecommonwealth.

When a writer has with long toil produced a work intended to burst uponmankind with unexpected lustre, and withdraw the attention of thelearned world from every other controversy or inquiry, he is seldomcontented to wait long without the enjoyment of his new praises. With animagination full of his own importance, he walks out like a monarch indisguise to learn the various opinions of his readers. Prepared to feastupon admiration; composed to encounter censures without emotion; anddetermined not to suffer his quiet to be injured by a sensibility tooexquisite of praise or blame, but to laugh with equal contempt at vainobjections and injudicious commendations, he enters the places ofmingled conversation, sits down to his tea in an obscure corner, and,while he appears to examine a file of antiquated journals, catches theconversation of the whole room. He listens, but hears no mention of hisbook, and therefore supposes that he has disappointed his curiosity bydelay; and that as men of learning would naturally begin theirconversation with such a wonderful novelty, they had digressed to othersubjects before his arrival. The company disperses, and their places aresupplied by others equally ignorant, or equally careless. The sameexpectation hurries him to another place, from which the samedisappointment drives him soon away. His impatience then grows violentand tumultuous; he ranges over the town with restless curiosity, andhears in one quarter of a cricket-match, in another of a pick-pocket; istold by some of an unexpected bankruptcy; by others of a turtle feast;is sometimes provoked by importunate inquiries after the white bear, andsometimes with praises of the dancing dog; he is afterwards entreated togive his judgment upon a wager about the height of the Monument; invitedto see a foot-race in the adjacent villages; desired to read a ludicrousadvertisem*nt; or consulted about the most effectual method of makinginquiry after a favourite cat. The whole world is busied in affairswhich he thinks below the notice of reasonable creatures, and which arenevertheless sufficient to withdraw all regard from his labours and hismerits.

He resolves at last to violate his own modesty, and to recall thetalkers from their folly by an inquiry after himself. He finds every oneprovided with an answer; one has seen the work advertised, but never metwith any that had read it; another has been so often imposed upon byspecious titles, that he never buys a book till its character isestablished; a third wonders what any man can hope to produce after somany writers of greater eminence; the next has inquired after theauthor, but can hear no account of him, and therefore suspects the nameto be fictitious; and another knows him to be a man condemned byindigence to write too frequently what he does not understand.

Many are the consolations with which the unhappy author endeavours toallay his vexation, and fortify his patience. He has written with toolittle indulgence to the understanding of common readers; he has fallenupon an age in which solid knowledge, and delicate refinement, havegiven way to a low merriment, and idle buffoonery, and therefore nowriter can hope for distinction, who has any higher purpose than toraise laughter. He finds that his enemies, such as superiority willalways raise, have been industrious, while his performance was in thepress, to vilify and blast it; and that the bookseller, whom he hadresolved to enrich, has rivals that obstruct the circulation of thecopies. He at last reposes upon the consideration, that the noblestworks of learning and genius have always made their way slowly againstignorance and prejudice; and that reputation, which is never to be lost,must be gradually obtained, as animals of longest life are observed notsoon to attain their full stature and strength.

By such arts of voluntary delusion does every man endeavour to concealhis own unimportance from himself. It is long before we are convinced ofthe small proportion which every individual bears to the collective bodyof mankind; or learn how few can be interested in the fortune of anysingle man; how little vacancy is left in the world for any new objectof attention; to how small extent the brightest blaze of merit can bespread amidst the mists of business and of folly; and how soon it isclouded by the intervention of other novelties. Not only the writer ofbooks, but the commander of armies, and the deliverer of nations, willeasily outlive all noisy and popular reputation; he may be celebratedfor a time by the publick voice, but his actions and his name will soonbe considered as remote and unaffecting, and be rarely mentioned but bythose whose alliance gives them some vanity to gratify by frequentcommemoration.

It seems not to be sufficiently considered how little renown can beadmitted in the world. Mankind are kept perpetually busy by their fearsor desires, and have not more leisure from their own affairs, than toacquaint themselves with the accidents of the current day. Engaged incontriving some refuge from calamity, or in shortening the way to somenew possession, they seldom suffer their thoughts to wander to the pastor future; none but a few solitary students have leisure to inquire intothe claims of ancient heroes or sages; and names which hoped to rangeover kingdoms and continents, shrink at last into cloisters or colleges.

Nor is it certain, that even of these dark and narrow habitations, theselast retreats of fame, the possession will be long kept. Of men devotedto literature, very few extend their views beyond some particularscience, and the greater part seldom inquire, even in their ownprofession, for any authors but those whom the present mode of studyhappens to force upon their notice; they desire not to fill their mindswith unfashionable knowledge, but contentedly resign to oblivion thosebooks which they now find censured or neglected.

The hope of fame is necessarily connected with such considerations asmust abate the ardour of confidence, and repress the vigour of pursuit.Whoever claims renown from any kind of excellence, expects to fill theplace which is now possessed by another; for there are already names ofevery class sufficient to employ all that will desire to remember them;and surely he that is pushing his predecessors into the gulph ofobscurity, cannot but sometimes suspect, that he must himself sink inlike manner, and, as he stands upon the same precipice, be swept awaywith the same violence.

It sometimes happens, that fame begins when life is at an end; but farthe greater number of candidates for applause have owed their receptionin the world to some favourable casualties, and have thereforeimmediately sunk into neglect, when death stripped them of their casualinfluence, and neither fortune nor patronage operated in their favour.Among those who have better claims to regard, the honour paid to theirmemory is commonly proportionate to the reputation which they enjoyed intheir lives, though still growing fainter, as it is at a greaterdistance from the first emission; and since it is so difficult to obtainthe notice of contemporaries, how little is to be hoped from futuretimes? What can merit effect by its own force, when the help of art orfriendship can scarcely support it?

No. 147. TUESDAY, AUGUST 13, 1751.

Tu nihil invitâ dices faciesve Minervâ. Hon. Ar. Poet. 385.

—You are of too quick a sight,
Not to discern which way your talent lies. ROSCOMMON.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

As little things grow great by continual accumulation, I hope you willnot think the dignity of your character impaired by an account of aludicrous persecution, which, though it produced no scenes of horrour orof ruin, yet, by incessant importunity of vexation, wears away myhappiness, and consumes those years which nature seems particularly tohave assigned to cheerfulness, in silent anxiety and helplessresentment.

I am the eldest son of a gentleman, who having inherited a large estatefrom his ancestors, and feeling no desire either to increase or lessenit, has from the time of his marriage generally resided at his own seat;where, by dividing his time among the duties of a father, a master, anda magistrate, the study of literature, and the offices of civility, hefinds means to rid himself of the day, without any of those amusem*nts,which all those with whom my residence in this place has made meacquainted, think necessary to lighten the burthen of existence.

When my age made me capable of instruction, my father prevailed upon agentleman, long known at Oxford for the extent of his learning and thepurity of his manners, to undertake my education. The regard with whichI saw him treated, disposed me to consider his instructions asimportant, and I therefore soon formed a habit of attention, by which Imade very quick advances in different kinds of learning, and heard,perhaps too often, very flattering comparisons of my own proficiencywith that of others, either less docile by nature, or less happilyforwarded by instruction. I was caressed by all that exchanged visitswith my father; and as young men are with little difficulty taught tojudge favourably of themselves, began to think that close applicationwas no longer necessary, and that the time was now come when I was atliberty to read only for amusem*nt, and was to receive the reward of myfatigues in praise and admiration.

While I was thus banqueting upon my own perfections, and longing insecret to escape from tutorage, my father's brother came from London topass a summer at his native place. A lucrative employment which hepossessed, and a fondness for the conversation and diversions of the gaypart of mankind, had so long kept him from rural excursions, that I hadnever seen him since my infancy. My curiosity was therefore stronglyexcited by the hope of observing a character more nearly, which I hadhitherto reverenced only at a distance.

From all private and intimate conversation, I was long withheld by theperpetual confluence of visitants with whom the first news of my uncle'sarrival crowded the house; but was amply recompensed by seeing an exactand punctilious practice of the arts of a courtier, in all thestratagems of endearment, the gradations of respect, and variations ofcourtesy. I remarked with what justice of distribution he divided histalk to a wide circle; with what address he offered to every man anoccasion of indulging some favourite topick, or displaying someparticular attainment; the judgment with which he regulated hisinquiries after the absent; and the care with which he shewed all thecompanions of his early years how strongly they were infixed in hismemory, by the mention of past incidents and the recital of puerilekindnesses, dangers, and frolicks. I soon discovered that he possessedsome science of graciousness and attraction which books had not taught,and of which neither I nor my father had any knowledge; that he had thepower of obliging those whom he did not benefit; that he diffused, uponhis cursory behaviour and most trifling actions, a gloss of softness anddelicacy by which every one was dazzled; and that, by some occult methodof captivation, he animated the timorous, softened the supercilious, andopened the reserved. I could not but repine at the inelegance of my ownmanners, which left me no hopes but not to offend, and at the inefficacyof rustick benevolence, which gained no friends but by real service.

My uncle saw the veneration with which I caught every accent of hisvoice, and watched every motion of his hand; and the awkward diligencewith which I endeavoured to imitate his embrace of fondness, and his bowof respect. He was, like others, easily flattered by an imitator by whomhe could not fear ever to be rivalled, and repaid my assiduities withcompliments and professions. Our fondness was so increased by a mutualendeavour to please each other, that when he returned to London, hedeclared himself unable to leave a nephew so amiable and so accomplishedbehind him; and obtained my father's permission to enjoy my company fora few months, by a promise to initiate me in the arts of politeness, andintroduce me into publick life.

The courtier had little inclination to fatigue, and therefore, bytravelling very slowly, afforded me time for more loose and familiarconversation; but I soon found, that by a few inquiries which he was notwell prepared to satisfy, I had made him weary of his young companion.His element was a mixed assembly, where ceremony and healths,compliments and common topicks, kept the tongue employed with verylittle assistance from memory or reflection; but in the chariot, wherehe was necessitated to support a regular tenour of conversation, withoutany relief from a new comer, or any power of starting into gaydigressions, or destroying argument by a jest, he soon discovered thatpoverty of ideas which had been hitherto concealed under the tinsel ofpoliteness. The first day he entertained me with the novelties andwonders with which I should be astonished at my entrance into London,and cautioned me with apparent admiration of his own wisdom against thearts by which rusticity is frequently deluded. The same detail and thesame advice he would have repeated on the second day; but as I everymoment diverted the discourse to the history of the towns by which wepassed, or some other subject of learning or of reason, he soon lost hisvivacity, grew peevish and silent, wrapped his cloak about him, composedhimself to slumber, and reserved his gaiety for fitter auditors.

At length I entered London, and my uncle was reinstated in hissuperiority. He awaked at once to loquacity as soon as our wheelsrattled on the pavement, and told me the name of every street as wecrossed it, and owner of every house as we passed by. He presented me tomy aunt, a lady of great eminence for the number of her acquaintances,and splendour of her assemblies, and either in kindness or revengeconsulted with her, in my presence, how I might be most advantageouslydressed for my first appearance, and most expeditiously disencumberedfrom my villatick bashfulness. My indignation at familiarity thuscontemptuous flushed in my face; they mistook anger for shame, andalternately exerted their eloquence upon the benefits of publickeducation, and the happiness of an assurance early acquired.

Assurance is, indeed, the only qualification to which they seem to haveannexed merit, and assurance, therefore, is perpetually recommended tome as the supply of every defect, and the ornament of every excellence.I never sit silent in company when secret history is circulating, but Iam reproached for want of assurance. If I fail to return the statedanswer to a compliment; if I am disconcerted by unexpected raillery; ifI blush when I am discovered gazing on a beauty, or hesitate when I findmyself embarrassed in an argument; if I am unwilling to talk of what Ido not understand, or timorous in undertaking offices which I cannotgracefully perform; if I suffer a more lively tatler to recount thecasualties of a game, or a nimbler fop to pick up a fan, I am censuredbetween pity and contempt, as a wretch doomed to grovel in obscurity forwant of assurance.

I have found many young persons harassed in the same manner, by those towhom age has given nothing but the assurance which they recommend; andtherefore cannot but think it useful to inform them, that cowardice anddelicacy are not to be confounded; and that he whose stupidity has armedhim against the shafts of ridicule, will always act and speak withgreater audacity, than they whose sensibility represses their ardour,and who dare never let their confidence outgrow their abilities.

No. 148. SATURDAY, AUGUST 17, 1751.

Me pater saevis oneret catenis,
Quod viro clemens misero peperci:
Me vel extremis Numidarum in agros
Classe releget. HOR. Lib. iii. Od. xi. 45.

Me let my father load with chains,
Or banish to Numidia's farthest plains!
My crime, that I, a loyal wife,
In kind compassion sav'd my husband's life. FRANCIS.

Politicians remark, that no oppression is so heavy or lasting as thatwhich is inflicted by the perversion and exorbitance of legal authority.The robber may be seized, and the invader repelled, whenever they arefound; they who pretend no right but that of force, may by force bepunished or suppressed. But when plunder bears the name of impost, andmurder is perpetrated by a judicial sentence, fortitude is intimidated,and wisdom confounded: resistance shrinks from an alliance withrebellion, and the villain remains secure in the robes of themagistrate.

Equally dangerous and equally detestable are the cruelties oftenexercised in private families, under the venerable sanction of parentalauthority; the power which we are taught to honour from the firstmoments of reason; which is guarded from insult and violation by allthat can impress awe upon the mind of man; and which therefore maywanton in cruelty without control, and trample the bounds of right withinnumerable transgressions, before duty and piety will dare to seekredress, or think themselves at liberty to recur to any other means ofdeliverance than supplications by which insolence is elated, and tearsby which cruelty is gratified.

It was for a long time imagined by the Romans, that no son could be themurderer of his father; and they had therefore no punishmentappropriated to parricide. They seem likewise to have believed withequal confidence, that no father could be cruel to his child; andtherefore they allowed every man the supreme judicature in his ownhouse, and put the lives of his offspring into his hands. But experienceinformed them by degrees, that they determined too hastily in favour ofhuman nature; they found that instinct and habit were not able tocontend with avarice or malice; that the nearest relation might beviolated; and that power, to whomsoever intrusted, might be illemployed. They were therefore obliged to supply and to change theirinstitutions; to deter the parricide by a new law, and to transfercapital punishments from the parent to the magistrate.

There are indeed many houses which it is impossible to enter familiarly,without discovering that parents are by no means exempt from theintoxications of dominion; and that he who is in no danger of hearingremonstrances but from his own conscience, will seldom be long withoutthe art of controling his convictions, and modifying justice by his ownwill.

If in any situation the heart were inaccessible to malignity, it mightbe supposed to be sufficiently secured by parental relation. To havevoluntarily become to any being the occasion of its existence, producesan obligation to make that existence happy. To see helpless infancystretching out her hands, and pouring out her cries in testimony ofdependence, without any powers to alarm jealousy, or any guilt toalienate affection, must surely awaken tenderness in every human mind;and tenderness once excited will be hourly increased by the naturalcontagion of felicity, by the repercussion of communicated pleasure, bythe consciousness of the dignity of benefaction. I believe no generousor benevolent man can see the vilest animal courting his regard, andshrinking at his anger, playing his gambols of delight before him,calling on him in distress, and flying to him in danger, without morekindness than he can persuade himself to feel for the wild and unsocialinhabitants of the air and water. We naturally endear to ourselves thoseto whom we impart any kind of pleasure, because we imagine theiraffection and esteem secured to us by the benefits which they receive.

There is, indeed, another method by which the pride of superiority maybe likewise gratified. He that has extinguished all the sensations ofhumanity, and has no longer any satisfaction in the reflection that heis loved as the distributor of happiness, may please himself withexciting terrour as the inflictor of pain: he may delight his solitudewith contemplating the extent of his power and the force of hiscommands; in imagining the desires that flutter on the tongue which isforbidden to utter them, or the discontent which preys on the heart inwhich fear confines it: he may amuse himself with new contrivances ofdetection, multiplications of prohibition, and varieties of punishment;and swell with exultation when he considers how little of the homagethat he receives he owes to choice.

That princes of this character have been known, the history of allabsolute kingdoms will inform us; and since, as Aristotle observes,[Greek: hae oikonomikae monarchia], the government of a family isnaturally monarchical, it is, like other monarchies, too oftenarbitrarily administered. The regal and parental tyrant differ only inthe extent of their dominions, and the number of their slaves. The samepassions cause the same miseries; except that seldom any prince, howeverdespotick, has so far shaken off all awe of the publick eye, as toventure upon those freaks of injustice, which are sometimes indulgedunder the secrecy of a private dwelling. Capricious injunctions, partialdecisions, unequal allotments, distributions of reward, not by merit,but by fancy, and punishments, regulated not by the degree of theoffence, but by the humour of the judge, are too frequent where no poweris known but that of a father.

That he delights in the misery of others, no man will confess, and yetwhat other motive can make a father cruel? The king may be instigated byone man to the destruction of another; he may sometimes think himselfendangered by the virtues of a subject; he may dread the successfulgeneral or the popular orator; his avarice may point out goldenconfiscations; and his guilt may whisper that he can only be secure bycutting off all power of revenge.

But what can a parent hope from the oppression of those who were born tohis protection, of those who can disturb him with no competition, whocan enrich him with no spoils? Why cowards are cruel may be easilydiscovered; but for what reason, not more infamous than cowardice, canthat man delight in oppression who has nothing to fear?

The unjustifiable severity of a parent is loaded with this aggravation,that those whom he injures are always in his sight. The injustice of aprince is often exercised upon those of whom he never had any personalor particular knowledge; and the sentence which he pronounces, whetherof banishment, imprisonment, or death, removes from his view the manwhom he condemns. But the domestick oppressor dooms himself to gaze uponthose faces which he clouds with terrour and with sorrow; and beholdsevery moment the effects of his own barbarities. He that can bear togive continual pain to those who surround him, and can walk withsatisfaction in the gloom of his own presence; he that can seesubmissive misery without relenting, and meet without emotion the eyethat implores mercy, or demands justice, will scarcely be amended byremonstrance or admonition; he has found means of stopping the avenuesof tenderness, and arming his heart against the force of reason.

Even though no consideration should be paid to the great law of socialbeings, by which every individual is commanded to consult the happinessof others, yet the harsh parent is less to be vindicated than any othercriminal, because he less provides for the happiness of himself. Everyman, however little he loves others, would willingly be loved; every manhopes to live long, and therefore hopes for that time at which he shallsink back to imbecility, and must depend for ease and cheerfulness uponthe officiousness of others. But how has he obviated the inconvenienciesof old age, who alienates from him the assistance of his children, andwhose bed must be surrounded in the last hours, in the hours of languorand dejection, of impatience and of pain, by strangers to whom his lifeis indifferent, or by enemies to whom his death is desirable?

Piety will, indeed, in good minds overcome provocation, and those whohave been harassed by brutality will forget the injuries which they havesuffered, so far as to perform the last duties with alacrity and zeal.But surely no resentment can be equally painful with kindness thusundeserved, nor can severer punishment be imprecated upon a man notwholly lost in meanness and stupidity, than, through the tediousness ofdecrepitude, to be reproached by the kindness of his own children, toreceive not the tribute but the alms of attendance, and to owe everyrelief of his miseries, not to gratitude but to mercy.

No. 149. TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1751.

Quod non sit Pylades hoc tempore, non sit Orestes,
Miraris? Pylades, Marce, bibebat idem.
Nec melior panis, turdusve dabatur Oresti:
Sed par, atque eadem coena duobus erat.—
Te Cadmea Tyrus, me pinguis Gallia vestit:
Vis te purpureum, Marce, sagatus amem?
Ut praestem Pyladen, aliquis mihi praestet Orestem.
Hoc non fit verbis, Marce: ut ameris, ama. MART. Lib. vi. Ep. xi.

You wonder now that no man sees
Such friends as those of ancient Greece.
Here lay the point—Orestes' meat
Was just the same his friend did eat;
Nor can it yet be found, his wine
Was better, Pylades, than thine.
In home-spun russet, I am drest,
Your cloth is always of the best;
But, honest Marcus, if you please
To chuse me for your Pylades,
Remember, words alone are vain;
Love—if you would be lov'd again. F. LEWIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

No depravity of the mind has been more frequently or justly censuredthan ingratitude. There is indeed sufficient reason for looking on thosethat can return evil for good, and repay kindness and assistance withhatred or neglect, as corrupted beyond the common degrees of wickedness;nor will he, who has once been clearly detected in acts of injury to hisbenefactor, deserve to be numbered among social beings; he hasendeavoured to destroy confidence, to intercept sympathy, and to turnevery man's attention wholly on himself.

There is always danger lest the honest abhorrence of a crime shouldraise the passions with too much violence against the man to whom it isimputed. In proportion as guilt is more enormous, it ought to beascertained by stronger evidence. The charge against ingratitude is verygeneral; almost every man can tell what favours he has conferred uponinsensibility, and how much happiness he has bestowed without return;but perhaps, if these patrons and protectors were confronted with anywhom they boast of having befriended, it would often appear that theyconsulted only their pleasure or vanity, and repaid themselves theirpetty donatives by gratifications of insolence and indulgence ofcontempt.

It has happened that much of my time has been passed in a dependentstate, and consequently I have received many favours in the opinion ofthose at whose expense I have been maintained; yet I do not feel in myheart any burning gratitude or tumultuous affection; and, as I would notwillingly suppose myself less susceptible of virtuous passions than therest of mankind, I shall lay the history of my life before you, that youmay, by your judgment of my conduct, either reform, or confirm, mypresent sentiments. My father was the second son of a very ancient andwealthy family. He married a lady of equal birth, whose fortune, joinedto his own, might have supported his posterity in honour; but being gayand ambitious, he prevailed on his friends to procure him a post, whichgave him an opportunity of displaying his elegance and politeness. Mymother was equally pleased with splendour, and equally careless ofexpense; they both justified their profusion to themselves, byendeavouring to believe it necessary to the extension of theiracquaintance, and improvement of their interest; and whenever any placebecame vacant, they expected to be repaid. In the midst of these hopesmy father was snatched away by an apoplexy; and my mother, who had nopleasure but in dress, equipage, assemblies, and compliments, findingthat she could live no longer in her accustomed rank, sunk intodejection, and in two years wore out her life with envy and discontent.

I was sent with a sister, one year younger than myself, to the elderbrother of my father. We were not yet capable of observing how muchfortune influences affection, but flattered ourselves on the road withthe tenderness and regard with which we should be treated by our uncle.Our reception was rather frigid than malignant; we were introduced toour young cousins, and for the first month more frequently consoled thanupbraided; but in a short time we found our prattle repressed, our dressneglected, our endearments unregarded, and our requests referred to thehousekeeper.

The forms of decency were now violated, and every day produced newinsults. We were soon brought to the necessity of receding from ourimagined equality with our cousins, to whom we sunk into humblecompanions without choice or influence, expected only to echo theiropinions, facilitate their desires, and accompany their rambles. It wasunfortunate that our early introduction into polite company, andhabitual knowledge of the arts of civility, had given us such anappearance of superiority to the awkward bashfulness of our relations,as naturally drew respect and preference from every stranger; and myaunt was forced to assert the dignity of her own children, while theywere sculking in corners for fear of notice, and hanging down theirheads in silent confusion, by relating the indiscretion of our father,displaying her own kindness, lamenting the misery of birth withoutestate, and declaring her anxiety for our future provision, and theexpedients which she had formed to secure us from those follies orcrimes, to which the conjunction of pride and want often gives occasion.In a short time care was taken to prevent such vexatious mistakes; wewere told, that fine clothes would only fill our heads with falseexpectations, and our dress was therefore accommodated to our fortune.

Childhood is not easily dejected or mortified. We felt no lasting painfrom insolence or neglect; but finding that we were favoured andcommended by all whose interest did not prompt them to discountenanceus, preserved our vivacity and spirit to years of greater sensibility.It then became irksome and disgusting to live without any principle ofaction but the will of another, and we often met privately in the gardento lament our condition, and to ease our hearts with mutual narrativesof caprice, peevishness, and affront.

There are innumerable modes of insult and tokens of contempt, for whichit is not easy to find a name, which vanish to nothing in an attempt todescribe them, and yet may, by continual repetition, make day pass afterday in sorrow and in terrour. Phrases of cursory compliment andestablished salutation may, by a different modulation of the voice, orcast of the countenance, convey contrary meanings, and be changed fromindications of respect to expressions of scorn. The dependant whocultivates delicacy in himself, very little consults his owntranquillity. My unhappy vigilance is every moment discovering somepetulance of accent, or arrogance of mien, some vehemence ofinterrogation, or quickness of reply, that recals my poverty to my mind,and which I feel more acutely, as I know not how to resent it.

You are not, however, to imagine, that I think myself discharged fromthe duties of gratitude, only because my relations do not adjust theirlooks, or tune their voices to my expectation. The insolence ofbenefaction terminates not in negative rudeness or obliquities ofinsult. I am often told in express terms of the miseries from whichcharity has snatched me, while multitudes are suffered by relationsequally near to devolve upon the parish; and have more than once heardit numbered among other favours, that I am admitted to the same tablewith my cousins.

That I sit at the first table I must acknowledge, but I sit there onlythat I may feel the stings of inferiority. My inquiries are neglected,my opinion is overborne, my assertions are controverted, and, asinsolence always propagates itself, the servants overlook me, inimitation of their master; if I call modestly, I am not heard; ifloudly, my usurpation of authority is checked by a general frown. I amoften obliged to look uninvited upon delicacies, and sometimes desiredto rise upon very slight pretences.

The incivilities to which I am exposed would give me less pain, werethey not aggravated by the tears of my sister, whom the young ladies arehourly tormenting with every art of feminine persecution. As it is saidof the supreme magistrate of Venice, that he is a prince in one placeand a slave in another, my sister is a servant to her cousins in theirapartments, and a companion only at the table. Her wit and beauty drewso much regard away from them, that they never suffer her to appear withthem in any place where they solicit notice, or expect admiration; andwhen they are visited by neighbouring ladies and pass their hours indomestick amusem*nts, she is sometimes called to fill a vacancy,insulted with contemptuous freedoms, and dismissed to her needle, whenher place is supplied. The heir has of late, by the instigation of hissisters, begun to harass her with clownish jocularity; he seems inclinedto make his first rude essays of waggery upon her; and by theconnivance, if not encouragement, of his father, treats her with suchlicentious brutality, as I cannot bear, though I cannot punish it.

I beg to be informed, Mr. Rambler, how much we can be supposed to owe tobeneficence, exerted on terms like these? to beneficence which pollutesits gifts with contumely, and may be truly said to pander to pride? Iwould willingly be told, whether insolence does not reward its ownliberalities, and whether he that exacts servility can, with justice, atthe same time, expect affection?

I am, Sir, &c.

HYPERDULUS.

No. 150. SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 1751.

—O munera nondum
Intellecta Deum! LUCAN.

—Thou chiefest good!
Bestow'd by Heav'n, but seldom understood. ROWE.

As daily experience makes it evident that misfortunes are unavoidablyincident to human life, that calamity will neither be repelled byfortitude, nor escaped by flight; neither awed by greatness, nor eludedby obscurity; philosophers have endeavoured to reconcile us to thatcondition which they cannot teach us to mend, by persuading us that mostof our evils are made afflictive only by ignorance or perverseness, andthat nature has annexed to every vicissitude of external circ*mstancessome advantage sufficient to over-balance all its inconveniencies.

This attempt may, perhaps, be justly suspected of resemblance to thepractice of physicians, who, when they cannot mitigate pain, destroysensibility, and endeavour to conceal, by opiates, the inefficacy oftheir other medicines. The panegyrists of calamity have more frequentlygained applause to their wit, than acquiescence to their arguments; norhas it appeared that the most musical oratory, or subtle ratiocination,has been able long to overpower the anguish of oppression, thetediousness of languor, or the longings of want.

Yet, it may be generally remarked, that, where much has been attempted,something has been performed; though the discoveries or acquisitions ofman are not always adequate to the expectations of his pride, they areat least sufficient to animate his industry. The antidotes with whichphilosophy has medicated the cup of life, though they cannot give itsalubrity and sweetness, have at least allayed its bitterness, andcontempered its malignity; the balm which she drops upon the wounds ofthe mind abates their pain, though it cannot heal them.

By suffering willingly what we cannot avoid, we secure ourselves fromvain and immoderate disquiet; we preserve for better purposes thatstrength which would be unprofitably wasted in wild efforts ofdesperation, and maintain that circ*mspection which may enable us toseize every support, and improve every alleviation. This calmness willbe more easily obtained, as the attention is more powerfully withdrawnfrom the contemplation of unmingled unabated evil, and diverted to thoseaccidental benefits which prudence may confer on every state.

Seneca has attempted, not only to pacify us in misfortune, but almost toallure us to it, by representing it as necessary to the pleasures of themind. He that never was acquainted with adversity, says he, has seenthe world but on one side, and is ignorant of half the scenes ofnature. He invites his pupil to calamity, as the Syrens allured thepassenger to their coasts, by promising that he shall return [Greek:pleiona eidos], with increase of knowledge, with enlarged views, andmultiplied ideas.

Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and thelast; and perhaps always predominates in proportion to the strength ofthe contemplative faculties. He who easily comprehends all that isbefore him, and soon exhausts any single subject, is always eager fornew inquiries; and, in proportion as the intellectual eye takes in awider prospect, it must be gratified with variety by more rapid flights,and bolder excursions; nor perhaps can there be proposed to those whohave been accustomed to the pleasures of thought, a more powerfulincitement to any undertaking, than the hope of filling their fancy withnew images, of clearing their doubts, and enlightening their reason.

When Jason, in Valerius Flaccus, would incline the young prince Acastusto accompany him in the first essay of navigation, he disperses hisapprehensions of danger by representations of the new tracts of earthand heaven, which the expedition would spread before their eyes; andtells him with what grief he will hear, at their return, of thecountries which they shall have seen, and the toils which they havesurmounted:

O quantum terrae, quantum cognoscere coeli
Permissum est! pelagus quantos aperimus in usus!
Nunc forsan grave reris opus: sed laeta recurret
Cum ratis, et caram cum jam mihi reddet Iolcon;
Quis pudor heu nostros tibi tunc audire labores!
Quam referam visas tua per suspiria gentes! ARG. Lib. i. 168.

Led by our stars, what tracts immense we trace!
From seas remote, what funds of science raise!
A pain to thought! but when the heroick band
Returns applauded to their native land,
A life domestick you will then deplore,
And sigh while I describe the various, shore. EDW. CAVE.

Acastus was soon prevailed upon by his curiosity to set rocks andhardships at defiance, and commit his life to the winds; and the samemotives have in all ages had the same effect upon those whom the desireof fame or wisdom has distinguished from the lower orders of mankind.

If, therefore, it can be proved that distress is necessary to theattainment of knowledge, and that a happy situation hides from us solarge a part of the field of meditation, the envy of many who repine atthe sight of affluence and splendour will be much diminished; for suchis the delight of mental superiority, that none on whom nature or studyhave conferred it, would purchase the gifts of fortune by its loss.

It is certain, that however the rhetorick of Seneca may have dressedadversity with extrinsick ornaments, he has justly represented it asaffording some opportunities of observation, which cannot be found incontinual success; he has truly asserted, that to escape misfortune isto want instruction, and that to live at ease is to live in ignorance.

As no man can enjoy happiness without thinking that he enjoys it, theexperience of calamity is necessary to a just sense of better fortune:for the good of our present state is merely comparative, and the evilwhich every man feels will be sufficient to disturb and harass him, ifhe does not know how much he escapes. The lustre of diamonds isinvigorated by the interposition of darker bodies; the lights of apicture are created by the shades. The highest pleasure which nature hasindulged to sensitive perception, is that of rest after fatigue; yet,that state which labour heightens into delight, is of itself only ease,and is incapable of satisfying the mind without the superaddition ofdiversified amusem*nts.

Prosperity, as is truly asserted by Seneca, very much obstructs theknowledge of ourselves. No man can form a just estimate of his ownpowers by unactive speculation. That fortitude which has encountered nodangers, that prudence which has surmounted no difficulties, thatintegrity which has been attacked by no temptations, can at best beconsidered but as gold not yet brought to the test, of which thereforethe true value cannot be assigned. He that traverses the lists withoutan adversary, may receive, says the philosopher, the reward ofvictory, but he has no pretensions to the honour. If it be the highesthappiness of man to contemplate himself with satisfaction, and toreceive the gratulations of his own conscience; he whose courage hasmade way amidst the turbulence of opposition, and whose vigour hasbroken through the snares of distress, has many advantages over thosethat have slept in the shades of indolence, and whose retrospect of timecan entertain them with nothing but day rising upon day, and yeargliding after year.

Equally necessary is some variety of fortune to a nearer inspection ofthe manners, principles, and affections of mankind. Princes, when theywould know the opinions or grievances of their subjects, find itnecessary to steal away from guards and attendants, and mingle on equalterms among the people. To him who is known to have the power of doinggood or harm, nothing is shewn in its natural form. The behaviour of allthat approach him is regulated by his humour, their narratives areadapted to his inclination, and their reasonings determined by hisopinions; whatever can alarm suspicion, or excite resentment, iscarefully suppressed, and nothing appears but uniformity of sentiments,and ardour of affection. It may be observed, that the unvariedcomplaisance which ladies have the right of exacting, keeps themgenerally unskilled in human nature; prosperity will always enjoy thefemale prerogatives, and therefore must be always in danger of femaleignorance. Truth is scarcely to be heard, but by those from whom it canserve no interest to conceal it.

No. 151. TUESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1751.

[Greek:—Amphi d anthro-
pon phresin amplakiai
Anarithmatoi kremantai
Touto d amachanon eurein,
O ti nun, kai en teleu-
ta, phertaton andri tuchein.] PINDAR, Ol. vii. 43.
[Transcriber's note: line breaks and hyphenation in original.]

But wrapt in error is the human mind,
And human bliss is ever insecure:
Know we what fortune yet remains behind?
Know we how long the present shall endure? WEST.

The writers of medicine and physiology have traced, with greatappearance of accuracy, the effects of time upon the human body, bymarking the various periods of the constitution, and the several stagesby which animal life makes its progress from infancy to decrepitude.Though their observations have not enabled them to discover how manhoodmay be accelerated, or old age retarded, yet surely, if they beconsidered only as the amusem*nts of curiosity, they are of equalimportance with conjectures on things more remote, with catalogues ofthe fixed stars, and calculations of the bulk of planets.

It had been a task worthy of the moral philosophers to have consideredwith equal care the climactericks of the mind; to have pointed out thetime at which every passion begins and ceases to predominate, and notedthe regular variations of desire, and the succession of one appetite toanother.

The periods of mental change are not to be stated with equal certainty;our bodies grow up under the care of nature, and depend so little on ourown management, that something more than negligence is necessary todiscompose their structure, or impede their vigour. But our minds arecommitted in a great measure first to the direction of others, andafterwards of ourselves. It would be difficult to protract the weaknessof infancy beyond the usual time, but the mind may be very easilyhindered from its share of improvement, and the bulk and strength ofmanhood must, without the assistance of education and instruction, beinformed only with the understanding of a child.

Yet, amidst all the disorder and inequality which variety of discipline,example, conversation, and employment, produce in the intellectualadvances of different men, there is still discovered, by a vigilantspectator, such a general and remote similitude, as may be expected inthe same common nature affected by external circ*mstances indefinitelyvaried. We all enter the world in equal ignorance, gaze round about uson the same objects, and have our first pains and pleasures, our firsthopes and fears, our first aversions and desires, from the same causes;and though, as we proceed farther, life opens wider prospects to ourview, and accidental impulses determine us to different paths, yet asevery mind, however vigorous or abstracted, is necessitated, in itspresent state of union, to receive its informations, and execute itspurposes, by the intervention of the body, the uniformity of ourcorporeal nature communicates itself to our intellectual operations; andthose whose abilities or knowledge incline them most to deviate from thegeneral round of life, are recalled from eccentricity by the laws oftheir existence.

If we consider the exercises of the mind, it will be found that in eachpart of life some particular faculty is more eminently employed. Whenthe treasures of knowledge are first opened before us, while noveltyblooms alike on either hand, and every thing equally unknown andunexamined seems of equal value, the power of the soul is principallyexerted in a vivacious and desultory curiosity. She applies by turns toevery object, enjoys it for a short time, and flies with equal ardour toanother. She delights to catch up loose and unconnected ideas, butstarts away from systems and complications, which would obstruct therapidity of her transitions, and detain her long in the same pursuit.

When a number of distinct images are collected by these erratick andhasty surveys, the fancy is busied in arranging them; and combines theminto pleasing pictures with more resemblance to the realities of life asexperience advances, and new observations rectify the former. While thejudgment is yet uninformed, and unable to compare the draughts offiction with their originals, we are delighted with improbableadventures, impracticable virtues, and inimitable characters: but, inproportion as we have more opportunities of acquainting ourselves withliving nature, we are sooner disgusted with copies in which thereappears no resemblance. We first discard absurdity and impossibility,then exact greater and greater degrees of probability, but at lastbecome cold and insensible to the charms of falsehood, however specious,and, from the imitations of truth, which are never perfect, transfer ouraffection to truth itself.

Now commences the reign of judgment or reason; we begin to find littlepleasure but in comparing arguments, stating propositions, disentanglingperplexities, clearing ambiguities, and deducing consequences. Thepainted vales of imagination are deserted, and our intellectual activityis exercised in winding through the labyrinths of fallacy, and toilingwith firm and cautious steps up the narrow tracks of demonstration.Whatever may lull vigilance, or mislead attention, is contemptuouslyrejected, and every disguise in which errour may be concealed, iscarefully observed, till, by degrees, a certain number of incontestableor unsuspected propositions are established, and at last concatenatedinto arguments, or compacted into systems.

At length weariness succeeds to labour, and the mind lies at ease in thecontemplation of her own attainments, without any desire of newconquests or excursions. This is the age of recollection and narrative;the opinions are settled, and the avenues of apprehension shut againstany new intelligence; the days that are to follow must pass in theinculcation of precepts already collected, and assertion of tenetsalready received; nothing is henceforward so odious as opposition, soinsolent as doubt, or so dangerous as novelty.

In like manner the passions usurp the separate command of the successiveperiods of life. To the happiness of our first years nothing more seemsnecessary than freedom from restraint: every man may remember that if hewas left to himself, and indulged in the disposal of his own time, hewas once content without the superaddition of any actual pleasure. Thenew world is itself a banquet; and, till we have exhausted the freshnessof life, we have always about us sufficient gratifications: the sunshinequickens us to play, and the shade invites us to sleep.

But we soon become unsatisfied with negative felicity, and are solicitedby our senses and appetites to more powerful delights, as the taste ofhim who has satisfied his hunger must be excited by artificialstimulations. The simplicity of natural amusem*nt is now past, and artand contrivance must improve our pleasures; but, in time, art, likenature, is exhausted, and the senses can no longer supply the cravingsof the intellect.

The attention is then transferred from pleasure to interest, in whichpleasure is perhaps included, though diffused to a wider extent, andprotracted through new gradations. Nothing now dances before the eyesbut wealth and power, nor rings in the ear, but the voice of fame;wealth, to which, however variously denominated, every man at some timeor other aspires; power, which all wish to obtain within their circle ofaction; and fame, which no man, however high or mean, however wise orignorant, was yet able to despise. Now prudence and foresight exerttheir influence: no hour is devoted wholly to any present enjoyment, noact or purpose terminates in itself, but every motion is referred tosome distant end; the accomplishment of one design begins another, andthe ultimate wish is always pushed off to its former distance.

At length fame is observed to be uncertain, and power to be dangerous;the man whose vigour and alacrity begin to forsake him, by degreescontracts his designs, remits his former multiplicity of pursuits, andextends no longer his regard to any other honour than the reputation ofwealth, or any other influence than his power. Avarice is generally thelast passion of those lives of which the first part has been squanderedin pleasure, and the second devoted to ambition. He that sinks under thefatigue of getting wealth, lulls his age with the milder business ofsaving it.

I have in this view of life considered man as actuated only by naturaldesires, and yielding to their own inclinations, without regard tosuperior principles, by which the force of external agents may becounteracted, and the temporary prevalence of passions restrained.Nature will indeed always operate, human desires will be always ranging;but these motions, though very powerful, are not resistless; nature maybe regulated, and desires governed; and, to contend with thepredominance of successive passions, to be endangered first by oneaffection, and then by another, is the condition upon which we are topass our time, the time of our preparation for that state which shallput an end to experiment, to disappointment, and to change.

No. 152. SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1751.

—Tristia maestum
Vullum verba decent, iratum plena minarum. HOR. De Ar. Poet. 105.

Disastrous words can best disaster shew;
In angry phrase the angry passions glow. ELPHINSTON.

"It was the wisdom," says Seneca, "of ancient times, to consider what ismost useful as most illustrious." If this rule be applied to works ofgenius, scarcely any species of composition deserves more to becultivated than the epistolary style, since none is of more various orfrequent use through the whole subordination of human life.

It has yet happened that, among the numerous writers which our nationhas produced, equal, perhaps, always in force and genius, and of late inelegance and accuracy, to those of any other country, very few haveendeavoured to distinguish themselves by the publication of letters,except such as were written in the discharge of publick trusts, andduring the transaction of great affairs; which, though they affordprecedents to the minister, and memorials to the historian, are of nouse as examples of the familiar style, or models of privatecorrespondence.

If it be inquired by foreigners, how this deficiency has happened in theliterature of a country, where all indulge themselves with so littledanger in speaking and writing, may we not without either bigotry orarrogance inform them, that it must be imputed to our contempt oftrifles, and our due sense of the dignity of the publick? We do notthink it reasonable to fill the world with volumes from which nothingcan be learned, nor expect that the employments of the busy, or theamusem*nts of the gay, should give way to narratives of our privateaffairs, complaints of absence, expressions of fondness, or declarationsof fidelity.

A slight perusal of the innumerable letters by which the wits of Francehave signalized their names, will prove that other nations need not bediscouraged from the like attempts by the consciousness of inability;for surely it is not very difficult to aggravate trifling misfortunes,to magnify familiar incidents, repeat adulatory professions, accumulateservile hyperboles, and produce all that can be found in the despicableremains of Voiture and Scarron.

Yet, as much of life must be passed in affairs considerable only bytheir frequent occurrence, and much of the pleasure which our conditionallows, must be produced by giving elegance to trifles, it is necessaryto learn how to become little without becoming mean, to maintain thenecessary intercourse of civility, and fill up the vacuities of actionsby agreeable appearances. It had therefore been of advantage, if such ofour writers as have excelled in the art of decorating insignificance,had supplied us with a few sallies of innocent gaiety, effusions ofhonest tenderness, or exclamations of unimportant hurry.

Precept has generally been posterior to performance. The art ofcomposing works of genius has never been taught but by the example ofthose who performed it by natural vigour of imagination, and rectitudeof judgment. As we have few letters, we have likewise few criticismsupon the epistolary style. The observations with which Walsh hasintroduced his pages of inanity, are such as give him little claim tothe rank assigned him by Dryden among the criticks. Letters, says he,are intended as resemblances of conversation, and the chiefexcellencies of conversation are good humour and good breeding. Thisremark, equally valuable for its novelty and propriety, he dilates andenforces with an appearance of complete acquiescence in his owndiscovery.

No man was ever in doubt about the moral qualities of a letter. It hasbeen always known that he who endeavours to please must appear pleased,and he who would not provoke rudeness must not practise it. But thequestion among those who establish rules for an epistolary performanceis how gaiety or civility may be properly expressed; as among thecriticks in history it is not contested whether truth ought to bepreserved, but by what mode of diction it is best adorned.

As letters are written on all subjects, in all states of mind, theycannot be properly reduced to settled rules, or described by any singlecharacteristick; and we may safely disentangle our minds from criticalembarrassments, by determining that a letter has no peculiarity but itsform, and that nothing is to be refused admission, which would be properin any other method of treating the same subject. The qualities of theepistolary style most frequently required, are ease and simplicity, aneven flow of unlaboured diction, and an artless arrangement of obvioussentiments. But these directions are no sooner applied to use, thantheir scantiness and imperfection become evident. Letters are written tothe great and to the mean, to the learned and the ignorant, at rest andin distress, in sport and in passion. Nothing can be more improper thanease and laxity of expression, when the importance of the subjectimpresses solicitude, or the dignity of the person exacts reverence.

That letters should be written with strict conformity to nature is true,because nothing but conformity to nature can make any compositionbeautiful or just. But it is natural to depart from familiarity oflanguage upon occasions not familiar. Whatever elevates the sentimentswill consequently raise the expression; whatever fills us with hope orterrour, will produce some perturbation of images and some figurativedistortions of phrase. Wherever we are studious to please, we are afraidof trusting our first thoughts, and endeavour to recommend our opinionby studied ornaments, accuracy of method, and elegance of style.

If the personages of the comick scene be allowed by Horace to raisetheir language in the transports of anger to the turgid vehemence oftragedy, the epistolary writer may likewise without censure comply withthe varieties of his matter. If great events are to be related, he maywith all the solemnity of an historian deduce them from their causes,connect them with their concomitants, and trace them to theirconsequences. If a disputed position is to be established, or a remoteprinciple to be investigated, he may detail his reasonings with all thenicety of syllogistick method. If a menace is to be averted, or abenefit implored, he may, without any violation of the edicts ofcriticism, call every power of rhetorick to his assistance, and tryevery inlet at which love or pity enters the heart.

Letters that have no other end than the entertainment of thecorrespondents are more properly regulated by critical precepts, becausethe matter and style are equally arbitrary, and rules are morenecessary, as there is a larger power of choice. In letters of thiskind, some conceive art graceful, and others think negligence amiable;some model them by the sonnet, and will allow them no means ofdelighting but the soft lapse of calm mellifluence; others adjust themby the epigram, and expect pointed sentences and forcible periods. Theone party considers exemption from faults as the height of excellence,the other looks upon neglect of excellence as the most disgusting fault;one avoids censure, the other aspires to praise; one is always in dangerof insipidity, the other continually on the brink of affectation.

When the subject has no intrinsick dignity, it must necessarily owe itsattractions to artificial embellishments, and may catch at alladvantages which the art of writing can supply. He that, like Pliny,sends his friend a portion for his daughter, will, without Pliny'seloquence or address, find means of exciting gratitude, and securingacceptance; but he that has no present to make but a garland, a riband,or some petty curiosity, must endeavour to recommend it by his manner ofgiving it.

The purpose for which letters are written when no intelligence iscommunicated, or business transacted, is to preserve in the minds of theabsent either love or esteem: to excite love we must impart pleasure,and to raise esteem we must discover abilities. Pleasure will generallybe given, as abilities are displayed by scenes of imagery, points ofconceit, unexpected sallies, and artful compliments. Trifles alwaysrequire exuberance of ornament; the building which has no strength canbe valued only for the grace of its decorations. The pebble must bepolished with care, which hopes to be valued as a diamond; and wordsought surely to be laboured, when they are intended to stand for things.

No. 153. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1751

Turba Remi? Sequitur Fortunam, ut semper, et odit
Damnatos. JUV. Sat. x. 73.

The fickle crowd with fortune comes and goes;
Wealth still finds followers, and misfortune foes.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

There are occasions on which all apology is rudeness. He that has anunwelcome message to deliver, may give some proof of tenderness anddelicacy, by a ceremonial introduction and gradual discovery, becausethe mind, upon which the weight of sorrow is to fall, gains time for thecollection of its powers; but nothing is more absurd than to delay thecommunication of pleasure, to torment curiosity by impatience, and todelude hope by anticipation.

I shall therefore forbear the arts by which correspondents generallysecure admission, for I have too long remarked the power of vanity, todoubt that I shall be read by you with a disposition to approve, when Ideclare that my narrative has no other tendency than to illustrate andcorroborate your own observations.

I was the second son of a gentleman, whose patrimony had been wasted bya long succession of squanderers, till he was unable to support any ofhis children, except his heir, in the hereditary dignity of idleness.Being therefore obliged to employ that part of life in study which myprogenitors had devoted to the hawk and hound, I was in my eighteenthyear despatched to the university, without any rural honours. I hadnever killed a single woodco*ck, nor partaken one triumph over aconquered fox.

At the university I continued to enlarge my acquisitions with littleenvy of the noisy happiness which my elder brother had the fortune toenjoy; and, having obtained my degree, retired to consider at leisure towhat profession I should confine that application which had hithertobeen dissipated in general knowledge. To deliberate upon a choice whichcustom and honour forbid to be retracted, is certainly reasonable; yetto let loose the attention equally to the advantages and inconvenienciesof every employment is not without danger; new motives are every momentoperating on every side; and mechanicks have long ago discovered, thatcontrariety of equal attractions is equivalent to rest.

While I was thus trifling in uncertainty, an old adventurer, who hadbeen once the intimate friend of my father, arrived from the Indies witha large fortune; which he had so much harassed himself in obtaining,that sickness and infirmity left him no other desire than to die in hisnative country. His wealth easily procured him an invitation to pass hislife with us; and, being incapable of any amusem*nt but conversation, henecessarily became familiarized to me, whom he found studious anddomestick. Pleased with an opportunity of imparting my knowledge, andeager of any intelligence that might increase it, I delighted hiscuriosity with historical narratives and explications of nature, andgratified his vanity by inquiries after the products of distantcountries, and the customs of their inhabitants.

My brother saw how much I advanced in the favour of our guest, who,being without heirs, was naturally expected to enrich the family of hisfriend, but never attempted to alienate me, nor to ingratiate himself.He was, indeed, little qualified to solicit the affection of atraveller, for the remissness of his education had left him without anyrule of action but his present humour. He often forsook the oldgentleman in the midst of an adventure, because the horn sounded in thecourt-yard, and would have lost an opportunity, not only of knowing thehistory, but sharing the wealth of the mogul, for the trial of a newpointer, or the sight of a horse-race.

It was therefore not long before our new friend declared his intentionof bequeathing to me the profits of his commerce, as the only man in thefamily by whom he could expect them to be rationally enjoyed. Thisdistinction drew upon me the envy not only of my brother but my father.

As no man is willing to believe that he suffers by his own fault, theyimputed the preference which I had obtained to adulatory compliances, ormalignant calumnies. To no purpose did I call upon my patron to attestmy innocence, for who will believe what he wishes to be false? In theheat of disappointment they forced their inmate by repeated insults todepart from the house, and I was soon, by the same treatment, obliged tofollow him.

He chose his residence in the confines of London, where rest,tranquillity, and medicine, restored him to part of the health which hehad lost. I pleased myself with perceiving that I was not likely toobtain the immediate possession of wealth which no labour of mine hadcontributed to acquire; and that he, who had thus distinguished me,might hope to end his life without a total frustration of thoseblessings, which, whatever be their real value, he had sought with somuch diligence, and purchased with so many vicissitudes of danger andfatigue.

He, indeed, left me no reason to repine at his recovery, for he waswilling to accustom me early to the use of money, and set apart for myexpenses such a revenue as I had scarcely dared to image. I can yetcongratulate myself that fortune has seen her golden cup once tastedwithout inebriation. Neither my modesty nor prudence was overwhelmed byaffluence; my elevation was without insolence, and my expense withoutprofusion. Employing the influence which money always confers, to theimprovement of my understanding, I mingled in parties of gaiety, and inconferences of learning, appeared in every place where instruction wasto be found, and imagined that, by ranging through all the diversitiesof life, I had acquainted myself fully with human nature, and learnedall that was to be known of the ways of men.

It happened, however, that I soon discovered how much was wanted to thecompletion of my knowledge, and found that, according to Seneca'sremark, I had hitherto seen the world but on one side. My patron'sconfidence in his increase of strength tempted him to carelessness andirregularity; he caught a fever by riding in the rain, of which he dieddelirious on the third day. I buried him without any of the heir'saffected grief or secret exultation; then preparing to take a legalpossession of his fortune, I opened his closet, where I found a will,made at his first arrival, by which my father was appointed the chiefinheritor, and nothing was left me but a legacy sufficient to support mein the prosecution of my studies.

I had not yet found such charms in prosperity as to continue it by anyacts of forgery or injustice, and made haste to inform my father of theriches which had been given him, not by the preference of kindness, butby the delays of indolence and cowardice of age. The hungry family flewlike vultures on their prey, and soon made my disappointment publick, bythe tumult of their claims, and the splendour of their sorrow.

It was now my part to consider how I should repair the disappointment. Icould not but triumph in my long list of friends, which comprised almostevery name that power or knowledge entitled to eminence; and, in theprospect of the innumerable roads to honour and preferment, which I hadlaid open to myself by the wise use of temporary riches, I believednothing necessary but that I should continue that acquaintance to whichI had been so readily admitted, and which had hitherto been cultivatedon both sides with equal ardour.

Full of these expectations, I one morning ordered a chair, with anintention to make my usual circle of morning visits. Where I firststopped I saw two footmen lolling at the door, who told me without anychange of posture, or collection of countenance, that their master wasat home, and suffered me to open the inner door without assistance. Ifound my friend standing, and, as I was tattling with my former freedom,was formally entreated to sit down; but did not stay to be favoured withany further condescensions.

My next experiment was made at the levee of a statesman, who received mewith an embrace of tenderness, that he might with more decency publishmy change of fortune to the sycophants about him. After he had enjoyedthe triumph of condolence, he turned to a wealthy stockjobber, and leftme exposed to the scorn of those who had lately courted my notice, andsolicited my interest.

I was then set down at the door of another, who, upon my entrance,advised me, with great solemnity, to think of some settled provision forlife. I left him, and hurried away to an old friend, who professedhimself unsusceptible of any impressions from prosperity or misfortune,and begged that he might see me when he was more at leisure.

Of sixty-seven doors, at which I knocked in the first week after myappearance in a mourning dress, I was denied admission at forty-six; wassuffered at fourteen to wait in the outer room till business wasdespatched; at four, was entertained with a few questions about theweather; at one, heard the footman rated for bringing my name; and attwo was informed, in the flow of casual conversation, how much a man ofrank degrades himself by mean company.

My curiosity now led me to try what reception I should find among theladies; but I found that my patron had carried all my powers of pleasingto the grave. I had formerly been celebrated as a wit, and notperceiving any languor in my imagination, I essayed to revive thatgaiety which had hitherto broken out involuntarily before my sentenceswere finished. My remarks were now heard with a steady countenance, andif a girl happened to give way to habitual merriment, her forwardnesswas repressed with a frown by her mother or her aunt.

Wherever I come I scatter infirmity and disease; every lady whom I meetin the Mall is too weary to walk; all whom I entreat to sing aretroubled with colds: if I propose cards, they are afflicted with thehead-ach; [Transcriber's note: sic] if I invite them to the gardens,they cannot bear a crowd.

All this might be endured; but there is a class of mortals who think myunderstanding impaired with my fortune, exalt themselves to the dignityof advice, and, whenever we happen to meet, presume to prescribe myconduct, regulate my economy, and direct my pursuits. Another race,equally impertinent and equally despicable, are every momentrecommending to me an attention to my interest, and think themselvesentitled, by their superior prudence, to reproach me if I speak or movewithout regard to profit.

Such, Mr. Rambler, is the power of wealth, that it commands the ear ofgreatness and the eye of beauty, gives spirit to the dull, and authorityto the timorous, and leaves him from whom it departs, without virtue andwithout understanding, the sport of caprice, the scoff of insolence, theslave of meanness, and the pupil of ignorance.

I am, &c.

No. 154. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1751.

—Tibi res antiquae laudis et artis
Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes. VIR. Geo. ii. 174.

For thee my tuneful accents will I raise,
And treat of arts disclos'd in ancient days;
Once more unlock for thee the sacred spring. DRYDEN.

The direction of Aristotle to those that study politicks, is first toexamine and understand what has been written by the ancients upongovernment; then to cast their eyes round upon the world, and considerby what causes the prosperity of communities is visibly influenced, andwhy some are worse, and others better administered.

The same method must be pursued by him who hopes to become eminent inany other part of knowledge. The first task is to search books, the nextto contemplate nature. He must first possess himself of the intellectualtreasures which the diligence of former ages has accumulated, and thenendeavour to increase them by his own collections.

The mental disease of the present generation, is impatience of study,contempt of the great masters of ancient wisdom, and a disposition torely wholly upon unassisted genius and natural sagacity. The wits ofthese happy days have discovered a way to fame, which the dull cautionof our laborious ancestors durst never attempt; they cut the knots ofsophistry which it was formerly the business of years to untie, solvedifficulties by sudden irradiations of intelligence, and comprehend longprocesses of argument by immediate intuition.

Men who have flattered themselves into this opinion of their ownabilities, look down on all who waste their lives over books, as a raceof inferior beings, condemned by nature to perpetual pupilage, andfruitlessly endeavouring to remedy their barrenness by incessantcultivation, or succour their feebleness by subsidiary strength. Theypresume that none would be more industrious than they, if they were notmore sensible of deficiencies; and readily conclude, that he who placesno confidence in his own powers, owes his modesty only to his weakness.

It is however certain, that no estimate is more in danger of erroneouscalculations than those by which a man computes the force of his owngenius. It generally happens at our entrance into the world, that, bythe natural attraction of similitude, we associate with men likeourselves, young, sprightly, and ignorant, and rate our accomplishmentsby comparison with theirs; when we have once obtained an acknowledgedsuperiority over our acquaintances, imagination and desire easily extendit over the rest of mankind, and if no accident forces us into newemulations, we grow old, and die in admiration of ourselves.

Vanity, thus confirmed in her dominion, readily listens to the voice ofidleness, and sooths the slumber of life with continual dreams ofexcellence and greatness. A man, elated by confidence in his naturalvigour of fancy and sagacity of conjecture, soon concludes that healready possesses whatever toil and inquiry can confer. He then listenswith eagerness to the wild objections which folly has raised against thecommon means of improvement; talks of the dark chaos of indigestedknowledge; describes the mischievous effects of heterogeneous sciencesfermenting in the mind; relates the blunders of lettered ignorance;expatiates on the heroick merit of those who deviate from prescription,or shake off authority; and gives vent to the inflations of his heart bydeclaring that he owes nothing to pedants and universities.

All these pretensions, however confident, are very often vain. Thelaurels which superficial acuteness gains in triumphs over ignoranceunsupported by vivacity, are observed by Locke to be lost, whenever reallearning and rational diligence appear against her; the sallies ofgaiety are soon repressed by calm confidence; and the artifices ofsubtilty are readily detected by those, who, having carefully studiedthe question, are not easily confounded or surprised.

But, though the contemner of books had neither been deceived by othersnor himself, and was really born with a genius surpassing the ordinaryabilities of mankind; yet surely such gifts of Providence may be moreproperly urged as incitements to labour, than encouragements tonegligence. He that neglects the culture of ground naturally fertile, ismore shamefully culpable, than he whose field would scarcely recompensehis husbandry.

Cicero remarks, that not to know what has been transacted in formertimes, is to continue always a child. If no use is made of the laboursof past ages, the world must remain always in the infancy of knowledge.The discoveries of every man must terminate in his own advantage, andthe studies of every age be employed on questions which the pastgeneration had discussed and determined. We may with as little reproachborrow science as manufactures from our ancestors; and it is as rationalto live in caves till our own hands have erected a palace, as to rejectall knowledge of architecture which our understandings will not supply.

To the strongest and quickest mind it is far easier to learn than toinvent. The principles of arithmetick and geometry may be comprehendedby a close attention in a few days; yet who can flatter himself that thestudy of a long life would have enabled him to discover them, when hesees them yet unknown to so many nations, whom he cannot suppose lessliberally endowed with natural reason, than the Grecians or Egyptians?

Every science was thus far advanced towards perfection, by the emulousdiligence of contemporary students, and the gradual discoveries of oneage improving on another. Sometimes unexpected flashes of instructionwere struck out by the fortuitous collision of happy incidents, or aninvoluntary concurrence of ideas, in which the philosopher to whom theyhappened had no other merit than that of knowing their value, andtransmitting, unclouded, to posterity, that light which had been kindledby causes out of his power. The happiness of these casual illuminationsno man can promise to himself, because no endeavours can procure them;and therefore whatever be our abilities or application, we must submitto learn from others what perhaps would have lain hid for ever fromhuman penetration, had not some remote inquiry brought it to view; astreasures are thrown up by the ploughman and the digger in the rudeexercise of their common occupations. The man whose genius qualifies himfor great undertakings, must at least be content to learn from books thepresent state of human knowledge; that he may not ascribe to himself theinvention of arts generally known; weary his attention with experimentsof which the event has been long registered; and waste, in attemptswhich have already succeeded or miscarried, that time which might havebeen spent with usefulness and honour upon new undertakings.

But, though the study of books is necessary, it is not sufficient toconstitute literary eminence. He that wishes to be counted among thebenefactors of posterity, must add by his own toil to the acquisitionsof his ancestors, and secure his memory from neglect by some valuableimprovement. This can only be effected by looking out upon the wastes ofthe intellectual world, and extending the power of learning over regionsyet undisciplined and barbarous; or by surveying more exactly ourancient dominions, and driving ignorance from the fortresses andretreats where she skulks undetected and undisturbed. Every science hasits difficulties, which yet call for solution before we attempt newsystems of knowledge; as every country has its forests and marshes,which it would be wise to cultivate and drain, before distant coloniesare projected as a necessary discharge of the exuberance of inhabitants.

No man ever yet became great by imitation. Whatever hopes for theveneration of mankind must have invention in the design or theexecution; either the effect must itself be new, or the means by whichit is produced. Either truths hitherto unknown must be discovered, orthose which are already known enforced by stronger evidence, facilitatedby clearer method, or elucidated by brighter illustrations.

Fame cannot spread wide or endure long that is not rooted in nature, andmatured by art. That which hopes to resist the blast of malignity, andstand firm against the attacks of time, must contain in itself someoriginal principle of growth. The reputation which arises from thedetail or transposition of borrowed sentiments, may spread for awhile,like ivy on the rind of antiquity, but will be torn away by accident orcontempt, and suffered to rot unheeded on the ground.

No. 155. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1751.

—Steriles transmisimus annos,
Haec aevi mihi prima dies, haec limina vitae. STAT. i. 362.

—Our barren years are past;
Be this of life the first, of sloth the last. ELPHINSTON.

No weakness of the human mind has more frequently incurredanimadversion, than the negligence with which men overlook their ownfaults, however flagrant, and the easiness with which they pardon them,however frequently repeated.

It seems generally believed, that as the eye cannot see itself, the mindhas no faculties by which it can contemplate its own state, and thattherefore we have not means of becoming acquainted with our realcharacters; an opinion which, like innumerable other postulates, aninquirer finds himself inclined to admit upon very little evidence,because it affords a ready solution of many difficulties. It willexplain why the greatest abilities frequently fail to promote thehappiness of those who possess them; why those who can distinguish withthe utmost nicety the boundaries of vice and virtue, suffer them to beconfounded in their own conduct; why the active and vigilant resigntheir affairs implicitly to the management of others; and why thecautious and fearful make hourly approaches towards ruin, without onesigh of solicitude or struggle for escape.

When a position teems thus with commodious consequences, who can withoutregret confess it to be false? Yet it is certain that declaimers haveindulged a disposition to describe the dominion of the passions asextended beyond the limits that nature assigned. Self-love is oftenrather arrogant than blind; it does not hide our faults from ourselves,but persuades us that they escape the notice of others, and disposes usto resent censures lest we should confess them to be just. We aresecretly conscious of defects and vices, which we hope to conceal fromthe publick eye, and please ourselves with innumerable impostures, bywhich, in reality, nobody is deceived.

In proof of the dimness of our internal sight, or the general inabilityof man to determine rightly concerning his own character, it is commonto urge the success of the most absurd and incredible flattery, and theresentment always raised by advice, however soft, benevolent, andreasonable. But flattery, if its operation be nearly examined, will befound to owe its acceptance, not to our ignorance, but knowledge of ourfailures, and to delight us rather as it consoles our wants thandisplays our possessions. He that shall solicit the favour of his patronby praising him for qualities which he can find in himself, will bedefeated by the more daring panegyrist who enriches him withadscititious excellence. Just praise is only a debt, but flattery is apresent. The acknowledgment of those virtues on which consciencecongratulates us, is a tribute that we can at any time exact withconfidence; but the celebration of those which we only feign, or desirewithout any vigorous endeavours to attain them, is received as aconfession of sovereignty over regions never conquered, as a favourabledecision of disputable claims, and is more welcome as it is moregratuitous.

Advice is offensive, not because it lays us open to unexpected regret,or convicts us of any fault which had escaped our notice, but because itshews us that we are known to others as well as to ourselves; and theofficious monitor is persecuted with hatred, not because his accusationis false, but because he assumes that superiority which we are notwilling to grant him, and has dared to detect what we desired toconceal.

For this reason advice is commonly ineffectual. If those who follow thecall of their desires, without inquiry whither they are going, haddeviated ignorantly from the paths of wisdom, and were rushing upondangers unforeseen, they would readily listen to information that recalsthem from their errours, and catch the first alarm by which destructionor infamy is denounced. Few that wander in the wrong way mistake it forthe right, they only find it more smooth and flowery, and indulge theirown choice rather than approve it: therefore few are persuaded to quitit by admonition or reproof, since it impresses no new conviction, norconfers any powers of action or resistance. He that is gravely informedhow soon profusion will annihilate his fortune, hears with littleadvantage what he knew before, and catches at the next occasion ofexpense, because advice has no force to suppress his vanity. He that istold how certainly intemperance will hurry him to the grave, runs withhis usual speed to a new course of luxury, because his reason is notinvigorated, nor his appetite weakened.

The mischief of flattery is, not that it persuades any man that he iswhat he is not, but that it suppresses the influence of honest ambition,by raising an opinion that honour may be gained without the toil ofmerit; and the benefit of advice arises commonly not from any new lightimparted to the mind, but from the discovery which it affords of thepublick suffrages. He that could withstand conscience is frighted atinfamy, and shame prevails when reason is defeated.

As we all know our own faults, and know them commonly with manyaggravations which human perspicacity cannot discover, there is,perhaps, no man, however hardened by impudence or dissipated by levity,sheltered by hypocrisy or blasted by disgrace, who does not intend sometime to review his conduct, and to regulate the remainder of his life bythe laws of virtue. New temptations indeed attack him, new invitationsare offered by pleasure and interest, and the hour of reformation isalways delayed; every delay gives vice another opportunity of fortifyingitself by habit; and the change of manners, though sincerely intendedand rationally planned, is referred to the time when some cravingpassion shall be fully gratified, or some powerful allurement cease itsimportunity.

Thus procrastination is accumulated on procrastination, and oneimpediment succeeds another, till age shatters our resolution, or deathintercepts the project of amendment. Such is often the end of salutarypurposes, after they have long delighted the imagination, and appeasedthat disquiet which every mind feels from known misconduct, when theattention is not diverted by business or by pleasure.

Nothing surely can be more unworthy of a reasonable nature, than tocontinue in a state so opposite to real happiness, as that all the peaceof solitude, and felicity of meditation, must arise from resolutions offorsaking it. Yet the world will often afford examples of men, who passmonths and years in a continual war with their own convictions, and aredaily dragged by habit, or betrayed by passion, into practices whichthey closed and opened their eyes with purposes to avoid; purposeswhich, though settled on conviction, the first impulse of momentarydesire totally overthrows.

The influence of custom is indeed such, that to conquer it will requirethe utmost efforts of fortitude and virtue; nor can I think any man moreworthy of veneration and renown, than those who have burst the shacklesof habitual vice. This victory, however, has different degrees of gloryas of difficulty; it is more, heroick as the objects of guiltygratification are more familiar, and the recurrence of solicitation morefrequent. He that, from experience of the folly of ambition, resigns hisoffices, may set himself free at once from temptation to squander hislife in courts, because he cannot regain his former station. He who isenslaved by an amorous passion, may quit his tyrant in disgust, andabsence will, without the help of reason, overcome by degrees the desireof returning. But those appetites to which every place affords theirproper object, and which require no preparatory measures or gradualadvances, are more tenaciously adhesive; the wish is so near theenjoyment, that compliance often precedes consideration, and, before thepowers of reason can be summoned, the time for employing them is past.

Indolence is therefore one of the vices from which those whom it onceinfects are seldom reformed. Every other species of luxury operates uponsome appetite that is quickly satiated, and requires some concurrence ofart or accident which every place will not supply; but the desire ofease acts equally at all hours, and the longer it is indulged is themore increased. To do nothing is in every man's power; we can never wantan opportunity of omitting duties. The lapse to indolence is soft andimperceptible, because it is only a mere cessation of activity; but thereturn to diligence is difficult, because it implies a change from restto motion, from privation to reality:

—Facilis descensus Averni:
Noctes atque dies patet atri junua ditis;
Sed revocare gradum, saperasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, hic labor est.—VIR. Aen. Lib. vi. 126.

The gates of Hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way;
But to return, and view the cheerful skies,
In this the task and mighty labour lies. DRYDEN.

Of this vice, as of all others, every man who indulges it is conscious:we all know our own state, if we could be induced to consider it, and itmight perhaps be useful to the conquest of all these ensnarers of themind, if, at certain stated days, life was reviewed. Many thingsnecessary are omitted, because we vainly imagine that they may be alwaysperformed; and what cannot be done without pain will for ever bedelayed, if the time of doing it be left unsettled. No corruption isgreat but by long negligence, which can scarcely prevail in a mindregularly and frequently awakened by periodical remorse. He that thusbreaks his life into parts, will find in himself a desire to distinguishevery stage of his existence by some improvement, and delight himselfwith the approach of the day of recollection, as of the time which is tobegin a new series of virtue and felicity.

No. 156. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1751.

Nunquam aliud Natura, aliud Sapientia dicit. Juv. Sat. xiv. 321.

For Wisdom ever echoes Nature's voice.

Every government, say the politicians, is perpetually degeneratingtowards corruption, from which it must be rescued at certain periods bythe resuscitation of its first principles, and the re-establishment ofits original constitution. Every animal body, according to the methodickphysicians, is, by the predominance of some exuberant quality,continually declining towards disease and death, which must be obviatedby a seasonable reduction of the peccant humour to the just equipoisewhich health requires.

In the same manner the studies of mankind, all at least which, not beingsubject to rigorous demonstration, admit the influence of fancy andcaprice, are perpetually tending to errour and confusion. Of the greatprinciples of truth which the first speculatists discovered, thesimplicity is embarrassed by ambitious additions, or the evidenceobscured by inaccurate argumentation; and as they descend from onesuccession of writers to another, like light transmitted from room toroom, they lose their strength and splendour, and fade at last in totalevanescence.

The systems of learning therefore must be sometimes reviewed,complications analyzed into principles, and knowledge disentangled fromopinion. It is not always possible, without a close inspection, toseparate the genuine shoots of consequential reasoning, which grow outof some radical postulate, from the branches which art has ingrafted onit. The accidental prescriptions of authority, when time has procuredthem veneration, are often confounded with the laws of nature, and thoserules are supposed coëval with reason, of which the first rise cannot bediscovered.

Criticism has sometimes permitted fancy to dictate the laws by whichfancy ought to be restrained, and fallacy to perplex the principles bywhich fallacy is to be detected; her superintendence of others hasbetrayed her to negligence of herself; and, like the ancient Scythians,by extending her conquests over distant regions, she has left her thronevacant to her slaves.

Among the laws of which the desire of extending authority, or ardour ofpromoting knowledge, has prompted the prescription, all which writershave received, had not the same original right to our regard. Some areto be considered as fundamental and indispensable, others only as usefuland convenient; some as dictated by reason and necessity, others asenacted by despotick antiquity; some as invincibly supported by theirconformity to the order of nature and operations of the intellect;others as formed by accident, or instituted by example, and thereforealways liable to dispute and alteration.

That many rules have been advanced without consulting nature or reason,we cannot but suspect, when we find it peremptorily decreed by theancient masters, that only three speaking personages should appear atonce upon the stage; a law, which, as the variety and intricacy ofmodern plays has made it impossible to be observed, we now violatewithout scruple, and, as experience proves, without inconvenience.

The original of this precept was merely accidental. Tragedy was amonody, or solitary song in honour of Bacchus, improved afterwards intoa dialogue by the addition of another speaker; but the ancients,remembering that the tragedy was at first pronounced only by one, durstnot for some time venture beyond two; at last, when custom and impunityhad made them daring, they extended their liberty to the admission ofthree, but restrained themselves by a critical edict from furtherexorbitance.

By what accident the number of acts was limited to five, I know not thatany author has informed us; but certainly it is not determined by anynecessity arising either from the nature of action, or propriety ofexhibition. An act is only the representation of such a part of thebusiness of the play as proceeds in an unbroken tenour, or without anyintermediate pause. Nothing is more evident than that of every real, andby consequence of every dramatick action, the intervals may be more orfewer than five; and indeed the rule is upon the English stage every daybroken in effect, without any other mischief than that which arises froman absurd endeavour to observe it in appearance. Whenever the scene isshifted the act ceases, since some time is necessarily supposed toelapse while the personages of the drama change their place.

With no greater right to our obedience have the criticks confined thedramatick action to a certain number of hours. Probability requires thatthe time of action should approach somewhat nearly to that ofexhibition, and those plays will always be thought most happilyconducted which crowd the greatest, variety into the least space. Butsince it will frequently happen that some delusion must be admitted, Iknow not where the limits of imagination can be fixed. It is rarelyobserved that minds, not prepossessed by mechanical criticism, feel anyoffence from the extension of the intervals between the acts; nor can Iconceive it absurd or impossible, that he who can multiply three hoursinto twelve or twenty-four, might imagine with equal ease a greaternumber.

I know not whether he that professes to regard no other laws than thoseof nature, will not be inclined to receive tragi-comedy to hisprotection, whom, however generally condemned, her own laurels havehitherto shaded from the fulminations of criticism. For what is there inthe mingled drama which impartial reason can condemn? The connexion ofimportant with trivial incidents, since it is not only common butperpetual in the world, may surely be allowed upon the stage, whichpretends only to be the mirror of life. The impropriety of suppressingpassions before we have raised them to the intended agitation, and ofdiverting the expectation from an event which we keep suspended only toraise it, may be speciously urged. But will not experience shew thisobjection to be rather subtle than just? Is it not certain that thetragick and comick affections have been moved alternately with equalforce, and that no plays have oftener filled the eye with tears, and thebreast with palpitation, than those which are variegated with interludesof mirth?

I do not however think it safe to judge of works of genius merely by theevent. The resistless vicissitudes of the heart, this alternateprevalence of merriment and solemnity, may sometimes be more properlyascribed to the vigour of the writer than the justness of the design:and, instead of vindicating tragi-comedy by the success of Shakspeare,we ought, perhaps, to pay new honours to that transcendent and unboundedgenius that could preside over the passions in sport; who, to actuatethe affections, needed not the slow gradation of common means, but couldfill the heart with instantaneous jollity or sorrow, and vary ourdisposition as he changed his scenes. Perhaps the effects even ofShakspeare's poetry might have been yet greater, had he not counteractedhimself; and we might have been more interested in the distresses of hisheroes, had we not been so frequently diverted by the jokes of hisbuffoons.

There are other rules more fixed and obligatory. It is necessary that ofevery play the chief action should be single; for since a playrepresents some transaction, through its regular maturation to its finalevent, two actions equally important must evidently constitute twoplays.

As the design of tragedy is to instruct by moving the passions, it mustalways have a hero, a personage apparently and incontestably superior tothe rest, upon whom the attention may be fixed, and the anxietysuspended. For though, of two persons opposing each other with equalabilities and equal virtue, the auditor will inevitably, in time, choosehis favourite, yet as that choice must be without any cogency ofconviction, the hopes or fears which it raises will be faint andlanguid. Of two heroes acting in confederacy against a common enemy, thevirtues or dangers will give little emotion, because each claims ourconcern with the same right, and the heart lies at rest between equalmotives.

It ought to be the first endeavour of a writer to distinguish naturefrom custom; or that which is established because it is right, from thatwhich is right only because it is established; that he may neitherviolate essential principles by a desire of novelty, nor debar himselffrom the attainment of beauties within his view, by a needless fear ofbreaking rules which no literary dictator had authority to enact.

No. 157. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1751.

[Greek:—Oi aidos
Ginetai ae t' andras mega sinetai aed' oninaesi.]
HOM. Il. [Greek: O.] 44.

Shame greatly hurts or greatly helps mankind. ELPHINSTON.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Though one of your correspondents has presumed to mention with somecontempt that presence of attention and easiness of address, which thepolite have long agreed to celebrate and esteem, yet I cannot bepersuaded to think them unworthy of regard or cultivation; but aminclined to believe that, as we seldom value rightly what we have neverknown the misery of wanting, his judgment has been vitiated by hishappiness; and that a natural exuberance of assurance has hindered himfrom discovering its excellence and use.

This felicity, whether bestowed by constitution, or obtained by earlyhabitudes, I can scarcely contemplate without envy. I was bred under aman of learning in the country, who inculcated nothing but the dignityof knowledge, and the happiness of virtue. By frequency of admonition,and confidence of assertion, he prevailed upon me to believe, that thesplendour of literature would always attract reverence, if not darkenedby corruption. I therefore pursued my studies with incessant industry,and avoided every thing which I had been taught to consider either asvicious or tending to vice, because I regarded guilt and reproach asinseparably united, and thought a tainted reputation the greatestcalamity.

At the university, I found no reason for changing my opinion; for thoughmany among my fellow-students took the opportunity of a more remissdiscipline to gratify their passions; yet virtue preserved her naturalsuperiority, and those who ventured to neglect, were not suffered toinsult her. The ambition of petty accomplishments found its way into thereceptacles of learning, but was observed to seize commonly on those whoeither neglected the sciences or could not attain them; and I wastherefore confirmed in the doctrines of my old master, and thoughtnothing worthy of my care but the means of gaining or impartingknowledge.

This purity of manners, and intenseness of application, soon extended myrenown, and I was applauded by those, whose opinion I then thoughtunlikely to deceive me, as a young man that gave uncommon hopes offuture eminence. My performances in time reached my native province, andmy relations congratulated themselves upon the new honours that wereadded to their family.

I returned home covered with academical laurels, and fraught withcriticism and philosophy. The wit and the scholar excited curiosity, andmy acquaintance was solicited by innumerable invitations. To please willalways be the wish of benevolence, to be admired must be the constantaim of ambition; and I therefore considered myself as about to receivethe reward of my honest labours, and to find the efficacy of learningand of virtue.

The third day after my arrival I dined at the house of a gentleman whohad summoned a multitude of his friends to the annual celebration of hiswedding-day. I set forward with great exultation, and thought myselfhappy that I had an opportunity of displaying my knowledge to sonumerous an assembly. I felt no sense of my own insufficiency, till,going up stairs to the dining-room, I heard the mingled roar ofobstreperous merriment. I was, however, disgusted rather than terrified,and went forward without dejection. The whole company rose at myentrance; but when I saw so many eyes fixed at once upon me, I wasblasted with a sudden imbecility, I was quelled by some nameless powerwhich I found impossible to be resisted. My sight was dazzled, my cheeksglowed, my perceptions were confounded; I was harassed by the multitudeof eager salutations, and returned the common civilities with hesitationand impropriety; the sense of my own blunders increased my confusion,and, before the exchange of ceremonies allowed me to sit down, I wasready to sink under the oppression of surprise; my voice grew weak, andmy knees trembled.

The assembly then resumed their places, and I sat with my eyes fixedupon the ground. To the questions of curiosity, or the appeals ofcomplaisance, I could seldom answer but with negative monosyllables, orprofessions of ignorance; for the subjects on which they conversed, weresuch as are seldom discussed in books, and were therefore out of myrange of knowledge. At length an old clergyman, who rightly conjecturedthe reason of my conciseness, relieved me by some questions about thepresent state of natural knowledge, and engaged me, by an appearance ofdoubt and opposition, in the explication and defence of the Newtonianphilosophy.

The consciousness of my own abilities roused me from depression, andlong familiarity with my subject enabled me to discourse with ease andvolubility; but, however I might please myself, I found very littleadded by my demonstrations to the satisfaction of the company; and myantagonist, who knew the laws of conversation too well to detain theirattention long upon an unpleasing topick, after he had commended myacuteness and comprehension, dismissed the controversy, and resigned meto my former insignificance and perplexity.

After dinner, I received from the ladies, who had heard that I was awit, an invitation to the tea-table. I congratulated myself upon anopportunity to escape from the company, whose gaiety began to betumultuous, and among whom several hints had been dropped of theuselessness of universities, the folly of book-learning, and theawkwardness of scholars. To the ladies, therefore, I flew, as to arefuge from clamour, insult, and rusticity; but found my heart sink as Iapproached their apartment, and was again disconcerted by the ceremoniesof entrance, and confounded by the necessity of encountering so manyeyes at once.

When I sat down I considered that, something pretty was always said toladies, and resolved to recover my credit by some elegant observation orgraceful compliment. I applied myself to the recollection of all that Ihad read or heard in praise of beauty, and endeavoured to accommodatesome classical compliment to the present occasion. I sunk into profoundmeditation, revolved the characters of the heroines of old, consideredwhatever the poets have sung in their praise, and, after having borrowedand invented, chosen and rejected a thousand sentiments, which, if I haduttered them, would not have been understood, I was awakened from mydream of learned gallantry, by the servant who distributed the tea.

There are not many situations more incessantly uneasy than that in whichthe man is placed who is watching an opportunity to speak, withoutcourage to take it when it is offered, and who, though he resolves togive a specimen of his abilities, always finds some reason or other fordelaying it to the next minute. I was ashamed of silence, yet could findnothing to say of elegance or importance equal to my wishes. The ladies,afraid of my learning, thought themselves not qualified to propose anysubject of prattle to a man so famous for dispute, and there was nothingon either side but impatience and vexation.

In this conflict of shame, as I was re-assembling my scatteredsentiments, and, resolving to force my imagination to some sprightlysally, had just found a very happy compliment, by too much attention tomy own meditations, I suffered the saucer to drop from my hand. The cupwas broken, the lap-dog was scalded, a brocaded petticoat was stained,and the whole assembly was thrown into disorder. I now considered allhopes of reputation at an end, and while they were consoling andassisting one another, stole away in silence.

The misadventures of this unhappy day are not yet at an end; I am afraidof meeting the meanest of them that triumphed over me in this state ofstupidity and contempt, and feel the same terrours encroaching upon myheart at the sight of those who have once impressed them. Shame, aboveany other passion, propagates itself. Before those who have seen meconfused, I can never appear without new confusion, and the remembranceof the weakness which I formerly discovered, hinders me from acting orspeaking with my natural force.

But is this misery, Mr. Rambler, never to cease; have I spent my life instudy only to become the sport of the ignorant, and debarred myself fromall the common enjoyments of youth to collect ideas which must sleep insilence, and form opinions which I must not divulge? Inform me, dearSir, by what means I may rescue my faculties from these shackles ofcowardice, how I may rise to a level with my fellow-beings, recallmyself from this langour of involuntary subjection to the free exertionof my intellects, and add to the power of reasoning the liberty ofspeech.

I am, Sir, &c.

VERECUNDULUS.

No. 158. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1751.

Grammatici certunt, et adhuc sub judice lis est. HOR. Ar. Poet. 78.

—Criticks yet contend,
And of their vain disputings find no end. FRANCIS.

Criticism, though dignified from the earliest ages by the labours of meneminent for knowledge and sagacity, and, since the revival of politeliterature, the favourite study of European scholars, has not yetattained the certainty and stability of science. The rules hithertoreceived are seldom drawn from any settled principle or self-evidentpostulate, or adapted to the natural and invariable constitution ofthings; but will be found, upon examination, the arbitrary edicts oflegislators, authorised only by themselves, who, out of various means bywhich the same end may be attained, selected such as happened to occurto their own reflection, and then, by a law which idleness and timiditywere too willing to obey, prohibited new experiments of wit, restrainedfancy from the indulgence of her innate inclination to hazard andadventure, and condemned all future flights of genius to pursue the pathof the Meonian eagle.

This authority may be more justly opposed, as it is apparently derivedfrom them whom they endeavour to control; for we owe few of the rules ofwriting to the acuteness of criticks, who have generally no other meritthan that, having read the works of great authors with attention, theyhave observed the arrangement of their matter, or the graces of theirexpression, and then expected honour and reverence for precepts whichthey never could have invented; so that practice has introduced rules,rather than rules have directed practice.

For this reason the laws of every species of writing have been settledby the ideas of him who first raised it to reputation, without inquirywhether his performances were not yet susceptible of improvement. Theexcellencies and faults of celebrated writers have been equallyrecommended to posterity; and, so far has blind reverence prevailed,that even the number of their books has been thought worthy ofimitation.

The imagination of the first authors of lyrick poetry was vehement andrapid, and their knowledge various and extensive. Living in an age whenscience had been little cultivated, and when the minds of theirauditors, not being accustomed to accurate inspection, were easilydazzled by glaring ideas, they applied themselves to instruct, rather byshort sentences and striking thoughts, than by regular argumentation;and, finding attention more successfully excited by sudden sallies andunexpected exclamations, than by the more artful and placid beauties ofmethodical deduction, they loosed their genius to its own course, passedfrom one sentiment to another without expressing the intermediate ideas,and roved at large over the ideal world with such lightness and agility,that their footsteps are scarcely to be traced.

From this accidental peculiarity of the ancient writers the criticksdeduce the rules of lyrick poetry, which they have set free from all thelaws by which other compositions are confined, and allow to neglect theniceties of transition, to start into remote digressions, and to wanderwithout restraint from one scene of imagery to another.

A writer of later times has, by the vivacity of his essays, reconciledmankind to the same licentiousness in short dissertations; and hetherefore who wants skill to form a plan, or diligence to pursue it,needs only entitle his performance an essay, to acquire the right ofheaping together the collections of half his life without order,coherence, or propriety.

In writing, as in life, faults are endured without disgust when they areassociated with transcendent merit, and may be sometimes recommended toweak judgments by the lustre which they obtain from their union withexcellence; but it is the business of those who presume to superintendthe taste or morals of mankind, to separate delusive combinations anddistinguish that which may be praised from that which can only beexcused. As vices never promote happiness, though, when overpowered bymore active and more numerous virtues, they cannot totally destroy it;so confusion and irregularity produce no beauty, though they cannotalways obstruct the brightness of genius and learning. To proceed fromone truth to another, and connect distant propositions by regularconsequences, is the great prerogative of man. Independent andunconnected sentiments flashing upon the mind in quick succession, may,for a time, delight by their novelty, but they differ from systematicalreasoning, as single notes from harmony, as glances of lightning fromthe radiance of the sun.

When rules are thus drawn, rather from precedents than reason, there isdanger not only from the faults of an author, but from the errours ofthose who criticise his works; since they may often mislead their pupilsby false representations, as the Ciceronians of the sixteenth centurywere betrayed into barbarisms by corrupt copies of their darling writer.

It is established at present, that the proemial lines of a poem, inwhich the general subject is proposed, must be void of glitter andembellishment. "The first lines of Paradise Lost," says Addison, "areperhaps as plain, simple, and unadorned, as any of the whole poem, inwhich particular the author has conformed himself to the example ofHomer, and the precept of Horace."

This observation seems to have been made by an implicit adoption of thecommon opinion, without consideration either of the precept or example.Had Horace been consulted, he would have been found to direct only whatshould be comprised in the proposition, not how it should be expressed;and to have commended Homer in opposition to a meaner poet, not for thegradual elevation of his diction, but the judicious expansion of hisplan; for displaying unpromised events, not for producing unexpectedelegancies.

—Specivsa dehinc miracula prouiat;
Antiphaten, Scyllamque, et cum Cyclope Charybdim. Hon. Ar. Poet. 146.

But from a cloud of smoke he breaks to light,
And pours his specious miracles to sight;
Antiphates his hideous feast devours,
Charybdis barks, and Polyphemus roars. FRANCIS.

If the exordial verses of Homer be compared with the rest of the poem,they will not appear remarkable for plainness or simplicity, but rathereminently adorned and illuminated:

[Greek:
Andra moi ennepe, Mousa, polutropon, os mala polla
Plagchthae, epei Troiaes ieron ptoliethron eperse;
Pollon d anthropon iden astea, kai noon egno;
Polla d og en pontps pathen algea on kata thumon,
Arnumenos aen te psuchaen kai noston etairon;
All oud os etarous errusato, iemenos per;
Auton gar spheteraesin atasthaliaesin olonto.
Naepioi, oi kata bous uperionos Aeelioio
Aesthion; autar o toisin apheileto vostimon aemao;
Ton amothen ge, thea, thugater Dios, eipe kai eamin.]

The man, for wisdom's various arts renown'd,
Long exercised in woes, O muse! resound.
Who, when his arms had wrought the destin'd fall
Of sacred Troy, and raz'd her heav'n-built wall,
Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray'd,
The manners noted, and their states survey'd.
On stormy seas unnumber'd toils he bore,
Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore:
Vain toils! their impious folly dar'd to prey
On herds devoted to the god of day;
The god vindictive doom'd them never more
(Ah! men unbless'd) to touch that natal shore.
O snatch some portion of these acts from fate,
Celestial muse! and to our world relate. POPE.

The first verses of the Iliad are in like manner particularly splendid,and the proposition of the Aeneid closes with dignity and magnificencenot often to be found even in the poetry of Virgil.

The intent of the introduction is to raise expectation, and suspend it;something therefore must be discovered, and something concealed; and thepoet, while the fertility of his invention is yet unknown, may properlyrecommend himself by the grace of his language.

He that reveals too much, or promises too little; he that neverirritates the intellectual appetite, or that immediately satiates it,equally defeats his own purpose. It is necessary to the pleasure of thereader, that the events should not be anticipated, and how then can hisattention be invited, but by grandeur of expression?

No. 159. TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1751.

Sunt verba et voces, quibus hunc lenire dolorem
Possis, et magnuum morbi deponere partem. HOR. Ep. Lib. i. 34.

The power of words, and soothing sounds, appease
The raging pain, and lessen the disease. FRANCIS.

The imbecility with which Verecundulus complains that the presence of anumerous assembly freezes his faculties, is particularly incident to thestudious part of mankind, whose education necessarily secludes them intheir earlier years from mingled converse, till, at their dismissionfrom schools and academies, they plunge at once into the tumult of theworld, and, coming forth from the gloom of solitude, are overpowered bythe blaze of publick life.

It is, perhaps, kindly provided by nature, that as the feathers andstrength of a bird grow together, and her wings are not completed tillshe is able to fly, so some proportion should be preserved in the humankind between judgment and courage; the precipitation of inexperience istherefore restrained by shame, and we remain shackled by timidity, tillwe have learned to speak and act with propriety. I believe few canreview the days of their youth without recollecting temptations, whichshame, rather than virtue, enabled them to resist; and opinions which,however erroneous in their principles, and dangerous in theirconsequences, they have panted to advance at the hazard of contempt andhatred, when they found themselves irresistibly depressed by a languidanxiety, which seized them at the moment of utterance, and stillgathered strength from their endeavours to resist it.

It generally happens that assurance keeps an even pace with ability, andthe fear of miscarriage, which hinders Our first attempts, is graduallydissipated as our skill advances towards certainty of success. Thatbashfulness, therefore, which prevents disgrace, that short andtemporary shame which secures us from the danger of lasting reproach,cannot be properly counted among our misfortunes.

Bashfulness, however it may incommode for a moment, scarcely everproduces evils of long continuance; it may flush the cheek, flutter inthe heart, deject the eyes, and enchain the tongue, but its mischiefssoon pass off without remembrance. It may sometimes exclude pleasure,but seldom opens any avenue to sorrow or remorse. It is observedsomewhere that few have repented of having forborne to speak.

To excite opposition, and inflame malevolence, is the unhappy privilegeof courage made arrogant by consciousness of strength. No man finds inhimself any inclination to attack or oppose him who confesses hissuperiority by blushing in his presence. Qualities exerted with apparentfearfulness, receive applause from every voice, and support from everyhand. Diffidence may check resolution and obstruct performance, butcompensates its embarrassments by more important advantages; itconciliates the proud, and softens the severe, averts envy fromexcellence, and censure from miscarriage.

It may indeed happen that knowledge and virtue remain too long congealedby this frigorifick power, as the principles of vegetation are sometimesobstructed by lingering frosts. He that enters late into a publicstation, though with all the abilities requisite to the discharge of hisduty, will find his powers at first impeded by a timidity which hehimself knows to be vicious, and must struggle long against dejectionand reluctance, before he obtains the full command of his own attention,and adds the gracefulness of ease to the dignity of merit.

For this disease of the mind I know not whether any remedies of muchefficacy can be found. To advise a man unaccustomed to the eyes ofmultitudes to mount a tribunal without perturbation, to tell him whoselife was passed in the shades of contemplation, that he must not bedisconcerted or perplexed in receiving and returning the compliments ofa splendid assembly, is to advise an inhabitant of Brasil or Sumatra notto shiver at an English winter, or him who has always lived upon a plainto look from a precipice without emotion. It is to suppose custominstantaneously controllable by reason, and to endeavour to communicate,by precept, that which only time and habit can bestow.

He that hopes by philosophy and contemplation alone to fortify himselfa*gainst that awe which all, at their first appearance on the stage oflife, must feel from the spectators, will, at the hour of need, bemocked by his resolution; and I doubt whether the preservatives whichPlato relates Alcibiades to have received from Socrates, when he wasabout to speak in publick, proved sufficient to secure him from thepowerful fascination.

Yet, as the effects of time may by art and industry be accelerated orretarded, it cannot be improper to consider how this troublesomeinstinct may be opposed when it exceeds its just proportion, and insteadof repressing petulance and temerity, silences eloquence, anddebilitates force; since, though it cannot be hoped that anxiety shouldbe immediately dissipated, it may be at least somewhat abated; and thepassions will operate with less violence, when reason rises againstthem, than while she either slumbers in neutrality, or, mistaking herinterest, lends them her assistance.

No cause more frequently produces bashfulness than too high an opinionof our own importance. He that imagines an assembly filled with hismerit, panting with expectation, and hushed with attention, easilyterrifies himself with the dread of disappointing them, and strains hisimagination in pursuit of something that may vindicate the veracity offame, and shew that his reputation was not gained by chance. Heconsiders that what he shall say or do will never be forgotten; thatrenown or infamy is suspended upon every syllable, and that nothingought to fall from him which will not bear the test of time. Under suchsolicitude, who can wonder that the mind is overwhelmed, and, bystruggling with attempts above her strength, quickly sinks intolanguishment and despondency?

The most useful medicines are often unpleasing to the taste. Those whoare oppressed by their own reputation, will, perhaps, not be comfortedby hearing that their cares are unnecessary. But the truth is, that noman is much regarded by the rest of the world. He that considers howlittle he dwells upon the condition of others, will learn how little theattention of others is attracted by himself. While we see multitudespassing before us, of whom, perhaps, not one appears to deserve ournotice, or excite our sympathy, we should remember, that we likewise arelost in the same throng; that the eye which happens to glance upon us isturned in a moment on him that follows us, and that the utmost which wecan reasonably hope or fear is, to fill a vacant hour with prattle, andbe forgotten.

No. 160. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1751

—Inter se convenit ursis. JUV. Sat. xv. 164.

Beasts of each kind their fellows spare;
Bear lives in amity with bear.

"The world," says Locke, "has people of all sorts." As in the generalhurry produced by the superfluities of some, and necessities of others,no man needs to stand still for want of employment, so in theinnumerable gradations of ability, and endless varieties of study andinclination, no employment can be vacant for want of a man qualified todischarge it.

Such is probably the natural state of the universe; but it is so muchdeformed by interest and passion, that the benefit of this adaptation ofmen to things is not always perceived. The folly or indigence of thosewho set their services to sale, inclines them to boast of qualificationswhich they do not possess, and attempt business which they do notunderstand; and they who have the power of assigning to others the taskof life, are seldom honest or seldom happy in their nomination. Patronsare corrupted by avarice, cheated by credulity, or overpowered byresistless solicitation. They are sometimes too strongly influenced byhonest prejudices of friendship, or the prevalence of virtuouscompassion. For, whatever cool reason may direct, it is not easy for aman of tender and scrupulous goodness to overlook the immediate effectof his own actions, by turning his eyes upon remoter consequences, andto do that which must give present pain, for the sake of obviating evilyet unfelt, or securing advantage in time to come. What is distant is initself obscure, and, when we have no wish to see it, easily escapes ournotice, or takes such a form as desire or imagination bestows upon it.

Every man might, for the same reason, in the multitudes that swarm abouthim, find some kindred mind with which he could unite in confidence andfriendship; yet we see many straggling single about the world, unhappyfor want of an associate, and pining with the necessity of confiningtheir sentiments to their own bosoms.

This inconvenience arises, in like manner, from struggles of the willagainst the understanding. It is not often difficult to find a suitablecompanion, if every man would be content with such as he is qualified toplease. But if vanity tempts him to forsake his rank, and post himselfamong those with whom no common interest or mutual pleasure can everunite him, he must always live in a state of unsocial separation,without tenderness and without trust.

There are many natures which can never approach within a certaindistance, and which, when any irregular motive impels them towardscontact, seem to start back from each other by some invinciblerepulsion. There are others which immediately cohere whenever they comeinto the reach of mutual attraction, and with very little formality ofpreparation mingle intimately as soon as they meet. Every man, whomeither business or curiosity has thrown at large into the world, willrecollect many instances of fondness and dislike, which have forcedthemselves upon him without the intervention of his judgment; ofdispositions to court some and avoid others, when he could assign noreason for the preference, or none adequate to the violence of hispassions; of influence that acted instantaneously upon his mind, andwhich no arguments or persuasions could ever overcome.

Among those with whom time and intercourse have made us familiar, wefeel our affections divided in different proportions without much regardto moral or intellectual merit. Every man knows some whom he cannotinduce himself to trust, though he has no reason to suspect that theywould betray him; those to whom he cannot complain, though he neverobserved them to want compassion; those in whose presence he never canbe gay, though excited by invitations to mirth and freedom; and thosefrom whom he cannot be content to receive instruction, though they neverinsulted his ignorance by contempt or ostentation.

That much regard is to be had to those instincts of kindness anddislike, or that reason should blindly follow them, I am far fromintending to inculcate: it is very certain, that by indulgence we maygive them strength which they have not from nature, and almost everyexample of ingratitude and treachery proves, that by obeying them we maycommit our happiness to those who are very unworthy of so great a trust.But it may deserve to be remarked, that since few contend much withtheir inclinations, it is generally vain to solicit the good-will ofthose whom we perceive thus involuntarily alienated from us; neitherknowledge nor virtue will reconcile antipathy, and though officiousnessmay be for a time admitted, and diligence applauded, they will at lastbe dismissed with coldness, or discouraged by neglect.

Some have indeed an occult power of stealing upon the affections, ofexciting universal benevolence, and disposing every heart to fondnessand friendship. But this is a felicity granted only to the favourites ofnature. The greater part of mankind find a different reception fromdifferent dispositions; they sometimes obtain unexpected caresses fromthose whom they never flattered with uncommon regard, and sometimesexhaust all their arts of pleasing without effect. To these it isnecessary to look round, and attempt every breast in which they findvirtue sufficient for the foundation of friendship; to enter into thecrowd, and try whom chance will offer to their notice, till they fix onsome temper congenial to their own, as the magnet rolled in the dustcollects the fragments of its kindred metal from a thousand particles ofother substances.

Every man must have remarked the facility with which the kindness ofothers is sometimes gained by those to whom he never could have impartedhis own. We are by our occupations, education, and habits of life,divided almost into different species, which regard one another, for themost part, with scorn and malignity. Each of these classes of the humanrace has desires, fears, and conversation, vexations and merrimentpeculiar to itself; cares which another cannot feel; pleasures which hecannot partake; and modes of expressing every sensation which he cannotunderstand. That frolick which shakes one man with laughter, willconvulse another with indignation; the strain of jocularity which in oneplace obtains treats and patronage, would in another be heard withindifference, and in a third with abhorrence.

To raise esteem we must benefit others, to procure love we must pleasethem. Aristotle observes, that old men do not readily form friendships,because they are not easily susceptible of pleasure. He that cancontribute to the hilarity of the vacant hour, or partake with equalgust the favourite amusem*nt; he whose mind is employed on the sameobjects, and who therefore never harasses the understanding withunaccustomed ideas, will be welcomed with ardour, and left with regret,unless he destroys those recommendations by faults with which peace andsecurity cannot consist.

It were happy, if, in forming friendships, virtue could concur withpleasure; but the greatest part of human gratifications approach sonearly to vice, that few who make the delight of others their rule ofconduct, can avoid disingenuous compliances; yet certainly he thatsuffers himself to be driven or allured from virtue, mistakes his owninterest, since he gains succour by means, for which his friend, if everhe becomes wise, must scorn him, and for which at last he must scornhimself.

No. 161. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1751.

[Greek: Oiae gar phullon geneae, toiaede kai Andron.]
HOM. Il. [Greek: T.]

Frail as the leaves that quiver on the sprays,
Like them man flourishes, like them decays.

MR. RAMBLER.

SIR,

You have formerly observed that curiosity often terminates in barrenknowledge, and that the mind is prompted to study and inquiry rather bythe uneasiness of ignorance, than the hope of profit. Nothing can be ofless importance to any present interest, than the fortune of those whohave been long lost in the grave, and from whom nothing now can be hopedor feared. Yet, to rouse the zeal of a true antiquary, little more isnecessary than to mention a name which mankind have conspired to forget;he will make his way to remote scenes of action through obscurity andcontradiction, as Tully sought amidst bushes and brambles the tomb ofArchimedes.

It is not easy to discover how it concerns him that gathers the produce,or receives the rent of an estate, to know through what families theland has passed, who is registered in the Conqueror's survey as itspossessor, how often it has been forfeited by treason, or how often soldby prodigality. The power or wealth of the present inhabitants of acountry cannot be much increased by an inquiry after the names of thosebarbarians, who destroyed one another twenty centuries ago, in contestsfor the shelter of woods, or convenience of pasturage. Yet we see thatno man can be at rest in the enjoyment of a new purchase till he haslearned the history of his grounds from the ancient inhabitants of theparish, and that no nation omits to record the actions of theirancestors, however bloody, savage, and rapacious.

The same disposition, as different opportunities call it forth,discovers itself in great or little things. I have always thought itunworthy of a wise man to slumber in total inactivity, only because hehappens to have no employment equal to his ambition or genius; it istherefore my custom to apply my attention to the objects before me, andas I cannot think any place wholly unworthy of notice that affords ahabitation to a man of letters, I have collected the history andantiquities of the several garrets in which I have resided.

Quantulacunque estis, vos ego magna voco.

How small to others, but how great to me!

Many of these narratives my industry has been able to extend to aconsiderable length; but the woman with whom I now lodge has lived onlyeighteen months in the house, and can give no account of its ancientrevolutions; the plaisterer having, at her entrance, obliterated, by hiswhite-wash, all the smoky memorials which former tenants had left uponthe ceiling, and perhaps drawn the veil of oblivion over politicians,philosophers, and poets.

When I first, cheapened my lodgings, the landlady told me, that shehoped I was not an author, for the lodgers on the first floor hadstipulated that the upper rooms should not be occupied by a noisy trade.I very readily promised to give no disturbance to her family, and soondespatched a bargain on the usual terms.

I had not slept many nights in my new apartment before I began toinquire after my predecessors, and found my landlady, whose imaginationis filled chiefly with her own affairs, very ready to give meinformation.

Curiosity, like all other desires, produces pain as wel as pleasure.Before she began her narrative, I had heated my head with expectationsof adventures and discoveries, of elegance in disguise, and learning indistress; and was somewhat mortified when I heard that the first tenantwas a tailor, of whom nothing was remembered but that he complained ofhis room for want of light; and, after having lodged in it a month, andpaid only a week's rent, pawned a piece of cloth which he was trusted,to cut out, and was forced to make a precipitate retreat from thisquarter of the town.

The next was a young woman newly arrived from the country, who lived forfive weeks with great regularity, and became by frequent treats verymuch the favourite of the family, but at last received visits sofrequently from a cousin in Cheapside, that she brought the reputationof the house into danger, and was therefore dismissed with good advice.

The room then stood empty for a fortnight; my landlady began to thinkthat she had judged hardly, and often wished for such another lodger. Atlast, an elderly man of a grave aspect read the bill, and bargained forthe room at the very first price that was asked. He lived in closeretirement, seldom went out till evening, and then returned early,sometimes cheerful, and at other times dejected. It was remarkable, thatwhatever he purchased, he never had small money in his pocket; and,though cool and temperate on other occasions, was always vehement andstormy, till he received his change. He paid his rent with greatexactness, and seldom failed once a week to requite my landlady'scivility with a supper. At last, such is the fate of human felicity, thehouse was alarmed at midnight by the constable, who demanded to searchthe garrets. My landlady assuring him that he had mistaken the door,conducted him up stairs, where he found the tools of a coiner; but thetenant had crawled along the roof to an empty house, and escaped; muchto the joy of my landlady, who declares him a very honest man, andwonders why any body should be hanged for making money when such numbersare in want of it. She however confesses that she shall, for the future,always question the character of those who take her garret withoutbeating down the price.

The bill was then placed again in the window, and the poor woman wasteased for seven weeks by innumerable passengers, who obliged her toclimb with them every hour up five stories, and then disliked theprospect, hated the noise of a publick street, thought the stairsnarrow, objected to a low ceiling, required the walls to be hung withfresher paper, asked questions about the neighbourhood, could not thinkof living so far from their acquaintance, wished the windows had lookedto the south rather than the west, told how the door and chimney mighthave been better disposed, bid her half the price that she asked, orpromised to give her earnest the next day, and came no more.

At last, a short meagre man, in a tarnished waistcoat, desired to seethe garret, and when he had stipulated for two long shelves, and alarger table, hired it at a low rate. When the affair was completed, helooked round him with great satisfaction, and repeated some words whichthe woman did not understand. In two days he brought a great box ofbooks, took possession of his room, and lived very inoffensively, exceptthat he frequently disturbed the inhabitants of the next floor byunseasonable noises. He was generally in bed at noon, but from eveningto midnight he sometimes talked aloud with great vehemence, sometimesstamped as in rage, sometimes threw down his poker, then clattered hischairs, then sat down in deep thought, and again burst out into loudvociferations; sometimes he would sigh as oppressed with misery, andsometimes shaked with convulsive laughter. When he encountered any ofthe family, he gave way or bowed, but rarely spoke, except that as hewent up stairs he often repeated,

[Greek:—Hos hupertata domata naiei].

This habitant th' aerial regions boast;

hard words, to which his neighbours listened so often, that they learnedthem without understanding them. What was his employment she did notventure to ask him, but at last heard a printer's boy inquire for theauthor.

My landlady was very often advised to beware of this strange man, who,though he was quiet for the present, might perhaps become outrageous inthe hot months; but, as she was punctually paid, she could not find anysufficient reason for dismissing him, till one night he convinced her,by setting fire to his curtains, that it was not safe to have an authorfor her inmate.

She had then for six weeks a succession of tenants, who left the houseon Saturday, and, instead of paying their rent, stormed at theirlandlady. At last she took in two sisters, one of whom had spent herlittle fortune in procuring remedies for a lingering disease, and wasnow supported and attended by the other: she climbed with difficulty tothe apartment, where she languished eight weeks without impatience, orlamentation, except for the expense and fatigue which her sistersuffered, and then calmly and contentedly expired. The sister followedher to the grave, paid the few debts which they had contracted, wipedaway the tears of useless sorrow, and, returning to the business ofcommon life, resigned to me the vacant habitation.

Such, Mr. Rambler, are the changes which have happened in the narrowspace where my present fortune has fixed my residence. So true it isthat amusem*nt and instruction are always at hand for those who haveskill and willingness to find them; and, so just is the observation ofJuvenal, that a single house will shew whatever is done or suffered inthe world.

I am, Sir, &c.

No. 162. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1751.

Orbus es, et locuples, et Bruto consule natus,
Esse tibi veras credis amicitias?
Sunt veræ: sed quas juvenis, quas pauper habebas:
Qui novus est, mortem diligit ille tuam. MART. Lib. xi. Ep. 44.

What! old, and rich, and childless too,
And yet believe your friends are true?
Truth might perhaps to those belong,
To those who lov'd you poor and young;
But, trust me, for the new you have,
They'll love you dearly—in your grave. F. LEWIS.

One of the complaints uttered by Milton's Samson, in the anguish ofblindness, is, that he shall pass his life under the direction ofothers; that he cannot regulate his conduct by his own knowledge, butmust lie at the mercy of those who undertake to guide him.

There is no state more contrary to the dignity of wisdom than perpetualand unlimited dependance, in which the understanding lies useless, andevery motion is received from external impulse. Reason is the greatdistinction of human nature, the faculty by which we approach to somedegree of association with celestial intelligences; but as theexcellence of every power appears only in its operations, not to havereason, and to have it useless and unemployed, is nearly the same.

Such is the weakness of man, that the essence of things is seldom somuch regarded as external and accidental appendages. A small variationof trifling circ*mstances, a slight change of form by an artificialdress, or a casual difference of appearance, by a new light andsituation, will conciliate affection or excite abhorrence, and determineus to pursue or to avoid. Every man considers a necessity of compliancewith any will but his own, as the lowest state of ignominy and meanness;few are so far lost in cowardice or negligence, as not to rouse at thefirst insult of tyranny, and exert all their force against him whousurps their property, or invades any privilege of speech or action. Yetwe see often those who never wanted spirit to repel encroachment oroppose violence, at last, by a gradual relaxation of vigilance,delivering up, without capitulation, the fortress which they defendedagainst assault, and laying down unbidden the weapons which they graspthe harder for every attempt to wrest them from their hands. Men eminentfor spirit and wisdom often resign themselves to voluntary pupilage, andsuffer their lives to be modelled by officious ignorance, and theirchoice to be regulated by presumptuous stupidity.

This unresisting acquiescence in the determination of others, may be theconsequence of application to some study remote from the beaten track oflife, some employment which does not allow leisure for sufficientinspection of those petty affairs, by which nature has decreed a greatpart of our duration to be filled. To a mind thus withdrawn from commonobjects, it is more eligible to repose on the prudence of another, thanto be exposed every moment to slight interruptions. The submission whichsuch confidence requires, is paid without pain, because it implies noconfession of inferiority. The business from which we withdraw ourcognizance, is not above our abilities, but below our notice. We pleaseour pride with the effects of our influence thus weakly exerted, andfancy ourselves placed in a higher orb, for which we regulatesubordinate agents by a slight and distant superintendance. But,whatever vanity or abstraction may suggest, no man can safely do that byothers which might be done by himself; he that indulges negligence willquickly become ignorant of his own affairs; and he that trusts withoutreserve will at last be deceived.

It is, however, impossible but that, as the attention tends stronglytowards one thing, it must retire from another; and he that omits thecare of domestick business, because he is engrossed by inquiries of moreimportance to mankind, has, at least, the merit of suffering in a goodcause. But there are many who can plead no such extenuation of theirfolly; who shake off the burden of their situation, not that they maysoar with less incumbrance to the heights of knowledge or virtue, butthat they may loiter at ease and sleep in quiet; and who select forfriendship and confidence not the faithful and the virtuous, but thesoft, the civil, and compliant.

This openness to flattery is the common disgrace of declining life. Whenmen feel weakness increasing on them, they naturally desire to rest fromthe struggles of contradiction, the fatigue of reasoning, the anxiety ofcirc*mspection; when they are hourly tormented with pains and diseases,they are unable to bear any new disturbance, and consider all oppositionas an addition to misery, of which they feel already more than they canpatiently endure. Thus desirous of peace, and thus fearful of pain, theold man seldom inquires after any other qualities in those whom hecaresses, than quickness in conjecturing his desires, activity insupplying his wants, dexterity in intercepting complaints before theyapproach near enough to disturb him, flexibility to his present humour,submission to hasty petulance, and attention to wearisome narrations. Bythese arts alone many have been able to defeat the claims of kindred andof merit, and to enrich themselves with presents and legacies.

Thrasybulus inherited a large fortune, and augmented it by the revenuesof several lucrative employments, which he discharged with honour anddexterity. He was at last wise enough to consider, that life should notbe devoted wholly to accumulation, and therefore retiring to his estate,applied himself to the education of his children, and the cultivation ofdomestick happiness.

He passed several years in this pleasing amusem*nt, and saw his careamply recompensed; his daughters were celebrated for modesty andelegance, and his sons for learning, prudence, and spirit. In time theeagerness with which the neighbouring gentlemen courted his alliance,obliged him to resign his daughters to other families; the vivacity andcuriosity of his sons hurried them out of rural privacy into the openworld, from whence they had not soon an inclination to return. This,however, he had always hoped; he pleased himself with the success of hisschemes, and felt no inconvenience from solitude till an apoplexydeprived him of his wife.

Thrasybulus had now no companion; and the maladies of increasing yearshaving taken from him much of the power of procuring amusem*nt forhimself, he thought it necessary to procure some inferior friend, whomight ease him of his economical solicitudes, and divert him by cheerfulconversation. All these qualities he soon recollected in Vafer, a clerkin one of the offices over which he had formerly presided. Vafer wasinvited to visit his old patron, and being by his station acquaintedwith the present modes of life, and by constant practice dexterous inbusiness, entertained him with so many novelties, and so readilydisentangled his affairs, that he was desired to resign his clerkship,and accept a liberal salary in the house of Thrasybulus.

Vafer, having always lived in a state of dependance, was well versed inthe arts by which favour is obtained, and could, without repugnance orhesitation, accommodate himself to every caprice, and echo everyopinion. He never doubted but to be convinced, nor attempted oppositionbut to flatter Thrasybulus with the pleasure of a victory. By thispractice he found his way into his patron's heart, and, having firstmade himself agreeable, soon became important. His insidious diligence,by which the laziness of age was gratified, engrossed the management ofaffairs; and his petty offices of civility, and occasionalintercessions, persuaded the tenants to consider him as their friend andbenefactor, and to entreat his enforcement of their representations ofhard years, and his countenance to petitions for abatement of rent.

Thrasybulus had now banqueted on flattery, till he could no longer bearthe harshness of remonstrance or the insipidity of truth. Allcontrariety to his own opinion shocked him like a violation of somenatural right, and all recommendation of his affairs to his owninspection was dreaded by him as a summons to torture. His children werealarmed by the sudden riches of Vafer, but their complaints were heardby their father with impatience, as the result of a conspiracy againsthis quiet, and a design to condemn him, for their own advantage, togroan out his last hours in perplexity and drudgery. The daughtersretired with tears in their eyes, but the son continued hisimportunities till he found his inheritance hazarded by his obstinacy.

Vafer triumphed over all their efforts, and, continuing to confirmhimself in authority, at the death of his master, purchased an estate,and bade defiance to inquiry and justice.

No. 163. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1751.

Mitte superba pati fastidia, spemque caducam
Despice; vive tibi, nam moriere tibi. SENECA.

Bow to no patron's insolence; rely
On no frail hopes, in freedom live and die. F. LEWIS.

None of the cruelties exercised by wealth and power upon indigence anddependance is more mischievous in its consequences, or more frequentlypractised with wanton negligence, than the encouragement of expectationswhich are never to be gratified, and the elation and depression of theheart by needless vicissitudes of hope and disappointment.

Every man is rich or poor, according to the proportion between hisdesires and enjoyments; any enlargement of wishes is therefore equallydestructive to happiness with the diminution of possession; and he thatteaches another to long for what he never shall obtain, is no less anenemy to his quiet, than if he had robbed him of part of his patrimony.

But representations thus refined exhibit no adequate idea of the guiltof pretended friendship; of artifices by which followers are attractedonly to decorate the retinue of pomp, and swell the shout of popularity,and to be dismissed with contempt and ignominy, when their leader hassucceeded or miscarried, when he is sick of show, and weary of noise.While a man infatuated with the promises of greatness, wastes his hoursand days in attendance and solicitation, the honest opportunities ofimproving his condition pass by without his notice; he neglects tocultivate his own barren soil, because he expects every moment to beplaced in regions of spontaneous fertility, and is seldom roused fromhis delusion, but by the gripe of distress which he cannot resist, andthe sense of evils which cannot be remedied.

The punishment of Tantalus in the infernal regions affords a just imageof hungry servility, flattered with the approach of advantage, doomed tolose it before it comes into his reach, always within a few days offelicity, and always sinking back to his former wants:

[Greek:
Kai maen Tantalon eiseidon, chalep alge echonta,
Estaot en limnae hae de proseplaze geneio.
Steuto de dipsaon, pieein d ouk eichen elesthai.
Ossaki gar kupsei ho geron pieein meneainon,
Tossach hudor apolesket anabrochen. amphi de possi
Gaia melaina phaneske katazaenaske de daimon,
Dendrea d hupsipeteala katakoeathen chee kaopon
Onchnai, kai roiai, kai maeleai aglaokarpoi,
Sukai te glukeoai, kai elaiai taelethoosai.
Ton opot ithusei o geoon epi cheosi masasthai,
Tasd anemos riptaske poti nephea skioenta.]
HOM. Od. [Greek: A'.] 581.

"I saw," says Homer's Ulysses, "the severe punishment of Tantalus. In alake, whose waters approached to his lips, he stood burning with thirst,without the power to drink. Whenever he inclined his head to the stream,some deity commanded it to be dry, and the dark earth appeared at hisfeet. Around him lofty trees spread their fruits to view; the pear, thepomegranate and the apple, the green olive and the luscious fig quiveredbefore him, which, whenever he extended his hand to seize them, weresnatched by the winds into clouds and obscurity."

This image of misery was perhaps originally suggested to some poet bythe conduct of his patron, by the daily contemplation of splendour whichhe never must partake, by fruitless attempts to catch at interdictedhappiness, and by the sudden evanescence of his reward, when he thoughthis labours almost at an end. To groan with poverty, when all about himwas opulence, riot, and superfluity, and to find the favours which hehad long been encouraged to hope, and had long endeavoured to deserve,squandered at last on nameless ignorance, was to thirst with waterflowing before him, and to see the fruits, to which his hunger washastening, scattered by the wind. Nor can my correspondent, whatever hemay have suffered, express with more justness or force the vexations ofdependance.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I am one of those mortals who have been courted and envied as thefavourites of the great. Having often gained the prize of composition atthe university, I began to hope that I should obtain the samedistinction in every other place, and determined to forsake theprofession to which I was destined by my parents, and in which theinterest of my family would have procured me a very advantageoussettlement. The pride of wit fluttered in my heart, and when I preparedto leave the college, nothing entered my imagination but honours,caresses, and rewards, riches without labour, and luxury withoutexpense.

I however delayed my departure for a time, to finish the performance bywhich I was to draw the first notice of mankind upon me. When it wascompleted I hurried to London, and considered every moment that passedbefore its publication, as lost in a kind of neutral existence, and cutoff from the golden hours of happiness and fame. The piece was at lastprinted and disseminated by a rapid sale; I wandered from one place ofconcourse to another, feasted from morning to night on the repetition ofmy own praises, and enjoyed the various conjectures of criticks, themistaken candour of my friends, and the impotent malice of my enemies.Some had read the manuscript, and rectified its inaccuracies; others hadseen it in a state so imperfect, that they could not forbear to wonderat its present excellence; some had conversed with the author at thecoffeehouse; and others gave hints that they had lent him money.

I knew that no performance is so favourably read as that of a writer whosuppresses his name, and therefore resolved to remain concealed, tillthose by whom literary reputation is established had given theirsuffrages too publickly to retract them. At length my booksellerinformed me that Aurantius, the standing patron of merit, had sentinquiries after me, and invited me to his acquaintance.

The time which I had long expected was now arrived. I went to Aurantiuswith a beating heart, for I looked upon our interview as the criticalmoment of my destiny. I was received with civilities which my academickrudeness made me unable to repay; but when I had recovered from myconfusion, I prosecuted the conversation with such liveliness andpropriety, that I confirmed my new friend in his esteem of my abilities,and was dismissed with the utmost ardour of profession, and raptures offondness.

I was soon summoned to dine with Aurantius, who had assembled the mostjudicious of his friends to partake of the entertainment. Again Iexerted my powers of sentiment and expression, and again found every eyesparkling with delight, and every tongue silent with attention. I nowbecame familiar at the table of Aurantius, but could never, in his mostprivate or jocund hours, obtain more from him than general declarationsof esteem, or endearments of tenderness, which included no particularpromise, and therefore conferred no claim. This frigid reserve somewhatdisgusted me, and when he complained of three days absence, I took careto inform him with how much importunity of kindness I had been detainedby his rival Pollio.

Aurantius now considered his honour as endangered by the desertion of awit, and, lest I should have an inclination to wander, told me that Icould never find a friend more constant and zealous than himself; thatindeed he had made no promises, because he hoped to surprise me withadvancement, but had been silently promoting my interest, and shouldcontinue his good offices, unless he found the kindness of others moredesired.

If you, Mr. Rambler, have ever ventured your philosophy within theattraction of greatness, you know the force of such language introducedwith a smile of gracious tenderness, and impressed at the conclusionwith an air of solemn sincerity. From that instant I gave myself upwholly to Aurantius, and, as he immediately resumed his former gaiety,expected every morning a summons to some employment of dignity andprofit. One month succeeded another, and, in defiance of appearances, Istill fancied myself nearer to my wishes, and continued to dream ofsuccess, and wake to disappointment. At last the failure of my littlefortune compelled me to abate the finery which I hitherto thoughtnecessary to the company with whom I associated, and the rank to which Ishould be raised. Aurantius, from the moment in which he discovered mypoverty, considered me as fully in his power, and afterwards ratherpermitted my attendance than invited it; thought himself at liberty torefuse my visits, whenever he had other amusem*nts within reach, andoften suffered me to wait, without pretending any necessary business.When I was admitted to his table, if any man of rank equal to his ownwas present, he took occasion to mention my writings, and commend myingenuity, by which he intended to apologize for the confusion ofdistinctions, and the improper assortment of his company; and oftencalled upon me to entertain his friends with my productions, as asportsman delights the squires of his neighbourhood with the curvets ofhis horse, or the obedience of his spaniels.

To complete my mortification, it was his practice to impose tasks uponme, by requiring me to write upon such subjects as he thoughtsusceptible of ornament and illustration. With these extortedperformances he was little satisfied, because he rarely found in themthe ideas which his own imagination had suggested, and which hetherefore thought more natural than mine.

When the pale of ceremony is broken, rudeness and insult soon enter thebreach. He now found that he might safely harass me with vexation, thathe had fixed the shackles of patronage upon me, and that I could neitherresist him nor escape. At last, in the eighth year of my servitude, whenthe clamour of creditors was vehement, and my necessity known to beextreme, he offered me a small office, but hinted his expectation, thatI should marry a young woman with whom he had been acquainted.

I was not so far depressed by my calamities as to comply with thisproposal; but, knowing that complaints and expostulations would butgratify his insolence, I turned away with that contempt with which Ishall never want spirit to treat the wretch who can outgo the guilt of arobber without the temptation of his profit, and who lures the credulousand thoughtless to maintain the show of his levee, and the mirth of histable, at the expense of honour, happiness, and life.

I am, Sir, &c.

LIBERALIS.

No. 164. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1751.

—Vitium, Gaure, Catonis habes. MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxix. 2.

Gaurus pretends to Cato's fame;
And proves—by Cato's vice, his claim.

Distinction is so pleasing to the pride of man, that a great part of thepain and pleasure of life arises from the gratification ordisappointment of an incessant wish for superiority, from the success ormiscarriage of secret competitions, from victories and defeats, ofwhich, though they appear to us of great importance, in reality none areconscious except ourselves.

Proportionate to the prevalence of this love of praise is the variety ofmeans by which its attainment is attempted. Every man however hopelesshis pretensions may appear to all but himself, has some project by whichhe hopes to rise to reputation; some art by which he imagines that thenotice of the world will be attracted; some quality, good or bad, whichdiscriminates him from the common herd of mortals, and by which othersmaybe persuaded to love, or compelled to fear him. The ascents ofhonour, however steep, never appear inaccessible; he that despairs toscale the precipices by which learning and valour have conducted theirfavourites, discovers some by-bath, or easier acclivity, which, thoughit cannot bring him to the summit, will yet enable him to overlook thosewith whom he is now contending for eminence; and we seldom require moreto the happiness of the present hour, than to surpass him that standsnext before us.

As the greater part of human kind speak and act wholly by imitation,most of those who aspire to honour and applause propose to themselvessome example which serves as the model of their conduct, and the limitof their hopes. Almost every man, if closely examined, will be found tohave enlisted himself under some leader whom he expects to conduct himto renown; to have some hero or other, living or dead, in his view,whose character he endeavours to assume, and whose performances helabours to equal.

When the original is well chosen, and judiciously copied, the imitatoroften arrives at excellence, which he could never have attained withoutdirection; for few are formed with abilities to discover newpossibilities of excellence, and to distinguish themselves by meansnever tried before.

But folly and idleness often contrive to gratify pride at a cheaperrate: not the qualities which are most illustrious, but those which areof easiest attainment, are selected for imitation; and the honours andrewards which publick gratitude has paid to the benefactors of mankind,are expected by wretches who can only imitate them in their vices anddefects, or adopt some petty singularities of which those from whom theyare borrowed were secretly ashamed.

No man rises to such a height as to become conspicuous, but he is on oneside censured by undiscerning malice, which reproaches him for his bestactions, and slanders his apparent and incontestable excellencies; andidolized on the other by ignorant admiration, which exalts his faultsand follies into virtues. It may be observed, that he by whose intimacyhis acquaintances imagine themselves dignified, generally diffuses amongthem his mien and his habits; and indeed, without more vigilance than isgenerally applied to the regulation of the minuter parts of behaviour,it is not easy, when we converse much with one whose general characterexcites our veneration, to escape all contagion of his peculiarities,even when we do not deliberately think them worthy of our notice, andwhen they would have excited laughter or disgust, had they not beenprotected by their alliance to nobler qualities, and accidentallyconsorted with knowledge or with virtue.

The faults of a man loved or honoured, sometimes steal secretly andimperceptibly upon the wise and virtuous, but, by injudicious fondnessor thoughtless vanity, are adopted with design. There is scarce anyfailing of mind or body, any errour of opinion, or depravity ofpractice, which instead of producing shame and discontent, its naturaleffects, has not at one time or other gladdened vanity with the hopes ofpraise, and been displayed with ostentatious industry by those whosought kindred minds among the wits or heroes, and could prove theirrelation only by similitude of deformity.

In consequence of this perverse ambition, every habit which reasoncondemns may be indulged and avowed. When a man is upbraided with hisfaults, he may indeed be pardoned if he endeavours to run for shelter tosome celebrated name; but it is not to be suffered that, from theretreats to which he fled from infamy, he should issue again with theconfidence of conquests, and call upon mankind for praise. Yet we seemen that waste their patrimony in luxury, destroy their health withdebauchery, and enervate their minds with idleness, because there havebeen some whom luxury never could sink into contempt, nor idlenesshinder from the praise of genius.

This general inclination of mankind to copy characters in the gross, andthe force which the recommendation of illustrious examples adds to theallurements of vice, ought to be considered by all whose characterexcludes them from the shades of secrecy, as incitements to scrupulouscaution and universal purity of manners. No man, however enslaved to hisappetites, or hurried by his passions, can, while he preserves hisintellects unimpaired, please himself with promoting the corruption ofothers. He whose merit has enlarged his influence, would surely wish toexert it for the benefit of mankind. Yet such will be the effect of hisreputation, while he suffers himself to indulge in any favourite fault,that they who have no hope to reach his excellence will catch at hisfailings, and his virtues will be cited to justify the copiers of hisvices.

It is particularly the duty of those who consign illustrious names toposterity, to take care lest their readers be misled by ambiguousexamples. That writer may be justly condemned as an enemy to goodness,who suffers fondness or interest to confound right with wrong, or toshelter the faults which even the wisest and the best have committedfrom that ignominy which guilt ought always to suffer, and with which itshould be more deeply stigmatized when dignified by its neighbourhood touncommon worth, since we shall be in danger of beholding it withoutabhorrence, unless its turpitude be laid open, and the eye secured fromthe deception of surrounding splendour.

No. 165. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 1751.

[Greek: Aen neos, alla penaes nun gaeron, plousios eimi
O monos ek panton oiktros en amphoterois,
Os tote men chraesthai dunamaen, hopot oud' en eichon.
Nun d' opote chraesthai mae dunamai, tot echo.] ANTIPHILUS.

Young was I once and poor, now rich and old;
A harder case than mine was never told;
Blest with the power to use them—I had none;
Loaded with riches now, the power is gone. F. LEWIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

The writers who have undertaken the unpromising task of moderatingdesire, exert all the power of their eloquence, to shew that happinessis not the lot of man, and have, by many arguments and examples, provedthe instability of every condition by which envy or ambition areexcited. They have set before our eyes all the calamities to which weare exposed from the frailty of nature, the influence of accident, orthe stratagems of malice; they have terrified greatness withconspiracies, and riches with anxieties, wit with criticism, and beautywith disease.

All the force of reason, and all the charms of language, are indeednecessary to support positions which every man hears with a wish toconfute them. Truth finds an easy entrance into the mind when she isintroduced by desire, and attended by pleasure; but when she intrudesuncalled, and brings only fear and sorrow in her train, the passes ofthe intellect are barred against her by prejudice and passion; if shesometimes forces her way by the batteries of argument, she seldom longkeeps possession of her conquests, but is ejected by some favouredenemy, or at best obtains only a nominal sovereignty, without influenceand without authority.

That life is short we are all convinced, and yet suffer not thatconviction to repress our projects or limit our expectations; that lifeis miserable we all feel, and yet we believe that the time is near whenwe shall feel it no longer. But to hope happiness and immortality isequally vain. Our state may indeed be more or less embittered as ourduration may be more or less contracted; yet the utmost felicity whichwe can ever attain will be little better than alleviation of misery, andwe shall always feel more pain from our wants than pleasure from ourenjoyments. The incident which I am going to relate will shew, that todestroy the effect of all our success, it is not necessary that anysignal calamity should fall upon us, that we should be harassed byimplacable persecution, or excruciated by irremediable pains: thebrightest hours of prosperity have their clouds, and the stream of life,if it is not ruffled by obstructions, will grow putrid by stagnation.

My father, resolving not to imitate the folly of his ancestors, who hadhitherto left the younger sons encumbrances on the eldest, destined meto a lucrative profession; and I, being careful to lose no opportunityof improvement, was, at the usual time in which young men enter theworld, well qualified for the exercise of the business which I hadchosen.

My eagerness to distinguish myself in publick, and my impatience of thenarrow scheme of life to which my indigence confined me, did not sufferme to continue long in the town where I was born. I went away as from aplace of confinement, with a resolution to return no more, till I shouldbe able to dazzle with my splendour those who now looked upon me withcontempt, to reward those who had paid honours to my dawning merit, andto shew all who had suffered me to glide by them unknown and neglected,how much they mistook their interest in omitting to propitiate a geniuslike mine.

Such were my intentions when I sallied forth into the unknown world, inquest of riches and honours, which I expected to procure in a very shorttime; for what could withhold them from industry and knowledge? He thatindulges hope will always be disappointed. Reputation I very soonobtained; but as merit is much more cheaply acknowledged than rewarded,I did not find myself yet enriched in proportion to my celebrity.

I had, however, in time, surmounted the obstacles by which envy andcompetition obstruct the first attempts of a new claimant, and saw myopponents and censurers tacitly confessing their despair of success, bycourting my friendship and yielding to my influence. They who oncepursued me, were now satisfied to escape from me; and they who hadbefore thought me presumptuous in hoping to overtake them, had now theirutmost wish, if they were permitted, at no great distance, quietly tofollow me.

My wants were not madly multiplied as my acquisitions increased, and thetime came, at length, when I thought myself enabled to gratify allreasonable desires, and when, therefore, I resolved to enjoy that plentyand serenity which I had been hitherto labouring to procure, to enjoythem while I was yet neither crushed by age into infirmity, nor sohabituated to a particular manner of life as to be unqualified for newstudies or entertainments.

I now quitted my profession, and, to set myself at once free from allimportunities to resume it, changed my residence, and devoted theremaining part of my time to quiet and amusem*nt. Amidst innumerableprojects of pleasure, which restless idleness incited me to form, and ofwhich most, when they came to the moment of execution, were rejected forothers of no longer continuance, some accident revived in my imaginationthe pleasing ideas of my native place. It was now in my power to visitthose from whom I had been so long absent, in such a manner as wasconsistent with my former resolution, and I wondered how it could happenthat I had so long delayed my own happiness.

Full of the admiration which I should excite, and the homage which Ishould receive, I dressed my servants in a more ostentatious livery,purchased a magnificent chariot, and resolved to dazzle the inhabitantsof the little town with an unexpected blaze of greatness.

While the preparations that vanity required were made for my departure,which, as workmen will not easily be hurried beyond their ordinary rate,I thought very tedious, I solaced my impatience with imaging the variouscensures that my appearance would produce; the hopes which some wouldfeel from my bounty; the terrour which my power would strike on others;the awkward respect with which I should be accosted by timorousofficiousness; and the distant reverence with which others, lessfamiliar to splendour and dignity, would be contented to gaze upon me. Ideliberated a long time, whether I should immediately descend to a levelwith my former acquaintances; or make my condescension more grateful bya gentle transition from haughtiness and reserve. At length I determinedto forget some of my companions, till they discovered themselves by someindubitable token, and to receive the congratulations of others upon mygood fortune with indifference, to shew that I always expected what Ihad now obtained. The acclamations of the populace I purposed to rewardwith six hogsheads of ale, and a roasted ox, and then recommend to themto return to their work.

At last all the trappings of grandeur were fitted, and I began thejourney of triumph, which I could have wished to have ended in the samemoment; but my horses felt none of their master's ardour, and I wasshaken four days upon rugged roads. I then entered the town, and, havinggraciously let fall the glasses, that my person might be seen, passedslowly through the street. The noise of the wheels brought theinhabitants to their doors, but I could not perceive that I was known bythem. At last I alighted, and my name, I suppose, was told by myservants, for the barber stepped from the opposite house, and seized meby the hand with honest joy in his countenance, which, according to therule that I had prescribed to myself, I repressed with a frigidgraciousness. The fellow, instead of sinking into dejection, turned awaywith contempt, and left me to consider how the second salutation shouldbe received. The next fellow was better treated, for I soon found that Imust purchase by civility that regard which I had expected to enforce byinsolence.

There was yet no smoke of bonfires, no harmony of bells, no shout ofcrowds, nor riot of joy; the business of the day went forward as before;and, after having ordered a splendid supper, which no man came topartake, and which my chagrin hindered me from tasting, I went to bed,where the vexation of disappointment overpowered the fatigue of myjourney, and kept me from sleep.

I rose so much humbled by those mortifications, as to inquire after thepresent state of the town, and found that I had been absent too long toobtain the triumph which had flattered my expectation. Of the friendswhose compliments I expected, some had long ago moved to distantprovinces, some had lost in the maladies of age all sense of another'sprosperity, and some had forgotten our former intimacy amidst care anddistresses. Of three whom I had resolved to punish for their formeroffences by a longer continuance of neglect, one was, by his ownindustry, raised above my scorn, and two were sheltered from it in thegrave. All those whom I loved, feared, or hated, all whose envy or whosekindness I had hopes of contemplating with pleasure, were swept away,and their place was filled by a new generation with other views andother competitions; and among many proofs of the impotence of wealth, Ifound that it conferred upon me very few distinctions in my nativeplace.

I am, Sir, &c.

SEROTINUS.

No. 166. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1751.

Semper, eris pauper si pauper es, Aemiliane:
Dantur opes nullis nunc nisi divitibus. MART. Lib. v. Ep. xxxi.

Once poor, my friend, still poor you must remain,
The rich alone have all the means of gain. EDW. CAVF.
[Transcriber's note: Difficult to make out in original—possibly CAVE?]

No complaint has been more frequently repeated in all ages than that ofthe neglect of merit associated with poverty, and the difficulty withwhich valuable or pleasing qualities force themselves into view, whenthey are obscured by indigence. It has been long observed, that nativebeauty has little power to charm without the ornaments which fortunebestows, and that to want the favour of others is often sufficient tohinder us from obtaining it.

Every day discovers that mankind are not yet convinced of their errour,or that their conviction is without power to influence their conduct;for poverty still continues to produce contempt, and still obstructs theclaims of kindred and of virtue. The eye of wealth is elevated towardshigher stations, and seldom descends to examine the actions of those whoare placed below the level of its notice, and who in distant regions andlower situations are struggling with distress, or toiling for bread.Among the multitudes overwhelmed with insuperable calamity, it is commonto find those whom a very little assistance would enable to supportthemselves with decency, and who yet cannot obtain from near relations,what they see hourly lavished in ostentation, luxury, or frolick.

There are natural reasons why poverty does not easily conciliateaffection. He that has been confined from his infancy to theconversation of the lowest classes of mankind, must necessarily wantthose accomplishments which are the usual means of attracting favour;and though truth, fortitude, and probity, give an indisputable right toreverence and kindness, they will not be distinguished by common eyes,unless they are brightened by elegance of manners, but are cast asidelike unpolished gems, of which none but the artist knows the intrinsickvalue, till their asperities are smoothed, and their incrustationsrubbed away.

The grossness of vulgar habits obstructs the efficacy of virtue, asimpurity and harshness of style impair the force of reason, and ruggednumbers turn off the mind from artifice of disposition, and fertility ofinvention. Few have strength of reason to over-rule the perceptions ofsense; and yet fewer have curiosity or benevolence to struggle longagainst the first impression; he therefore who fails to please in hissalutation and address, is at once rejected, and never obtains anopportunity of shewing his latent excellencies, or essential qualities.

It is, indeed, not easy to prescribe a successful manner of approach tothe distressed or necessitous, whose condition subjects every kind ofbehaviour equally to miscarriage. He whose confidence of merit inciteshim to meet, without any apparent sense of inferiority, the eyes ofthose who flattered themselves with their own dignity, is considered asan insolent leveller, impatient of the just prerogatives of rank andwealth, eager to usurp the station to which he has no right, and toconfound the subordinations of society; and who would contribute to theexaltation of that spirit which even want and calamity are not able torestrain from rudeness and rebellion?

But no better success will commonly be found to attend servility anddejection, which often give pride the confidence to treat them withcontempt. A request made with diffidence and timidity is easily denied,because the petitioner himself seems to doubt its fitness.

Kindness is generally reciprocal; we are desirous of pleasing others,because we receive pleasure from them; but by what means can the manplease, whose attention is engrossed by his distresses, and who has noleisure to be officious; whose will is restrained by his necessities,and who has no power to confer benefits; whose temper is perhapsvitiated by misery, and whose understanding is impeded by ignorance?

It is yet a more offensive discouragement, that the same actionsperformed by different hands produce different effects, and, instead ofrating the man by his performances, we rate too frequently theperformance by the man. It sometimes happens in the combinations oflife, that important services are performed by inferiors; but thoughtheir zeal and activity may be paid by pecuniary rewards, they seldomexcite that flow of gratitude, or obtain that accumulation ofrecompense, with which all think it their duty to acknowledge the favourof those who descend to their assistance from a higher elevation. To beobliged, is to be in some respect inferior to another[h]; and fewwillingly indulge the memory of an action which raises one whom theyhave always been accustomed to think below them, but satisfy themselveswith faint praise and penurious payment, and then drive it from theirown minds, and endeavour to conceal it from the knowledge of others.

It may be always objected to the services of those who can be supposedto want a reward, that they were produced not by kindness but interest;they are, therefore, when they are no longer wanted, easily disregardedas arts of insinuation, or stratagems of selfishness. Benefits which arereceived as gifts from wealth, are exacted as debts from indigence; andhe that in a high station is celebrated for superfluous goodness, wouldin a meaner condition have barely been confessed to have done his duty.

It is scarcely possible for the utmost benevolence to oblige, whenexerted under the disadvantages of great inferiority; for, by thehabitual arrogance of wealth, such expectations are commonly formed asno zeal or industry can satisfy; and what regard can he hope, who hasdone less than was demanded from him?

There are indeed kindnesses conferred which were never purchased byprecedent favours, and there is an affection not arising from gratitudeor gross interest, by which similar natures, are attracted to eachother, without prospect of any other advantage than the pleasure ofexchanging sentiments, and the hope of confirming their esteem ofthemselves by the approbation of each other. But this spontaneousfondness seldom rises at the sight of poverty, which every one regardswith habitual contempt, and of which the applause is no more courted byvanity, than the countenance is solicited by ambition. The most generousand disinterested friendship must be resolved at last into the love ofourselves; he therefore whose reputation or dignity inclines us toconsider his esteem as a testimonial of desert, will always find ourhearts open to his endearments. We every day see men of eminencefollowed with all the obsequiousness of dependance, and courted with allthe blandishments of flattery, by those who want nothing from them butprofessions of regard, and who think themselves liberally rewarded by abow, a smile, or an embrace.

But those prejudices which every mind feels more or less in favour ofriches, ought, like other opinions, which only custom and example haveimpressed upon us, to be in time subjected to reason. We must learn howto separate the real character from extraneous adhesions and casualcirc*mstances, to consider closely him whom we are about to adopt or toreject; to regard his inclinations as well as his actions; to trace outthose virtues which lie torpid in the heart for want of opportunity, andthose vices that lurk unseen by the absence of temptation; that when wefind worth faintly shooting in the shades of obscurity, we may let inlight and sunshine upon it, and ripen barren volition into efficacy andpower.

[Footnote h: Sir Joshua Reynolds evinced great reach of mind andintimate acquaintance with humanity, when he observed, on overhearing aperson condoling with some ladies on the death of one who had conferredthe greatest favours upon them, that at all events they were relievedfrom the burden of gratitude.]

No. 167. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1751.

Candida perpetuo reside, Concordia, lecto,
Tamque pari semper sit Venus æqua jugo.
Diligat illa senem quondam: sed et ipsa marito,
Tum quoque cum fuerit, non videatur, anus. MART. Lib, w. xii. 7.

Their nuptial bed may smiling concord dress,
And Venus still the happy union bless!
Wrinkled with age, may mutual love and truth
To their dim eyes recal the bloom of youth. F. LEWIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

It is not common to envy those with whom we cannot easily be placed incomparison. Every man sees without malevolence the progress of anotherin the tracks of life, which he has himself no desire to tread, andhears, without inclination to cavils or contradiction, the renown ofthose whose distance will not suffer them to draw the attention ofmankind from his own merit. The sailor never thinks it necessary tocontest the lawyer's abilities; nor would the Rambler, however jealousof his reputation, be much disturbed by the success of rival wits atAgra or Ispahan.

We do not therefore ascribe to you any superlative degree of virtue,when we believe that we may inform you of our change of conditionwithout danger of malignant fascination; and that when you read of themarriage of your correspondents Hymenæus and Tranquilla, you will joinyour wishes to those of their other friends for the happy event of anunion in which caprice and selfishness had so little part.

There is at least this reason why we should be less deceived in ourconnubial hopes than many who enter into the same state, that we haveallowed our minds to form no unreasonable expectations, nor vitiated ourfancies in the soft hours of courtship, with visions of felicity whichhuman power cannot bestow, or of perfection which human virtue cannotattain. That impartiality with which we endeavour to inspect the mannersof all whom we have known was never so much overpowered by our passion,but that we discovered some faults and weaknesses in each other; andjoined our hands in conviction, that as there are advantages to beenjoyed in marriage, there are inconveniencies likewise to be endured;and that, together with confederate intellects and auxiliar virtues, wemust find different opinions and opposite inclinations.

We however flatter ourselves, for who is not flattered by himself aswell as by others on the day of marriage? that we are eminentlyqualified to give mutual pleasure. Our birth is without any suchremarkable disparity as can give either an opportunity of insulting theother with pompous names and splendid alliances, or of calling in, uponany domestick controversy, the overbearing assistance of powerfulrelations. Our fortune was equally suitable, so that we meet without anyof those obligations, which always produce reproach or suspicion ofreproach, which, though they may be forgotten in the gaities of thefirst month, no delicacy will always suppress, or of which thesuppression must be considered as a new favour, to be repaid by tamenessand submission, till gratitude takes the place of love, and the desireof pleasing degenerates by degrees into the fear of offending.

The settlements caused no delay; for we did not trust our affairs to thenegociation of wretches, who would have paid their court by multiplyingstipulations. Tranquilla scorned to detain any part of her fortune fromhim into whose hands she delivered up her person; and Hymenæus thoughtno act of baseness more criminal than his who enslaves his wife by herown generosity, who by marrying without a jointure, condemns her to allthe dangers of accident and caprice, and at last boasts his liberality,by granting what only the indiscretion of her kindness enabled him towithhold. He therefore received on the common terms the portion whichany other woman might have brought him, and reserved all the exuberanceof acknowledgment for those excellencies which he has yet been able todiscover only in Tranquilla.

We did not pass the weeks of courtship like those who considerthemselves as taking the last draught of pleasure, and resolve not toquit the bowl without a surfeit, or who know themselves about to sethappiness to hazard, and endeavour to lose their sense of danger in theebriety of perpetual amusem*nt, and whirl round the gulph before theysink. Hymenæus often repeated a medical axiom, that the succours ofsickness ought not to be wasted in health. We know that however oureyes may yet sparkle, and our hearts bound at the presence of eachother, the time of listlessness and satiety, of peevishness anddiscontent, must come at last, in which we shall be driven for relief toshows and recreations; that the uniformity of life must be sometimesdiversified, and the vacuities of conversation sometimes supplied. Werejoice in the reflection that we have stores of novelty yetunexhausted, which may be opened when repletion shall call for change,and gratifications yet untasted, by which life, when it shall becomevapid or bitter, may be restored to its former sweetness andsprightliness, and again irritate the appetite, and again sparkle in thecup.

Our time will probably be less tasteless than that of those whom theauthority and avarice of parents unite almost without their consent intheir early years, before they have accumulated any fund of reflection,or collected materials for mutual entertainment. Such we have often seenrising in the morning to cards, and retiring in the afternoon to doze,whose happiness was celebrated by their neighbours, because theyhappened to grow rich by parsimony, and to be kept quiet ininsensibility, and agreed to eat and to sleep together.

We have both mingled with the world, and are therefore no strangers tothe faults and virtues, the designs and competitions, the hopes andfears of our contemporaries. We have both amused our leisure with books,and can therefore recount the events of former times, or cite thedictates of ancient wisdom. Every occurrence furnishes us with some hintwhich one or the other can improve, and if it should happen that memoryor imagination fail us, we can retire to no idle or unimprovingsolitude.

Though our characters, beheld at a distance, exhibit this generalresemblance, yet a nearer inspection discovers such a dissimilitude ofour habitudes and sentiments, as leaves each some peculiar advantages,and affords that concordia discors, that suitable disagreement whichis always necessary to intellectual harmony. There may be a totaldiversity of ideas which admits no participation of the same delight,and there may likewise be such a conformity of notions as leaves neitherany thing to add to the decisions of the other. With such contrarietythere can be no peace, with such similarity there can be no pleasure.Our reasonings, though often formed upon different views, terminategenerally in the same conclusion. Our thoughts, like rivulets issuingfrom distant springs, are each impregnated in its course with variousmixtures, and tinged by infusions unknown to the other, yet, at last,easily unite into one stream, and purify themselves by the gentleeffervescence of contrary qualities.

These benefits we receive in a greater degree as we converse withoutreserve, because we have nothing to conceal. We have no debts to be paidby imperceptible deductions from avowed expenses, no habits to beindulged by the private subserviency of a favoured servant, no privateinterviews with needy relations, no intelligence with spies placed uponeach other. We considered marriage as the most solemn league ofperpetual friendship, a state from which artifice and concealment are tobe banished for ever, and in which every act of dissimulation is abreach of faith.

The impetuous vivacity of youth, and that ardour of desire, which thefirst sight of pleasure naturally produces, have long ceased to hurry usinto irregularity and vehemence; and experience has shewn us that fewgratifications are too valuable to be sacrificed to complaisance.

We have thought it convenient to rest from the fatigue of pleasure, andnow only continue that course of life into which we had before entered,confirmed in our choice by mutual approbation, supported in ourresolution by mutual encouragement, and assisted in our efforts bymutual exhortation.

Such, Mr. Rambler, is our prospect of life, a prospect which, as it isbeheld with more attention, seems to open more extensive happiness, andspreads, by degrees, into the boundless regions of eternity. But if allour prudence has been vain, and we are doomed to give one instance moreof the uncertainty of human discernment, we shall comfort ourselvesamidst our disappointments, that we were not betrayed but by suchdelusions as caution could not escape, since we sought happiness only inthe arms of virtue.

We are, Sir,
Your humble Servants,
HYMENÆUS.
TRANQUILLA.

No. 168. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1751.

—Decipit
Frons prima multos: rara mens intelligit,
Quod interiore condidit cura angulo. PHÆDRUS, Lib. iv. Fab. i. 5.

The tinsel glitter, and the specious mien,
Delude the most; few pry behind the scene.

It has been observed by Boileau, that "a mean or common thoughtexpressed in pompous diction, generally pleases more than a new or noblesentiment delivered in low and vulgar language; because the number isgreater of those whom custom has enabled to judge of words, than whomstudy has qualified to examine things." This solution might satisfy, ifsuch only were offended with meanness of expression as are unable todistinguish propriety of thought, and to separate propositions or imagesfrom the vehicles by which they are conveyed to the understanding. Butthis kind of disgust is by no means confined to the ignorant orsuperficial; it operates uniformly and universally upon readers of allclasses; every man, however profound or abstracted, perceives himselfirresistibly alienated by low terms; they who profess the most zealousadherence to truth are forced to admit that she owes part of her charmsto her ornaments; and loses much of her power over the soul, when sheappears disgraced by a dress uncouth or ill-adjusted.

We are all offended by low terms, but are not disgusted alike by thesame compositions, because we do not all agree to censure the same termsas low. No word is naturally or intrinsically meaner than another; ouropinion therefore of words, as of other things arbitrarily andcapriciously established, depends wholly upon accident and custom. Thecottager thinks those apartments splendid and spacious, which aninhabitant of palaces will despise for their inelegance; and to him whohas passed most of his hours with the delicate and polite, manyexpressions will seem sordid, which another, equally acute, may hearwithout offence; but a mean term never fails to displease him to whom itappears mean, as poverty is certainly and invariably despised, though hewho is poor in the eyes of some, may, by others, be envied for hiswealth.

Words become low by the occasions to which they are applied, or thegeneral character of them who use them; and the disgust which theyproduce, arises from the revival of those images with which they arecommonly united. Thus if, in the most solemn discourse, a phrase happensto occur which has been successfully employed in some ludicrousnarrative, the gravest auditor finds it difficult to refrain fromlaughter, when they who are not prepossessed by the same accidentalassociation, are utterly unable to guess the reason of his merriment.Words which convey ideas of dignity in one age, are banished fromelegant writing or conversation in another, because they are in timedebased by vulgar mouths, and can be no longer heard without theinvoluntary recollection of unpleasing images.

When Macbeth is confirming himself in the horrid purpose of stabbing hisking, he breaks out amidst his emotions into a wish natural to amurderer:

—Come, thick night!
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heav'n peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry, Hold! hold!—

In this passage is exerted all the force of poetry; that force whichcalls new powers into being, which embodies sentiment, and animatesmatter: yet, perhaps, scarce any man now peruses it without somedisturbance of his attention from the counteraction of the words to theideas. What can be more dreadful than to implore the presence of night,invested, not in common obscurity, but in the smoke of hell? Yet theefficacy of this invocation is destroyed by the insertion of an epithetnow seldom heard but in the stable, and dun night may come or gowithout any other notice than contempt.

If we start into raptures when some hero of the Iliad tells us that[Greek: doru mainetai], his lance rages with eagerness to destroy; if weare alarmed at the terrour of the soldiers commanded by Caesar to hewdown the sacred grove, who dreaded, says Lucan, lest the axe aimed atthe oak should fly back upon the striker:

—Si robora sacra ferirent,
In sua credebaut redituras membra secures;

None dares with impious steel the grove to rend,
Lest on himself the destin'd stroke descend;

we cannot surely but sympathise with the horrours of a wretch about tomurder his master, his friend, his benefactor, who suspects that theweapon will refuse its office, and start back from the breast which heis preparing to violate. Yet this sentiment is weakened by the name ofan instrument used by butchers and cooks in the meanest employments: wedo not immediately conceive that any crime of importance is to becommitted with a knife; or who does not, at last, from the long habitof connecting a knife with sordid offices, feel aversion rather thanterrour?

Macbeth proceeds to wish, in the madness of guilt, that the inspectionof heaven may be intercepted, and that he may, in the involutions ofinfernal darkness, escape the eye of Providence. This is the utmostextravagance of determined wickedness; yet this is so debased by twounfortunate words, that while I endeavour to impress on my reader theenergy of the sentiment, I can scarce check my risibility, when theexpression forces itself upon my mind; for who, without some relaxationof his gravity, can hear of the avengers of guilt peeping through ablanket?

These imperfections of diction are less obvious to the reader, as he isless acquainted with common usages; they are therefore whollyimperceptible to a foreigner, who learns our language from books, andwill strike a solitary academick less forcibly than a modish lady.

Among the numerous requisites that must concur to complete an author,few are of more importance than an early entrance into the living world.The seeds of knowledge may be planted in solitude, but must becultivated in publick. Argumentation may be taught in colleges, andtheories formed in retirement; but the artifice of embellishment, andthe powers of attraction, can be gained only by general converse.

An acquaintance with prevailing customs and fashionable elegance isnecessary likewise for other purposes. The injury that grand imagerysuffers from unsuitable language, personal merit may fear from rudenessand indelicacy. When the success of Æneas depended on the favour of thequeen upon whose coasts he was driven, his celestial protectress thoughthim not sufficiently secured against rejection by his piety or bravery,but decorated him for the interview with preternatural beauty. Whoeverdesires, for his writings or himself, what none can reasonably contemn,the favour of mankind, must add grace to strength, and make his thoughtsagreeable as well as useful. Many complain of neglect who never tried toattract regard. It cannot be expected that the patrons of science orvirtue should be solicitous to discover excellencies, which they whopossess them shade and disguise. Few have abilities so much needed bythe rest of the world as to be caressed on their own terms; and he thatwill not condescend to recommend himself by external embellishments,must submit to the fate of just sentiment meanly expressed, and beridiculed and forgotten before he is understood.

No. 169. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1751.

Nec pluteum cædit, nec demorsos sapit ungues. PER. Sat. i. 106.

No blood from bitten nails those poems drew;
But churn'd, like spittle, from the lips they flew. DRYDEN.

Natural historians assert, that whatever is formed for long durationarrives slowly to its maturity. Thus the firmest timber is of tardygrowth, and animals generally exceed each other in longevity, inproportion to the time between their conception and their birth.

The same observation may be extended to the offspring of the mind. Hastycompositions, however they please at first by flowery luxuriance, andspread in the sunshine of temporary favour, can seldom endure the changeof seasons, but perish at the first blast of criticism, or frost ofneglect. When Apelles was reproached with the paucity of hisproductions, and the incessant attention with which he retouched hispieces, he condescended to make no other answer than that he paintedfor perpetuity.

No vanity can more justly incur contempt and indignation than that whichboasts of negligence and hurry. For who can bear with patience thewriter who claims such superiority to the rest of his species, as toimagine mankind are at leisure for attention to his extemporary sallies,and that posterity will reposite his casual effusions among thetreasures of ancient wisdom?

Men have sometimes appeared of such transcendent abilities, that theirslightest and most cursory performances excel all that labour and studycan enable meaner intellects to compose; as there are regions of whichthe spontaneous products cannot be equalled in other soils by care andculture. But it is no less dangerous for any man to place himself inthis rank of understanding, and fancy that he is born to be illustriouswithout labour, than to omit the cares of husbandry, and expect from hisground the blossoms of Arabia.

The greatest part of those who congratulate themselves upon theirintellectual dignity, and usurp the privileges of genius, are men whom*only themselves would ever have marked out as enriched by uncommonliberalities of nature, or entitled to veneration and immortality oneasy terms. This ardour of confidence is usually found among those who,having not enlarged their notions by books or conversation, arepersuaded, by the partiality which we all feel in our own favour, thatthey have reached the summit of excellence, because they discover nonehigher than themselves; and who acquiesce in the first thoughts thatoccur, because their scantiness of knowledge allows them little choice;and the narrowness of their views affords them no glimpse of perfection,of that sublime idea which human industry has from the first ages beenvainly toiling to approach. They see a little, and believe that there isnothing beyond their sphere of vision, as the Patuecos of Spain, whoinhabited a small valley, conceived the surrounding mountains to be theboundaries of the world. In proportion as perfection is more distinctlyconceived, the pleasure of contemplating our own performances will belessened; it may therefore be observed, that they who most deservepraise are often afraid to decide in favour of their own performances;they know how much is still wanting to their completion, and wait withanxiety and terrour the determination of the publick. I please everyone else, says Tully, but never satisfy myself.

It has often been inquired, why, notwithstanding the advances of laterages in science, and the assistance which the infusion of so many newideas has given us, we fall below the ancients in the art ofcomposition. Some part of their superiority may be justly ascribed tothe graces of their language, from which the most polished of thepresent European tongues are nothing more than barbarous degenerations.Some advantage they might gain merely by priority, which put them inpossession of the most natural sentiments, and left us nothing butservile repetition or forced conceits. But the greater part of theirpraise seems to have been the just reward of modesty and labour. Theirsense of human weakness confined them commonly to one study, which theirknowledge of the extent of every science engaged them to prosecute withindefatigable diligence.

Among the writers of antiquity I remember none except Statius whoventures to mention the speedy production of his writings, either as anextenuation of his faults, or a proof of his facility. Nor did Statius,when he considered himself as a candidate for lasting reputation, thinka closer attention unnecessary, but amidst all his pride and indigence,the two great hasteners of modern poems, employed twelve years upon theThebaid, and thinks his claim to renown proportionate to his labour.

Thebais, multa cruciata lima,
Tentat, audaci fide, Mantuanæ
Gaudia famæ.

Polish'd with endless toil, my lays
At length aspire to Mantuan praise.

Ovid indeed apologizes in his banishment for the imperfection of hisletters, but mentions his want of leisure to polish them as an additionto his calamities; and was so far from imagining revisals andcorrections unnecessary, that at his departure from Rome, he threw hisMetamorphoses into the fire, lest he should be disgraced by a book whichhe could not hope to finish.

It seems not often to have happened that the same writer aspired toreputation in verse and prose; and of those few that attempted suchdiversity of excellence, I know not that even one succeeded. Contrarycharacters they never imagined a single mind able to support, andtherefore no man is recorded to have undertaken more than one kind ofdramatick poetry.

What they had written, they did not venture in their first fondness tothrust into the world, but, considering the impropriety of sending forthinconsiderately that which cannot be recalled, deferred the publication,if not nine years, according to the direction of Horace, yet till theirfancy was cooled after the raptures of invention, and the glare ofnovelty had ceased to dazzle the judgment.

There were in those days no weekly or diurnal writers; multa dies etmulta litura, much time, and many rasures, were considered asindispensable requisites; and that no other method of attaining lastingpraise has been yet discovered, may be conjectured from the blottedmanuscripts of Milton now remaining, and from the tardy emission ofPope's compositions, delayed more than once till the incidents to whichthey alluded were forgotten, till his enemies were secure from hissatire, and, what to an honest mind must be more painful, his friendswere deaf to his encomiums.

To him, whose eagerness of praise hurries his productions soon into thelight, many imperfections are unavoidable, even where the mind furnishesthe materials, as well as regulates their disposition, and nothingdepends upon search or information. Delay opens new veins of thought,the subject dismissed for a time appears with a new train of dependentimages, the accidents of reading or conversation supply new ornamentsor allusions, or mere intermission of the fatigue of thinking enablesthe mind to collect new force, and make new excursions. But all thosebenefits come too late for him, who, when he was weary with labour,snatched at the recompense, and gave his work to his friends and hisenemies, as soon as impatience and pride persuaded him to conclude it.

One of the most pernicious effects of haste, is obscurity. He that teemswith a quick succession of ideas, and perceives how one sentimentproduces another, easily believes that he can clearly express what he sostrongly comprehends; he seldom suspects his thoughts of embarrassment,while he preserves in his own memory the series of connection, or hisdiction of ambiguity, while only one sense is present to his mind. Yetif he has been employed on an abstruse, or complicated argument, he willfind, when he has awhile withdrawn his mind, and returns as a new readerto his work, that he has only a conjectural glimpse of his own meaning,and that to explain it to those whom he desires to instruct, he mustopen his sentiments, disentangle his method, and alter his arrangement.

Authors and lovers always suffer some infatuation, from which onlyabsence can set them free; and every man ought to restore himself to thefull exercise of his judgment, before he does that which he cannot doimproperly, without injuring his honour and his quiet.

No. 170. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1751.

Confiteor; si quid prodest delicta fateri. OVID. Am. Lib. i. El. iv. 3.

I grant the charge; forgive the fault confess'd.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I am one of those beings from whom many, that melt at the sight of allother misery, think it meritorious to withhold relief; one whom therigour of virtuous indignation dooms to suffer without complaint, andperish without regard; and whom I myself have formerly insulted in thepride of reputation and security of innocence.

I am of a good family, but my father was burthened with more childrenthan he could decently support. A wealthy relation, as he travelled fromLondon to his country-seat, condescending to make him a visit, wastouched with compassion of his narrow fortune, and resolved to ease himof part of his charge, by taking the care of a child upon himself.Distress on one side, and ambition on the other, were too powerful forparental fondness, and the little family passed in review before him,that he might, make his choice. I was then ten years old, and, withoutknowing for what purpose, I was called to my great cousin, endeavouredto recommend myself by my best courtesy, sung him my prettiest song,told the last story that I had read, and so much endeared myself by myinnocence, that he declared his resolution to adopt me, and to educateme with his own daughters.

My parents felt the common struggles at the thought of parting, andsome natural tears they dropp'd, but wip'd them soon. They considered,not without that false estimation of the value of wealth, which povertylong continued always produces, that I was raised to higher rank thanthey could give me, and to hopes of more ample fortune than they couldbequeath. My mother sold some of her ornaments to dress me in such amanner as might secure me from contempt at my first arrival; and whenshe dismissed me, pressed me to her bosom with an embrace that I stillfeel, gave me some precepts of piety, which, however neglected, I havenot forgotten, and uttered prayers for my final happiness, of which Ihave not yet ceased to hope that they will at last be granted.

My sisters envied my new finery, and seemed not much to regret ourseparation; my father conducted me to the stage-coach with a kind ofcheerful tenderness; and in a very short time I was transported tosplendid apartments, and a luxurious table, and grew familiar to shew,noise, and gaiety.

In three years my mother died, having implored a blessing on her familywith her last breath. I had little opportunity to indulge a sorrow whichthere was none to partake with me, and therefore soon ceased to reflectmuch upon my loss. My father turned all his care upon his otherchildren, whom some fortunate adventures and unexpected legacies enabledhim, when he died, four years after my mother, to leave in a conditionabove their expectations.

I should have shared the increase of his fortune, and had once a portionassigned me in his will; but my cousin assuring him that all care for mewas needless, since he had resolved to place me happily in the world,directed him to divide my part amongst my sisters.

Thus I was thrown upon dependance without resource. Being now at an agein which young women are initiated into company, I was no longer to besupported in my former character, but at a considerable expense; so thatpartly lest I should waste money, and partly lest my appearance mightdraw too many compliments and assiduities, I was insensibly degradedfrom my equality, and enjoyed few privileges above the head servant, butthat of receiving no wages.

I felt every indignity, but knew that resentment would precipitate myfall. I therefore endeavoured to continue my importance by littleservices and active officiousness, and, for a time, preserved myselffrom neglect, by withdrawing all pretences to competition, and studyingto please rather than to shine. But my interest, notwithstanding thisexpedient, hourly declined, and my cousin's favourite maid began toexchange repartees with me, and consult me about the alterations of acast gown.

I was now completely depressed; and, though I had seen mankind enough toknow the necessity of outward cheerfulness, I often withdrew to mychamber to vent my grief, or turn my condition in my mind, and examineby what means I might escape from perpetual mortification. At last myschemes and sorrows were interrupted by a sudden change of my relation'sbehaviour, who one day took an occasion when we were left together in aroom, to bid me suffer myself no longer to be insulted, but assume theplace which he always intended me to hold in the family. He assured methat his wife's preference of her own daughters should never hurt me;and, accompanying his professions with a purse of gold, ordered me tobespeak a rich suit at the mercer's, and to apply privately to him formoney when I wanted it, and insinuate that my other friends supplied me,which he would take care to confirm.

By this stratagem, which I did not then understand, he filled me withtenderness and gratitude, compelled me to repose on him as my onlysupport, and produced a necessity of private conversation. He oftenappointed interviews at the house of an acquaintance, and sometimescalled on me with a coach, and carried me abroad. My sense of hisfavour, and the desire of retaining it, disposed me to unlimitedcomplaisance, and, though I saw his kindness grow every day more fond, Idid not suffer any suspicion to enter my thoughts. At last the wretchtook advantage of the familiarity which he enjoyed as my relation, andthe submission which he exacted as my benefactor, to complete the ruinof an orphan, whom his own promises had made indigent, whom hisindulgence had melted, and his authority subdued.

I know not why it should afford subject of exultation to overpower onany terms the resolution, or surprise the caution of a girl; but of allthe boasters that deck themselves in the spoils of innocence and beauty,they surely have the least pretensions to triumph, who submit to owetheir success to some casual influence. They neither employ the gracesof fancy, nor the force of understanding, in their attempts; they cannotplease their vanity with the art of their approaches, the delicacy oftheir adulations, the elegance of their address, or the efficacy oftheir eloquence; nor applaud themselves as possessed of any qualities,by which affection is attracted. They surmount no obstacles, they defeatno rivals, but attack only those who cannot resist, and are oftencontent to possess the body, without any solicitude to gain the heart.

Many of those despicable wretches does my present acquaintance withinfamy and wickedness enable me to number among the heroes ofdebauchery. Reptiles whom their own servants would have despised, hadthey not been their servants, and with whom beggary would have disdainedintercourse, had she not been allured by hopes of relief. Many of thebeings which are now rioting in taverns, or shivering in the streets,have been corrupted, not by arts of gallantry which stole gradually uponthe affections and laid prudence asleep, but by the fear of losingbenefits which were never intended, or of incurring resentment whichthey could not escape; some have been frighted by masters, and some awedby guardians into ruin.

Our crime had its usual consequence, and he soon perceived that I couldnot long continue in his family. I was distracted at the thought of thereproach which I now believed inevitable. He comforted me with hopes ofeluding all discovery, and often upbraided me with the anxiety, whichperhaps none but himself saw in my countenance; but at last mingled hisassurances of protection and maintenance with menaces of totaldesertion, if, in the moments of perturbation I should suffer his secretto escape, or endeavour to throw on him any part of my infamy.

Thus passed the dismal hours, till my retreat could no longer bedelayed. It was pretended that my relations had sent for me to a distantcounty, and I entered upon a state which shall be described in my nextletter.

I am, &c.

MISELLA.

No. 171. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1751.

Tædet coeli convexa tueri. VIRG. Æn. iv. 451.

Dark is the sun, and loathsome is the day.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Misella now sits down to continue her narrative. I am convinced thatnothing would more powerfully preserve youth from irregularity, or guardinexperience from seduction, than a just description of the conditioninto which the wanton plunges herself; and therefore hope that my lettermay be a sufficient antidote to my example.

After the distraction, hesitation, and delays which the timidity ofguilt naturally produces, I was removed to lodgings in a distant part ofthe town, under one of the characters commonly assumed upon suchoccasions. Here being by my circ*mstances condemned to solitude, Ipassed most of my hours in bitterness and anguish. The conversation ofthe people with whom I was placed was not at all capable of engaging myattention, or dispossessing the reigning ideas. The books which Icarried to my retreat were such as heightened my abhorrence of myself;for I was not so far abandoned as to sink voluntarily into corruption,or endeavour to conceal from my own mind the enormity of my crime.

My relation remitted none of his fondness, but visited me so often, thatI was sometimes afraid lest his assiduity should expose him tosuspicion. Whenever he came he found me weeping, and was therefore lessdelightfully entertained than he expected. After frequent expostulationsupon the unreasonableness of my sorrow, and innumerable protestations ofeverlasting regard, he at last found that I was more affected with theloss of my innocence, than the danger of my fame, and that he might notbe disturbed by my remorse, began to lull my conscience with the opiatesof irreligion. His arguments were such as my course of life has sinceexposed me often to the necessity of hearing, vulgar, empty, andfallacious; yet they at first confounded me by their novelty, filled mewith doubt and perplexity, and interrupted that peace which I began tofeel from the sincerity of my repentance, without substituting any othersupport. I listened a while to his impious gabble, but its influence wassoon overpowered by natural reason and early education, and theconvictions which this new attempt gave me of his baseness completed myabhorrence. I have heard of barbarians, who, when tempests drive shipsupon their coast, decoy them to the rocks that they may plunder theirlading, and have always thought that wretches, thus merciless in theirdepredations, ought to be destroyed by a general insurrection of allsocial beings; yet how light is this guilt to the crime of him, who, inthe agitations of remorse, cuts away the anchor of piety, and, when hehas drawn aside credulity from the paths of virtue, hides the light ofheaven which would direct her to return. I had hitherto considered himas a man equally betrayed with myself by the concurrence of appetite andopportunity; but I now saw with horrour that he was contriving toperpetuate his gratification, and was desirous to fit me to his purpose,by complete and radical corruption.

To escape, however, was not yet in my power. I could support theexpenses of my condition only by the continuance of his favour. Heprovided all that was necessary, and in a few weeks congratulated meupon my escape from the danger which we had both expected with so muchanxiety. I then began to remind him of his promise to restore me with myfame uninjured to the world. He promised me in general terms, thatnothing should be wanting which his power could add to my happiness, butforbore to release me from my confinement. I knew how much my receptionin the world depended upon my speedy return, and was thereforeoutrageously impatient of his delays, which I now perceived to be onlyartifices of lewdness. He told me at last, with an appearance of sorrow,that all hopes of restoration to my former state were for everprecluded; that chance had discovered my secret, and malice divulged it;and that nothing now remained, but to seek a retreat more private, wherecuriosity or hatred could never find us.

The rage, anguish, and resentment, which I felt at this account are notto be expressed. I was in so much dread of reproach and infamy, which herepresented as pursuing me with full cry, that I yielded myselfimplicitly to his disposal and was removed, with a thousand studiedprecautions, through by-ways and dark passages to another house, where Iharassed him with perpetual solicitations for a small annuity that mightenable me to live in the country in obscurity and innocence.

This demand he at first evaded with ardent professions, but in timeappeared offended at my importunity and distrust; and having one dayendeavoured to sooth me with uncommon expressions of tenderness, when hefound my discontent immoveable, left me with some inarticulate murmursof anger. I was pleased that he was at last roused to sensibility, andexpecting that at his next visit he would comply with my request, livedwith great tranquillity upon the money in my hands, and was so muchpleased with this pause of persecution, that I did not reflect how muchhis absence had exceeded the usual intervals, till I was alarmed withthe danger of wanting subsistence. I then suddenly contracted myexpenses, but was unwilling to supplicate for assistance. Necessity,however, soon overcame my modesty or my pride, and I applied to him by aletter, but had no answer. I writ in terms more pressing, but withouteffect. I then sent an agent to inquire after him, who informed me, thathe had quitted his house, and was gone with his family to reside forsome time on his estate in Ireland.

However shocked at this abrupt departure, I was yet unwilling to believethat he could wholly abandon me, and therefore, by the sale of myclothes, I supported myself, expecting that every post would bring merelief. Thus I passed seven months between hope and dejection, in agradual approach to poverty and distress, emaciated with discontent, andbewildered with uncertainty. At last my landlady, after many hints ofthe necessity of a new lover, took the opportunity of my absence tosearch my boxes, and missing some of my apparel, seized the remainderfor rent, and led me to the door.

To remonstrate against legal cruelty, was vain; to supplicate obduratebrutality, was hopeless. I went away I knew not whither, and wanderedabout without any settled purpose, unacquainted with the usualexpedients of misery, unqualified for laborious offices, afraid to meetan eye that had seen me before, and hopeless of relief from those whowere strangers to my former condition. Night came on in the midst of mydistraction, and I still continued to wander till the menaces of thewatch obliged me to shelter myself in a covered passage.

Next day, I procured a lodging in the backward garret of a mean house,and employed my landlady to inquire for a service. My applications weregenerally rejected for want of a character. At length I was received ata draper's, but when it was known to my mistress that I had only onegown, and that of silk, she was of opinion that I looked like a thief,and without warning hurried me away. I then tried to support myself bymy needle; and, by my landlady's recommendation obtained a little workfrom a shop, and for three weeks lived without repining; but when mypunctuality had gained me so much reputation, that I was trusted to makeup a head of some value, one of my fellow-lodgers stole the lace, and Iwas obliged to fly from a prosecution.

Thus driven again into the streets, I lived upon the least that couldsupport me, and at night accommodated myself under pent-houses as wellas I could. At length I became absolutely pennyless, and having strolledall day without sustenance, was, at the close of evening, accosted by anelderly man, with an invitation to a tavern. I refused him withhesitation; he seized me by the hand, and drew me into a neighbouringhouse, where, when he saw my face pale with hunger, and my eyes swellingwith tears, he spurned me from him, and bade me cant and whine in someother place; he for his part would take care of his pockets.

I still continued to stand in the way, having scarcely strength to walkfurther, when another soon addressed me in the same manner. When he sawthe same tokens of calamity, he considered that I might be obtained at acheap rate, and therefore quickly made overtures, which I no longer hadfirmness to reject. By this man I was maintained four months inpenurious wickedness, and then abandoned to my former condition, fromwhich I was delivered by another keeper.

In this abject state I have now passed four years, the drudge ofextortion and the sport of drunkenness; sometimes the property of oneman, and sometimes the common prey of accidental lewdness; at one timetricked up for sale by the mistress of a brothel, at another begging inthe streets to be relieved from hunger by wickedness; without any hopein the day but of finding some whom folly or excess may expose to myallurements, and without any reflections at night, but such as guilt andterrour impress upon me.

If those who pass their days in plenty and security, could visit for anhour the dismal receptacles to which the prostitute retires from hernocturnal excursions, and see the wretches that lie crowded together,mad with intemperance, ghastly with famine, nauseous with filth, andnoisome with disease; it would not be easy for any degree of abhorrenceto harden them against compassion, or to repress the desire which theymust immediately feel to rescue such numbers of human beings from astate so dreadful.

It is said, that in France they annually evacuate their streets, andship their prostitutes and vagabonds to their colonies. If the womenthat infest this city had the same opportunity of escaping from theirmiseries, I believe very little force would be necessary; for who amongthem can dread any change? Many of us indeed are wholly unqualified forany but the most servile employments, and those perhaps would requirethe care of a magistrate to hinder them from following the samepractices in another country; but others are only precluded by infamyfrom reformation, and would gladly be delivered on any terms from thenecessity of guilt, and the tyranny of chance. No place but a populouscity, can afford opportunities for open prostitution; and where the eyeof justice can attend to individuals, those who cannot be made good maybe restrained from mischief. For my part, I should exult at theprivilege of banishment, and think myself happy in any region thatshould restore me once again to honesty and peace.

I am, Sir, &c.

MISELLA.

No. 172. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1751.

Sæpe rogare soles, qualis sim, Prisce, futurus,
Si fiam locuples, simque repente potens.
Quemquam posse putas mores narrare futuros?
Die mihi, si fias tu leo, qualis eris? MART. Lib. xii. Ep. 93.

Priscus, you've often ask'd me how I'd live,
Should fate at once both wealth and honour give.
What soul his future conduct can foresee?
Tell me what sort of lion you would be. F. LEWIS.

Nothing has been longer observed, than that a change of fortune causes achange of manners; and that it is difficult to conjecture from theconduct of him whom we see in a low condition, how he would act, ifwealth and power were put into his hands. But it is generally agreed,that few men are made better by affluence or exaltation; and that thepowers of the mind, when they are unbound and expanded by the sunshineof felicity, more frequently luxuriate into follies, than blossom intogoodness.

Many observations have concurred to establish this opinion, and it isnot likely soon to become obsolete, for want of new occasions to reviveit. The greater part of mankind are corrupt in every condition, anddiffer in high and in low stations, only as they have more or feweropportunities of gratifying their desires, or as they are more or lessrestrained by human censures. Many vitiate their principles in theacquisition of riches; and who can wonder that what is gained by fraudand extortion is enjoyed with tyranny and excess?

Yet I am willing to believe that the depravation of the mind by externaladvantages, though certainly not uncommon, yet approaches not so nearlyto universality, as some have asserted in the bitterness of resentment,or heat of declamation.

Whoever rises above those who once pleased themselves with equality,will have many malevolent gazers at his eminence. To gain sooner thanothers that which all pursue with the same ardour, and to which allimagine themselves entitled, will for ever be a crime. When those whostarted with us in the race of life, leave us so far behind, that wehave little hope to overtake them, we revenge our disappointment byremarks on the arts of supplantation by which they gained the advantage,or on the folly and arrogance with which they possess it. Of them, whoserise we could not hinder, we solace ourselves by prognosticating thefall.

It is impossible for human purity not to betray to an eye, thussharpened by malignity, some stains which lay concealed and unregarded,while none thought it their interest to discover them; nor can the mostcirc*mspect attention, or steady rectitude, escape blame from censors,who have no inclination to approve. Riches therefore, perhaps, do not sooften produce crimes as incite accusers.

The common charge against those who rise above their original condition,is that of pride. It is certain that success naturally confirms us in afavourable opinion of our own abilities. Scarce any man is willing toallot to accident, friendship, and a thousand causes, which concur inevery event without human contrivance or interposition, the part whichthey may justly claim in his advancement. We rate ourselves by ourfortune rather than our virtues, and exorbitant claims are quicklyproduced by imaginary merit. But captiousness and jealousy are likewiseeasily offended, and to him who studiously looks for an affront, everymode of behaviour will supply it; freedom will be rudeness, and reservesullenness; mirth will be negligence, and seriousness formality; when heis received with ceremony, distance and respect are inculcated; if he istreated with familiarity, he concludes himself insulted bycondescensions.

It must however be confessed, that as all sudden changes are dangerous,a quick transition from poverty to abundance can seldom be made withsafety. He that has long lived within sight of pleasures which he couldnot reach, will need more than common moderation, not to lose his reasonin unbounded riot, when they are first put into his power.

Every possession is endeared by novelty; every gratification isexaggerated by desire. It is difficult not to estimate what is latelygained above its real value; it is impossible not to annex greaterhappiness to that condition from which we are unwillingly excluded, thannature has qualified us to obtain. For this reason, the remote inheritorof an unexpected fortune, may be generally distinguished from those whoare enriched in the common course of lineal descent, by his greaterhaste to enjoy his wealth, by the finery of his dress, the pomp of hisequipage, the splendour of his furniture, and the luxury of his table.

A thousand things which familiarity discovers to be of little value,have power for a time to seize the imagination. A Virginian king, whenthe Europeans had fixed a lock on his door, was so delighted to find hissubjects admitted or excluded with such facility, that it was frommorning to evening his whole employment to turn the key. We, among whomlocks and keys have been longer in use, are inclined to laugh at thisAmerican amusem*nt; yet I doubt whether this paper will have a singlereader that may not apply the story to himself, and recollect some hoursof his life in which he has been equally overpowered by the transitorycharms of trifling novelty.

Some indulgence is due to him whom a happy gale of fortune has suddenlytransported into new regions, where unaccustomed lustre dazzles hiseyes, and untasted delicacies solicit his appetite. Let him not beconsidered as lost in hopeless degeneracy, though he for a while forgetsthe regard due to others, to indulge the contemplation of himself, andin the extravagance of his first raptures expects that his eye shouldregulate the motions of all that approach him, and his opinion bereceived as decisive and oraculous. His intoxication will give way totime; the madness of joy will fume imperceptibly away; the sense of hisinsufficiency will soon return; he will remember that the co-operationof others is necessary to his happiness, and learn to conciliate theirregard by reciprocal beneficence.

There is, at least, one consideration which ought to alleviate ourcensures of the powerful and rich. To imagine them chargeable with allthe guilt and folly of their own actions, is to be very littleacquainted with the world.

De l'absolu pouvoir vous ignorez l'yvresse,
Et du lache flateur la voix enchanteresse.

Thou hast not known the giddy whirls of fate,
Nor servile flatteries which enchant the great. Miss A. W.

He that can do much good or harm, will not find many whom ambition orcowardice will suffer to be sincere. While we live upon the level withthe rest of mankind, we are reminded of our duty by the admonitions offriends and reproaches of enemies; but men who stand in the highestranks of society, seldom hear of their faults; if by any accident anopprobrious clamour reaches their ears, flattery is always at hand topour in her opiates, to quiet conviction, and obtund remorse.

Favour is seldom gained but by conformity in vice. Virtue can standwithout assistance, and considers herself as very little obliged bycountenance and approbation: but vice, spiritless and timorous, seeksthe shelter of crowds, and support of confederacy. The sycophant,therefore, neglects the good qualities of his patron, and employs allhis art on his weaknesses and follies, regales his reigning vanity, orstimulates his prevalent desires.

Virtue is sufficiently difficult with any circ*mstances, but thedifficulty is increased when reproof and advice are frighted away. Incommon life, reason and conscience have only the appetites and passionsto encounter; but in higher stations, they must oppose artifice andadulation. He, therefore, that yields to such temptations, cannot givethose who look upon his miscarriage much reason for exultation, sincefew can justly presume that from the same snare they should have beenable to escape.

No. 173. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1751.

Quo virtus, quo ferat error. HOR. De Ar. Poet. 308.

Now say, where virtue stops, and vice begins?

As any action or posture, long continued, will distort and disfigure thelimbs; so the mind likewise is crippled and contracted by perpetualapplication to the same set of ideas. It is easy to guess the trade ofan artizan by his knees, his fingers, or his shoulders: and there arefew among men of the more liberal professions, whose minds do not carrythe brand of their calling, or whose conversation does not quicklydiscover to what class of the community they belong.

These peculiarities have been of great use, in the general hostilitywhich every part of mankind exercises against the rest, to furnishinsults and sarcasms. Every art has its dialect, uncouth and ungratefulto all whom custom has not reconciled to its sound, and which thereforebecomes ridiculous by a slight misapplication, or unnecessaryrepetition.

The general reproach with which ignorance revenges the superciliousnessof learning, is that of pedantry; a censure which every man incurs, whohas at any time the misfortune to talk to those who cannot understandhim, and by which the modest and timorous are sometimes frighted fromthe display of their acquisitions, and the exertion of their powers.

The name of a pedant is so formidable to young men when they first sallyfrom their colleges, and is so liberally scattered by those who mean toboast their elegance of education, easiness of manners, and knowledge ofthe world, that it seems to require particular consideration; since,perhaps, if it were once understood, many a heart might be freed frompainful apprehensions, and many a tongue, delivered from restraint.

Pedantry is the unseasonable ostentation of learning. It may bediscovered either in the choice of a subject, or in the manner oftreating it. He is undoubtedly guilty of pedantry, who, when he has madehimself master of some abstruse and uncultivated part of knowledge,obtrudes his remarks and discoveries upon those whom he believes unableto judge of his proficiency, and from whom, as he cannot fearcontradiction, he cannot properly expect applause.

To this errour the student is sometimes betrayed by the naturalrecurrence of the mind to its common employment, by the pleasure whichevery man receives from the recollection of pleasing images, and thedesire of dwelling upon topicks, on which he knows himself able to speakwith justness. But because we are seldom so far prejudiced in favour ofeach other, as to search out for palliations, this failure of politenessis imputed always to vanity; and the harmless collegiate, who, perhaps,intended entertainment and instruction, or at worst only spoke withoutsufficient reflection upon the character of his hearers, is censured asarrogant or overbearing, and eager to extend his renown, in contempt ofthe convenience of society and the laws of conversation.

All discourse of which others cannot partake, is not only an irksomeusurpation of the time devoted to pleasure and entertainment, but whatnever fails to excite very keen resentment, an insolent assertion ofsuperiority, and a triumph over less enlightened understandings. Thepedant is, therefore, not only heard with weariness, but malignity; andthose who conceive themselves insulted by his knowledge, never fail totell with acrimony how injudiciously it was exerted.

To avoid this dangerous imputation, scholars sometimes divest themselveswith too much haste of their academical formality, and in theirendeavours to accommodate their notions and their style to commonconceptions, talk rather of any thing than of that which theyunderstand, and sink into insipidity of sentiment and meanness ofexpression.

There prevails among men of letters an opinion, that all appearance ofscience is particularly hateful to women; and that therefore, whoeverdesires to be well received in female assemblies, must qualify himselfby a total rejection of all that is serious, rational, or important;must consider argument or criticism, as perpetually interdicted; anddevote all his attention to trifles, and all his eloquence tocompliment.

Students often form their notions of the present generation from thewritings of the past, and are not very early informed of those changeswhich the gradual diffusion of knowledge, or the sudden caprice offashion, produces in the world. Whatever might be the state of femaleliterature in the last century, there is now no longer any danger lestthe scholar should want an adequate audience at the tea-table; andwhoever thinks it necessary to regulate his conversation by antiquatedrules, will be rather despised for his futility than caressed for hispoliteness.

To talk intentionally in a manner above the comprehension of those whomwe address, is unquestionable pedantry; but surely complaisancerequires, that no man should, without proof, conclude his companyincapable of following him to the highest elevation of his fancy, or theutmost extent of his knowledge. It is always safer to err in favour ofothers than of ourselves, and therefore we seldom hazard much byendeavouring to excel.

It ought at least to be the care of learning, when she quits herexaltation, to descend with dignity. Nothing is more despicable than theairiness and jocularity of a man bred to severe science, and solitarymeditation. To trifle agreeably is a secret which schools cannot impart;that gay negligence and vivacious levity, which charm down resistancewherever they appear, are never attainable by him who, having spent hisfirst years among the dust of libraries, enters late into the gay worldwith an unpliant attention and established habits.

It is observed in the panegyrick on Fabricius the mechanist, that,though forced by publick employments into mingled conversation, he neverlost the modesty and seriousness of the convent, nor drew ridicule uponhimself by an affected imitation of fashionable life. To the same praiseevery man devoted to learning ought to aspire. If he attempts the softerarts of pleasing, and endeavours to learn the graceful bow and thefamiliar embrace, the insinuating accent and the general smile, he willlose the respect due to the character of learning, without arriving atthe envied honour of doing any thing with elegance and facility.

Theophrastus was discovered not to be a native of Athens, by so strictan adherence to the Attick dialect, as shewed that he had learned it notby custom, but by rule. A man not early formed to habitual elegance,betrays, in like manner, the effects of his education, by an unnecessaryanxiety of behaviour. It is as possible to become pedantick, by fear ofpedantry, as to be troublesome by ill-timed civility. There is no kindof impertinence more justly censurable than his who is always labouringto level thoughts to intellects higher than his own; who apologizes forevery word which his own narrowness of converse inclines him to thinkunusual; keeps the exuberance of his faculties under visible restraint;is solicitous to anticipate inquiries by needless explanations; andendeavours to shade his own abilities, lest weak eyes should be dazzledwith their lustre.

No. 174. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1751.

Faenum habet in cornu, longe fuge; dummodo risum
Excutiat sibi, non hic cuiquam parcet amico.
HOR. Lib. i. Sat. iv. 34.

Yonder he drives—avoid that furious beast:
If he may have his jest, he never cares
At whose expense; nor friend nor patron spares. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

MR. RAMBLER,

The laws of social benevolence require, that every man should endeavourto assist others by his experience. He that has at last escaped intoport from the fluctuations of chance, and the gusts of opposition, oughtto make some improvements in the chart of life, by marking the rocks onwhich he has been dashed, and the shallows where he has been stranded.

The errour into which I was betrayed, when custom first gave me up to myown direction, is very frequently incident to the quick, the sprightly,the fearless, and the gay; to all whose ardour hurries them intoprecipitate execution of their designs, and imprudent declaration oftheir opinions; who seldom count the cost of pleasure, or examine thedistant consequences of any practice that flatters them with immediategratification.

I came forth into the crowded world with the usual juvenile ambition,and desired nothing beyond the title of a wit. Money I considered asbelow my care; for I saw such multitudes grow rich withoutunderstanding, that I could not forbear to look on wealth as anacquisition easy to industry directed by genius, and therefore threw itaside as a secondary convenience, to be procured when my principal wishshould be satisfied, and the claim to intellectual excellenceuniversally acknowledged.

With this view I regulated my behaviour in publick, and exercised mymeditations in solitude. My life was divided between the care ofproviding topicks for the entertainment of my company, and that ofcollecting company worthy to be entertained; for I soon found, that wit,like every other power, has its boundaries; that its success dependsupon the aptitude of others to receive impressions; and that as somebodies, indissoluble by heat, can set the furnace and crucible atdefiance, there are minds upon which the rays of fancy may be pointedwithout effect, and which no fire of sentiment can agitate or exalt.

It was, however, not long before I fitted myself with a set ofcompanions who knew how to laugh, and to whom no other recommendationwas necessary than the power of striking out a jest. Among those I fixedmy residence, and for a time enjoyed the felicity of disturbing theneighbours every night with the obstreperous applause which my salliesforced from the audience. The reputation of our club every dayincreased, and as my flights and remarks were circulated by my admirers,every day brought new solicitations for admission into our society.

To support this perpetual fund of merriment, I frequented every place ofconcourse, cultivated the acquaintance of all the fashionable race, andpassed the day in a continual succession of visits, in which I collecteda treasure of pleasantry for the expenses of the evening. Whatevererrour of conduct I could discover, whatever peculiarity of manner Icould observe, whatever weakness was betrayed by confidence, whateverlapse was suffered by neglect, all was drawn together for the diversionof my wild companions, who when they had been taught the art ofridicule, never failed to signalize themselves by a zealous imitation,and filled the town on the ensuing day with scandal and vexation, withmerriment and shame.

I can scarcely believe, when I recollect my own practice, that I couldhave been so far deluded with petty praise, as to divulge the secrets oftrust, and to expose the levities of frankness; to waylay the walks ofthe cautious, and surprise the security of the thoughtless. Yet it iscertain, that for many years I heard nothing but with design to tell it,and saw nothing with any other curiosity than after some failure thatmight furnish out a jest.

My heart, indeed, acquits me of deliberate malignity, or interestedinsidiousness. I had no other purpose than to heighten the pleasure oflaughter by communication, nor ever raised any pecuniary advantage fromthe calamities of others. I led weakness and negligence intodifficulties, only that I might divert myself with their perplexitiesand distresses; and violated every law of friendship, with no other hopethan that of gaining the reputation of smartness and waggery.

I would not be understood to charge myself with any crimes of theatrocious or destructive kind. I never betrayed an heir to gamesters, ora girl to bebauchees; [Transcriber's note: sic] never intercepted thekindness of a patron, or sported away the reputation of innocence. Mydelight was only in petty mischief, and momentary vexations, and myacuteness was employed not upon fraud and oppression, which it had beenmeritorious to detect, but upon harmless ignorance or absurdity,prejudice or mistake.

This inquiry I pursued with so much diligence and sagacity, that I wasable to relate, of every man whom I knew, some blunder or miscarriage;to betray the most circ*mspect of my friends into follies, by ajudicious flattery of his predominant passion; or expose him tocontempt, by placing him in circ*mstances which put his prejudices intoaction, brought to view his natural defects, or drew the attention ofthe company on his airs of affectation.

The power had been possessed in vain if it had never been exerted; andit was not my custom to let any arts of jocularity remain unemployed. Myimpatience of applause brought me always early to the place ofentertainment; and I seldom failed to lay a scheme with the small knotthat first gathered round me, by which some of those whom we expectedmight be made subservient to our sport. Every man has some favouritetopick of conversation, on which, by a feigned seriousness of attention,he may be drawn to expatiate without end. Every man has some habitualcontortion of body, or established mode of expression, which never failsto raise mirth if it be pointed out to notice. By premonitions of theseparticularities I secured our pleasantry. Our companion entered with hisusual gaiety, and began to partake of our noisy cheerfulness, when theconversation was imperceptibly diverted to a subject which pressed uponhis tender part, and extorted the expected shrug, the customaryexclamation, or the predicted remark. A general clamour of joy thenburst from all that were admitted to the stratagem. Our mirth was oftenincreased by the triumph of him that occasioned it; for as we do nothastily form conclusions against ourselves, seldom any one suspected,that he had exhilarated us otherwise than by wit.

You will hear, I believe, with very little surprise, that by thisconduct I had in a short time united mankind against me, and that everytongue was diligent in prevention or revenge. I soon perceived myselfregarded with malevolence or distrust, but wondered what had beendiscovered in me either terrible or hateful. I had invaded no man'sproperty; I had rivalled no man's claims: nor had ever engaged in any ofthose attempts which provoke the jealousy of ambition or the rage offaction. I had lived but to laugh, and make others laugh; and believedthat I was loved by all who caressed, and favoured by all who applaudedme. I never imagined, that he who, in the mirth of a nocturnal revel,concurred in ridiculing his friend, would consider, in a cooler hour,that the same trick might be played against himself; or that even wherethere is no sense of danger, the natural pride of human nature risesagainst him, who, by general censures, lays claim to generalsuperiority.

I was convinced, by a total desertion, of the impropriety of my conduct;every man avoided, and cautioned others to avoid me. Wherever I came, Ifound silence and dejection, coldness and terrour. No one would ventureto speak, lest he should lay himself open to unfavourablerepresentations; the company, however numerous, dropped off at myentrance upon various pretences; and, if I retired to avoid the shame ofbeing left, I heard confidence and mirth revive at my departure.

If those whom I had thus offended could have contented themselves withrepaying one insult for another, and kept up the war only by areciprocation of sarcasms, they might have perhaps vexed, but wouldnever have much hurt me; for no man heartily hates him at whom he canlaugh. But these wounds which they give me as they fly, are withoutcure; this alarm which they spread by their solicitude to escape me,excludes me from all friendship and from all pleasure. I am condemned topass a long interval of my life in solitude, as a man suspected ofinfection is refused admission into cities; and must linger inobscurity, till my conduct shall convince the world, that I may beapproached without hazard.

I am, &c.

DICACULUS.

No. 175. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1751.

Rari quippe boni: numerus vix est totidem quot
Thebarum portae, vel divitis ostia Nili. Juv. Sat. xiii. 26.

Good men are scarce; the just are thinly sown:
They thrive but ill, nor can they last when grown;
And should we count them, and our store compile,
Yet Thebes more gates could show, more mouths the Nile. CREECH.

None of the axioms of wisdom which recommend the ancient sages toveneration, seem to have required less extent of knowledge orperspicacity of penetration, than the remarks of Bias, that [Greek: oipleones kakoi], "the majority are wicked."

The depravity of mankind is so easily discoverable, that nothing but thedesert or the cell can exclude it from notice. The knowledge of crimesintrudes uncalled and undesired. They whom their abstraction from commonoccurrences hinders from seeing iniquity, will quickly have theirattention awakened by feeling it. Even he who ventures not into theworld, may learn its corruption in his closet. For what are treatises ofmorality, but persuasives to the practice of duties, for which noarguments would be necessary, but that we are continually tempted toviolate or neglect them? What are all the records of history, butnarratives of successive villanies, of treasons and usurpations,massacres and wars?

But, perhaps, the excellence of aphorisms consists not so much in theexpression of some rare and abstruse sentiment, as in the comprehensionof some obvious and useful truths in a few words. We frequently fallinto errour and folly, not because the true principles of action are notknown, but because, for a time, they are not remembered; and he may,therefore, be justly numbered among the benefactors of mankind, whocontracts the great rules of life into short sentences, that may beeasily impressed on the memory, and taught by frequent recollection torecur habitually to the mind.

However those who have passed through half the life of man, may nowwonder that any should require to be cautioned against corruption, theywill find that they have themselves purchased their conviction by manydisappointments and vexations which an earlier knowledge would havespared them; and may see, on every side, some entangling themselves inperplexities, and some sinking into ruin, by ignorance or neglect of themaxim of Bias.

Every day sends out, in quest of pleasure and distinction, some heirfondled in ignorance, and flattered into pride. He comes forth with allthe confidence of a spirit unacquainted with superiors, and all thebenevolence of a mind not yet irritated by opposition, alarmed by fraud,or embittered by cruelty. He loves all, because he imagines himself theuniversal favourite. Every exchange of salutation produces newacquaintance, and every acquaintance kindles into friendship.

Every season brings a new flight of beauties into the world, who havehitherto heard only of their own charms, and imagine that the heartfeels no passion but that of love. They are soon surrounded by admirerswhom they credit, because they tell them only what is heard withdelight. Whoever gazes upon them is a lover; and whoever forces a sigh,is pining in despair.

He surely is a useful monitor, who inculcates to these thoughtlessstrangers, that the majority are wicked; who informs them, that thetrain which wealth and beauty draw after them, is lured only by thescent of prey; and that, perhaps, among all those who crowd about themwith professions and flatteries, there is not one who does not hope forsome opportunity to devour or betray them, to glut himself by theirdestruction, or to share their spoils with a stronger savage.

Virtue presented singly to the imagination or the reason, is so wellrecommended by its own graces, and so strongly supported by arguments,that a good man wonders how any can be bad; and they who are ignorant ofthe force of passion and interest, who never observed the arts ofseduction, the contagion of example, the gradual descent from one crimeto another, or the insensible depravation of the principles by looseconversation, naturally expect to find integrity in every bosom, andveracity on every tongue.

It is, indeed, impossible not to hear from those who have lived longer,of wrongs and falsehoods, of violence and circumvention; but suchnarratives are commonly regarded by the young, the heady, and theconfident, as nothing more than the murmurs of peevishness, or thedreams of dotage; and, notwithstanding all the documents of hoarywisdom, we commonly plunge into the world fearless and credulous,without any foresight of danger, or apprehension of deceit.

I have remarked, in a former paper, that credulity is the common failingof unexperienced virtue; and that he who is spontaneously suspicious,may be justly charged with radical corruption; for, if he has not knownthe prevalence of dishonesty by information, nor had time to observe itwith his own eyes, whence can he take his measures of judgment but fromhimself?

They who best deserve to escape the snares of artifice, are most likelyto be entangled. He that endeavours to live for the good of others, mustalways be exposed to the arts of them who live only for themselves,unless he is taught by timely precepts the caution required in commontransactions, and shewn at a distance the pitfalls of treachery.

To youth, therefore, it should be carefully inculcated, that, to enterthe road of life without caution or reserve, in expectation of generalfidelity and justice, is to launch on the wide ocean without theinstruments of steerage, and to hope that every wind will be prosperous,and that every coast will afford a harbour.

To enumerate the various motives to deceit and injury, would be to countall the desires that prevail among the sons of men; since there is noambition however petty, no wish however absurd, that by indulgence willnot be enabled to overpower the influence of virtue. Many there are, whoopenly and almost professedly regulate all their conduct by their loveof money; who have no other reason for action or forbearance, forcompliance or refusal, than that they hope to gain more by one than bythe other. These are indeed the meanest and cruellest of human beings, arace with whom, as with some pestiferous animals, the whole creationseems to be at war; but who, however detested or scorned, long continueto add heap to heap, and when they have reduced one to beggary, arestill permitted to fasten on another.

Others, yet less rationally wicked, pass their lives in mischief,because they cannot bear the sight of success, and mark out every manfor hatred, whose fame or fortune they believe increasing.

Many who have not advanced to these degrees of guilt are yet whollyunqualified for friendship, and unable to maintain any constant orregular course of kindness. Happiness may be destroyed not only by unionwith the man who is apparently the slave of interest, but with him whoma wild opinion of the dignity of perseverance, in whatever cause,disposes to pursue every injury with unwearied and perpetual resentment;with him whose vanity inclines him to consider every man as a rival inevery pretension; with him whose airy negligence puts his friend'saffairs or secrets in continual hazard, and who thinks his forgetfulnessof others excused by his inattention to himself; and with him whoseinconstancy ranges without any settled rule of choice through varietiesof friendship, and who adopts and dismisses favourites by the suddenimpulse of caprice.

Thus numerous are the dangers to which the converse of mankind exposesus, and which can be avoided only by prudent distrust. He thereforethat, remembering this salutary maxim, learns early to withhold hisfondness from fair appearances, will have reason to pay some honours toBias of Priene, who enabled him to become wise without the cost ofexperience.

No. 176. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1751

—Naso suspendis adunco. HOR. Lib. i. Sat. vi. 5.

On me you turn the nose.—

There are many vexatious accidents and uneasy situations which raiselittle compassion for the sufferer, and which no man but those whom theyimmediately distress can regard with seriousness. Petty mischiefs, thathave no influence on futurity, nor extend their effects to the rest oflife, are always seen with a kind of malicious pleasure. A mistake orembarrassment, which for the present moment fills the face with blushes,and the mind with confusion, will have no other effect upon those whoobserve it, than that of convulsing them with irresistible laughter.Some circ*mstances of misery are so powerfully ridiculous, that neitherkindness nor duty can withstand them; they bear down love, interest, andreverence, and force the friend, the dependent, or the child, to giveway to, instantaneous motions of merriment.

Among the principal of comick calamities, may be reckoned the pain whichan author, not yet hardened into insensibility, feels at the onset of afurious critick, whose age, rank, or fortune, gives him confidence tospeak without reserve; who heaps one objection upon another, andobtrudes his remarks, and enforces his corrections, without tendernessor awe.

The author, full of the importance of his work, and anxious for thejustification of every syllable, starts and kindles at the slightestattack; the critick, eager to establish his superiority, triumphing inevery discovery of failure, and zealous to impress the cogency of hisarguments, pursues him from line to line without cessation or remorse.The critick, who hazards little, proceeds with vehemence, impetuosity,and fearlessness; the author, whose quiet and fame, and life andimmortality, are involved in the controversy, tries every art ofsubterfuge and defence; maintains modestly what he resolves never toyield, and yields unwillingly what cannot be maintained. The critick'spurpose is to conquer, the author only hopes to escape; the criticktherefore knits his brow, and raises his voice, and rejoices whenever heperceives any tokens of pain excited by the pressure of his assertions,or the point of his sarcasms. The author, whose endeavour is at once tomollify and elude his persecutor, composes his features and softens hisaccent, breaks the force of assault by retreat, and rather steps asidethan flies or advances.

As it very seldom happens that the rage of extemporary criticisminflicts fatal or lasting wounds, I know not that the laws ofbenevolence entitle this distress to much sympathy. The diversion ofbaiting an author has the sanction of all ages and nations, and is morelawful than the sport of teasing other animals, because, for the mostpart, he comes voluntarily to the stake, furnished, as he imagines, bythe patron powers of literature, with resistless weapons, andimpenetrable armour, with the mail of the boar of Erymanth, and the pawsof the lion of Nemea.

But the works of genius are sometimes produced by other motives thanvanity; and he whom necessity or duty enforces to write, is not alwaysso well satisfied with himself, as not to be discouraged by censoriousimpudence. It may therefore be necessary to consider, how they whompublication lays open to the insults of such as their obscurity securesagainst reprisals, may extricate themselves from unexpected encounters.

Vida, a man of considerable skill in the politicks of literature,directs his pupil wholly to abandon his defence, and even when he canirrefragably refute all objections, to suffer tamely the exultations ofhis antagonist.

This rule may perhaps be just, when advice is asked, and severitysolicited, because no man tells his opinion so freely as when heimagines it received with implicit veneration; and criticks ought neverto be consulted, but while errours may yet be rectified or insipiditysuppressed. But when the book has once been dismissed into the world,and can be no more retouched, I know not whether a very differentconduct should not be prescribed, and whether firmness and spirit maynot sometimes be of use to overpower arrogance and repel brutality.Softness, diffidence, and moderation, will often be mistaken forimbecility and dejection; they hire cowardice to the attack by the hopesof easy victory, and it will soon be found that he whom every man thinkshe can conquer, shall never be at peace.

The animadversions of criticks are commonly such as may easily provokethe sedatest writer to some quickness of resentment and asperity ofreply. A man, who by long consideration has familiarized a subject tohis own mind, carefully surveyed the series of his thoughts, and plannedall the parts of his composition into a regular dependance on eachother, will often start at the sinistrous interpretations or absurdremarks of haste and ignorance, and wonder by what infatuation they havebeen led away from the obvious sense, and upon what peculiar principlesof judgment they decide against him.

The eye of the intellect, like that of the body, is not equally perfectin all, nor equally adapted in any to all objects; the end of criticismis to supply its defects; rules are the instruments of mental vision,which may indeed assist our faculties when properly used, but produceconfusion and obscurity by unskilful application.

Some seem always to read with the microscope of criticism, and employtheir whole attention upon minute elegance, or faults scarcely visibleto common observation. The dissonance of a syllable, the recurrence ofthe same sound, the repetition of a particle, the smallest deviationfrom propriety, the slightest defect in construction or arrangement,swell before their eyes into enormities. As they discern with greatexactness, they comprehend but a narrow compass, and know nothing of thejustness of the design, the general spirit of the performance, theartifice of connection, or the harmony of the parts; they never,conceive how small a proportion that which they are busy incontemplating bears to the whole, or how the petty inaccuracies, withwhich they are offended, are absorbed and lost in general excellence.

Others are furnished by criticism with a telescope. They see with greatclearness whatever is too remote to be discovered by the rest ofmankind, but are totally blind to all that lies immediately before them.They discover in every passage some secret meaning, some remoteallusion, some artful allegory, or some occult imitation, which no otherreader ever suspected; but they have no perception of the cogency ofarguments, the force of pathetick sentiments, the various colours ofdiction, or the flowery embellishments of fancy; of all that engages theattention of others they are totally insensible, while they pry intoworlds of conjecture, and amuse themselves with phantoms in the clouds.

In criticism, as in every other art, we fail sometimes by our weakness,but more frequently by our fault. We are sometimes bewildered byignorance, and sometimes by prejudice, but we seldom deviate far fromthe right, but when we deliver ourselves up to the direction of vanity.

No. 177. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1751.

Turpe est difficiles habere nugas. MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxvi. 9.

Those things which now seem frivolous and slight,
Will be of serious consequence to you,
When they have made you once ridiculous. ROSCOMMON.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

When I was, at the usual time, about to enter upon the profession towhich my friends had destined me, being summoned, by the death of myfather, into the country, I found myself master of an unexpected sum ofmoney, and of an estate, which, though not large, was, in my opinion,sufficient to support me in a condition far preferable to the fatigue,dependance, and uncertainty of any gainful occupation. I thereforeresolved to devote the rest of my life wholly to curiosity, and withoutany confinement of my excursions, or termination of my views, to wanderover the boundless regions of general knowledge.

This scheme of life seemed pregnant with inexhaustible variety, andtherefore I could not forbear to congratulate myself upon the wisdom ofmy choice. I furnished a large room with all conveniences for study;collected books of every kind; quitted every science at the firstperception of disgust; returned to it again as soon as my former ardourhappened to revive; and having no rival to depress me by comparison, norany critick to alarm me with objections, I spent day after day inprofound tranquillity, with only so much complaisance in my ownimprovements, as served to excite and animate my application.

Thus I lived for some years with complete acquiescence in my own plan ofconduct, rising early to read, and dividing the latter part of the daybetween economy, exercise, and reflection. But, in time, I began to findmy mind contracted and stiffened by solitude. My ease and elegance weresensibly impaired; I was no longer able to accommodate myself withreadiness to the accidental current of conversation; my notions grewparticular and paradoxical, and my phraseology formal and unfashionable;I spoke, on common occasions, the language of books. My quickness ofapprehension, and celerity of reply, had entirely deserted me; when Idelivered my opinion, or detailed my knowledge, I was bewildered by anunseasonable interrogatory, disconcerted by any slight opposition, andoverwhelmed and lost in dejection, when the smallest advantage wasgained against me in dispute. I became decisive and dogmatical,impatient of contradiction, perpetually jealous of my character,insolent to such as acknowledged my superiority, and sullen andmalignant to all who refused to receive my dictates.

This I soon discovered to be one of those intellectual diseases which awise man should make haste to cure. I therefore resolved for a time toshut my books, and learn again the art of conversation; to defecate andclear my mind by brisker motions, and stronger impulses; and to unitemyself once more to the living generation.

For this purpose I hasted to London, and entreated one of my academicalacquaintances to introduce me into some of the little societies ofliterature which are formed in taverns and coffee-houses. He was pleasedwith an opportunity of shewing me to his friends, and soon obtained meadmission among a select company of curious men, who met once a week toexhilarate their studies, and compare their acquisitions.

The eldest and most venerable of this society was Hirsutus, who, afterthe first civilities of my reception, found means to introduce themention of his favourite studies, by a severe censure of those who wantthe due regard for their native country. He informed me, that he hadearly withdrawn his attention from foreign trifles, and that since hebegan to addict his mind to serious and manly studies, he had verycarefully amassed all the English books that were printed in the blackcharacter. This search he had pursued so diligently, that he was able toshew the deficiencies of the best catalogues. He had long sincecompleted his Caxton, had three sheets of Treveris unknown to theantiquaries, and wanted to a perfect Pynson but two volumes, of whichone was promised him as a legacy by its present possessor, and the otherhe was resolved to buy, at whatever price, when Quisquilius's libraryshould be sold. Hirsutus had no other reason for the valuing orslighting a book, than that it was printed in the Roman or the Gothicletter, nor any ideas but such as his favourite volumes had supplied;when he was serious he expatiated on the narratives "of Johan deTrevisa," and when he was merry, regaled us with a quotation from the"Shippe of Foles."

While I was listening to this hoary student, Ferratus entered in ahurry, and informed us with the abruptness of ecstacy, that his set ofhalfpence was now complete; he had just received in a handful of change,the piece that he had so long been seeking, and could now defy mankindto outgo his collection of English copper.

Chartophylax then observed how fatally human sagacity was sometimesbaffled, and how often the most valuable discoveries are made by chance.He had employed himself and his emissaries seven years at great expenseto perfect his series of Gazettes, but had long wanted a single paper,which, when he despaired of obtaining it, was sent him wrapped round aparcel of tobacco.

Cantilenus turned all his thoughts upon old ballads, for he consideredthem as the genuine records of the national taste. He offered to shew mea copy of "The Children in the Wood," which he firmly believed to be ofthe first edition, and, by the help of which, the text might be freedfrom several corruptions, if this age of barbarity had any claim to suchfavours from him.

Many were admitted into this society as inferior members, because theyhad collected old prints and neglected pamphlets, or possessed somefragment of antiquity, as the seal of an ancient corporation, thecharter of a religious house, the genealogy of a family extinct, or aletter written in the reign of Elizabeth.

Every one of these virtuosos looked on all his associates as wretches ofdepraved taste and narrow notions. Their conversation was, therefore,fretful and waspish, their behaviour brutal, their merriment bluntlysarcastick, and their seriousness gloomy and suspicious. They weretotally ignorant of all that passes, or has lately passed, in the world;unable to discuss any question of religious, political, or militaryknowledge; equally strangers to science and politer learning, andwithout any wish to improve their minds, or any other pleasure than thatof displaying rarities, of which they would not suffer others to makethe proper use.

Hirsutus graciously informed me, that the number of their society waslimited, but that I might sometimes attend as an auditor. I was pleasedto find myself in no danger of an honour, which I could not havewillingly accepted, nor gracefully refused, and left them without anyintention of returning; for I soon found that the suppression of thosehabits with which I was vitiated, required association with men verydifferent from this solemn race.

I am, Sir, &c.

VIVACULUS.

It is natural to feel grief or indignation when any thing necessary oruseful is wantonly wasted, or negligently destroyed; and therefore mycorrespondent cannot be blamed for looking with uneasiness on the wasteof life. Leisure and curiosity might soon make great advances in usefulknowledge, were they not diverted by minute emulation and laborioustrifles. It may, however, somewhat mollify his anger to reflect, thatperhaps none of the assembly which he describes, was capable of anynobler employment, and that he who does his best, however little, isalways to be distinguished from him who does nothing. Whatever busiesthe mind without corrupting it, has at least this use, that it rescuesthe day from idleness, and he that is never idle will not often bevicious.

No. 178. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1751.

Purs sanitatis velle sanuria fuit. SENECA.

To yield to remedies is half the cure.

Pythagoras is reported to have required from those whom he instructed inphilosophy a probationary silence of five years. Whether thisprohibition of speech extended to all the parts of this time, as seemsgenerally to be supposed, or was to be observed only in the school or inthe presence of their master, as is more probable, it was sufficient todiscover the pupil's disposition; to try whether he was willing to paythe price of learning, or whether he was one of those whose ardour wasrather violent than lasting, and who expected to grow wise on otherterms than those of patience and obedience.

Many of the blessings universally desired, are very frequently wanted,because most men, when they should labour, content themselves tocomplain, and rather linger in a state in which they cannot be at rest,than improve their condition by vigour and resolution.

Providence has fixed the limits of human enjoyment by immoveableboundaries, and has set different gratifications at such a distance fromeach other, that no art or power can bring them together. This great lawit is the business of every rational being to understand, that life maynot pass away in an attempt to make contradictions consistent, tocombine opposite qualities, and to unite things which the nature oftheir being must always keep asunder.

Of two objects tempting at a distance on contrary sides, it isimpossible to approach one but by receding from the other; by longdeliberation and dilatory projects, they may be both lost, but can neverbe both gained. It is, therefore, necessary to compare them, and, whenwe have determined the preference, to withdraw our eyes and our thoughtsat once from that which reason directs us to reject. This is morenecessary, if that which we are forsaking has the power of delightingthe senses, or firing the fancy. He that once turns aside to theallurements of unlawful pleasure, can have no security that he shallever regain the paths of virtue.

The philosophick goddess of Boethius, having related the story ofOrpheus, who, when he had recovered his wife from the dominions ofdeath, lost her again by looking back upon her in the confines of light,concludes with a very elegant and forcible application. "Whoever you arethat endeavour to elevate your minds to the illuminations of Heaven,consider yourselves as represented in this fable; for he that is once sofar overcome as to turn back his eyes towards the infernal caverns,loses at the first sight all that influence which attracted him onhigh:"

Vos haec fabula respicit,
Quicunque in superum diem
Mentem ducere quaeritis.
Nam qui Tartareum in specus
Victus lumina flexerit,
Quidquid praecipuum trahit,
Perdit, dum videt inferos.

It may be observed, in general, that the future is purchased by thepresent. It is not possible to secure instant or permanent happiness butby the forbearance of some immediate gratification. This is so evidentlytrue with regard to the whole of our existence, that all the precepts oftheology have no other tendency than to enforce a life of faith; a liferegulated not by our senses but our belief; a life in which pleasuresare to be refused for fear of invisible punishments, and calamitiessometimes to be sought, and always endured, in hope of rewards thatshall be obtained in another state.

Even if we take into our view only that particle of our duration whichis terminated by the grave, it will be found that we cannot enjoy onepart of life beyond the common limitations of pleasure, but byanticipating some of the satisfaction which should exhilarate thefollowing years. The heat of youth may spread happiness into wildluxuriance, but the radical vigour requisite to make it perennial isexhausted, and all that can be hoped afterwards is languor andsterility.

The reigning errour of mankind is, that we are not content with theconditions on which the goods of life are granted. No man is insensibleof the value of knowledge, the advantages of health, or the convenienceof plenty, but every day shews us those on whom the conviction iswithout effect.

Knowledge is praised and desired by multitudes whom her charms couldnever rouse from the couch of sloth; whom the faintest invitation ofpleasure draws away from their studies; to whom any other method ofwearing out the day is more eligible than the use of books, and who aremore easily engaged by any conversation, than such as may rectify theirnotions or enlarge their comprehension.

Every man that has felt pain, knows how little all other comforts cangladden him to whom health is denied. Yet who is there does notsometimes hazard it for the enjoyment of an hour? All assemblies ofjollity, all places of public entertainment, exhibit examples ofstrength wasting in riot, and beauty withering in irregularity; nor isit easy to enter a house in which part of the family is not groaning inrepentance of past intemperance, and part admitting disease bynegligence, or soliciting it by luxury.

There is no pleasure which men of every age and sect have more generallyagreed to mention with contempt, than the gratifications of the palate;an entertainment so far removed from intellectual happiness, thatscarcely the most shameless of the sensual herd have dared to defend it:yet even to this, the lowest of our delights, to this, though neitherquick nor lasting, is health with all its activity and sprightlinessdaily sacrificed; and for this are half the miseries endured which urgeimpatience to call on death.

The whole world is put in motion by the wish for riches and the dread ofpoverty. Who, then, would not imagine that such conduct as willinevitably destroy what all are thus labouring to acquire, mustgenerally be avoided? That he who spends more than he receives, must intime become indigent, cannot be doubted; but, how evident soever thisconsequence may appear, the spendthrift moves in the whirl of pleasurewith too much rapidity to keep it before his eyes, and, in theintoxication of gaiety, grows every day poorer without any such sense ofapproaching ruin as is sufficient to wake him into caution.

Many complaints are made of the misery of life; and indeed it must beconfessed that we are subject to calamities by which the good and bad,the diligent and slothful, the vigilant and heedless, are equallyafflicted. But surely, though some indulgence may be allowed to groansextorted by inevitable misery, no man has a right to repine at evilswhich, against warning, against experience, he deliberately andleisurely brings upon his own head; or to consider himself as debarredfrom happiness by such obstacles as resolution may break or dexteritymay put aside.

Great numbers who quarrel with their condition, have wanted not thepower but the will to obtain a better state. They have nevercontemplated the difference between good and evil sufficiently toquicken aversion, or invigorate desire; they have indulged a drowsythoughtlessness or giddy levity; have committed the balance of choice tothe management of caprice; and when they have long accustomed themselvesto receive all that chance offered them, without examination, lament atlast that they find themselves deceived.

No. 179. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1751.

Perpetuo risu pulmonem agitare solebat. JUV. Sat. x. 33.

Democritus would feed his spleen, and shake
His sides and shoulders till he felt them ake. DRYDEN

Every man, says Tully, has two characters; one which he partakes withall mankind, and by which he is distinguished from brute animals;another which discriminates him from the rest of his own species, andimpresses on him a manner and temper peculiar to himself; thisparticular character, if it be not repugnant to the laws of generalhumanity, it is always his business to cultivate and preserve.

Every hour furnishes some confirmation of Tully's precept. It seldomhappens, that an assembly of pleasure is so happily selected, but thatsome one finds admission, with whom the rest are deservedly offended;and it will appear, on a close inspection, that scarce any man becomeseminently disagreeable, but by a departure from his real character, andan attempt at something for which nature or education have left himunqualified.

Ignorance or dulness have indeed no power of affording delight, but theynever give disgust except when they assume the dignity of knowledge, orape the sprightliness of wit. Awkwardness and inelegance have none ofthose attractions by which ease and politeness take possession of theheart; but ridicule and censure seldom rise against them, unless theyappear associated with that confidence which belongs only to longacquaintance with the modes of life, and to consciousness of unfailingpropriety of behaviour. Deformity itself is regarded with tendernessrather than aversion, when it does not attempt to deceive the sight bydress and decoration, and to seize upon fictitious claims theprerogatives of beauty.

He that stands to contemplate the crowds that fill the streets of apopulous city, will see many passengers whose air and motion it will bedifficult to behold without contempt and laughter; but if he examineswhat are the appearances that thus powerfully excite his risibility, hewill find among them neither poverty nor disease, nor any involuntary orpainful defect. The disposition to derision and insult is awakened bythe softness of foppery, the swell of insolence, the liveliness oflevity, or the solemnity of grandeur; by the sprightly trip, the statelystalk, the formal strut, the lofty mien; by gestures intended to catchthe eye, and by looks elaborately formed as evidences of importance.

It, has, I think, been sometimes urged in favour of affectation, that itis only a mistake of the means to a good end, and that the intentionwith which it is practised is always to please. If all attempts toinnovate the constitutional or habitual character have really proceededfrom publick spirit and love of others, the world has hitherto beensufficiently ungrateful, since no return but scorn has yet been made tothe most difficult of all enterprises, a contest with nature; nor hasany pity been shown to the fatigues of labour which never succeeded, andthe uneasiness of disguise by which nothing was concealed.

It seems therefore to be determined by the general suffrage of mankind,that he who decks himself in adscititious qualities rather purposes tocommand applause than impart pleasure: and he is therefore treated as aman who, by an unreasonable ambition, usurps the place in society towhich he has no right. Praise is seldom paid with willingness even toincontestable merit, and it can be no wonder that he who calls for itwithout desert is repulsed with universal indignation.

Affectation naturally counterfeits those excellencies which are placedat the greatest distance from possibility of attainment. We areconscious of our own defects, and eagerly endeavour to supply them byartificial excellence; nor would such efforts be wholly without excuse,were they not often excited by ornamental trifles, which he, that thusanxiously struggles for the reputation of possessing them, would nothave been known to want, had not his industry quickened observation.

Gelasimus passed the first part of his life in academical privacy andrural retirement, without any other conversation than that of scholars,grave, studious, and abstracted as himself. He cultivated themathematical sciences with indefatigable diligence, discovered manyuseful theorems, discussed with great accuracy the resistance of fluids,and, though his priority was not generally acknowledged, was the firstwho fully explained all the properties of the catenarian curve.

Learning, when if rises to eminence, will be observed in time, whatevermists may happen to surround it. Gelasimus, in his forty-ninth year, wasdistinguished by those who have the rewards of knowledge in their hands,and called out to display his acquisitions for the honour of hiscountry, and add dignity by his presence to philosophical assemblies. Ashe did not suspect his unfitness for common affairs, he fell noreluctance to obey the invitation, and what he did not feel he had yettoo much honesty to feign. He entered into the world as a larger andmore populous college, where his performances would be more publick, andhis renown farther extended; and imagined that he should find hisreputation universally prevalent, and the influence of learning everywhere the same.

His merit introduced him to splendid tables and elegant acquaintance;but he did not find himself always qualified to join in theconversation. He was distressed by civilities, which he knew not how torepay, and entangled in many ceremonial perplexities, from which hisbooks and diagrams could not extricate him. He was sometimes unluckilyengaged in disputes with ladies, with whom algebraick axioms had nogreat weight, and saw many whose favour and esteem he could not butdesire, to whom he was very little recommended by his theories of thetides, or his approximations to the quadrature of the circle.

Gelasimus did not want penetration to discover, that no charm was moregenerally irresistible than that of easy facetiousness and flowinghilarity. He saw that diversion was more frequently welcome thanimprovement; that authority and seriousness were rather feared thanloved; and that the grave scholar was a kind of imperious ally, hastilydismissed when his assistance was no longer necessary. He came to asudden resolution of throwing off those cumbrous ornaments of learningwhich hindered his reception, and commenced a man of wit and jocularity.Utterly unacquainted with every topick of merriment, ignorant of themodes and follies, the vices and virtues of mankind, and unfurnishedwith any ideas but such as Pappas and Archimedes had given him, he beganto silence all inquiries with a jest instead of a solution, extended hisface with a grin, which he mistook for a smile, and in the place ofscientifick discourse, retailed in a new language, formed between thecollege and the tavern, the intelligence of the newspaper.

Laughter, he knew, was a token of alacrity; and, therefore, whatever hesaid or heard, he was careful not to fail in that great duty of a wit.If he asked or told the hour of the day, if he complained of heat orcold, stirred the fire, or filled a glass, removed his chair, or snuffeda candle, he always found some occasion to laugh. The jest was indeed asecret to all but himself; but habitual confidence in his owndiscernment hindered him from suspecting any weakness or mistake. Hewondered that his wit was so little understood, but expected that hisaudience would comprehend it by degrees, and persisted all his life toshew by gross buffoonery, how little the strongest faculties can performbeyond the limits of their own province.

No. 180. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1751.

[Greek: Taut eidos sophos isthi, mataen d' Epikouron eason
Poy to kenon zaetein, kai tines ai monades.] AUTOMEDON.

On life, on morals, be thy thoughts employ'd;
Leave to the schools their atoms and their void.

It is somewhere related by Le Clerc, that a wealthy trader of goodunderstanding, having the common ambition to breed his son a scholar,carried him to an university, resolving to use his own judgment in thechoice of a tutor. He had been taught, by whatever intelligence, thenearest way to the heart of an academick, and at his arrival entertainedall who came about him with such profusion, that the professors werelured by the smell of his table from their books, and flocked round himwith all the cringes of awkward complaisance. This eagerness answeredthe merchant's purpose: he glutted them with delicacies, and softenedthem with caresses, till he prevailed upon one after another to open hisbosom, and make a discovery of his competitions, jealousies, andresentments. Having thus learned each man's character, partly fromhimself, and partly from his acquaintances, he resolved to find someother education for his son, and went away convinced, that a scholasticklife has no other tendency than to vitiate the morals and contract theunderstanding: nor would he afterwards hear with patience the praises ofthe ancient authors, being persuaded that scholars of all ages must havebeen the same, and that Xenophon and Cicero were professors of someformer university, and therefore mean and selfish, ignorant and servile,like those whom he had lately visited and forsaken.

Envy, curiosity, and a sense of the imperfection of our present state,incline us to estimate the advantages which are in the possession ofothers above their real value. Every one must have remarked, what powersand prerogatives the vulgar imagine to be conferred by learning. A manof science is expected to excel the unlettered and unenlightened even onoccasions where literature is of no use, and among weak minds, losespart of his reverence, by discovering no superiority in those parts oflife, in which all are unavoidably equal; as when a monarch makes aprogress to the remoter provinces, the rustics are said sometimes towonder that they find him of the same size with themselves.

These demands of prejudice and folly can never be satisfied; andtherefore many of the imputations which learning suffers fromdisappointed ignorance, are without reproach. But there are somefailures, to which men of study are peculiarly exposed. Every conditionhas its disadvantages. The circle of knowledge is too wide for the mostactive and diligent intellect, and while science is pursued, otheraccomplishments are neglected; as a small garrison must leave one partof an extensive fortress naked, when an alarm calls them to another.

The learned, however, might generally support their dignity with moresuccess, if they suffered not themselves to be misled by the desire ofsuperfluous attainments. Raphael, in return to Adam's inquiries into thecourses of the stars, and the revolutions of heaven, counsels him towithdraw his mind from idle speculations, and employ his faculties uponnearer and more interesting objects, the survey of his own life, thesubjection of his passions, the knowledge of duties which must daily beperformed, and the detection of dangers which must daily be incurred.

This angelick counsel every man of letters should always have beforehim. He that devotes himself to retired study naturally sinks fromomission to forgetfulness of social duties; he must be thereforesometimes awakened and recalled to the general condition of mankind.

I am far from any intention to limit curiosity, or confine the laboursof learning to arts of immediate and necessary use. It is only from thevarious essays of experimental industry, and the vague excursions ofminds sent out upon discovery, that any advancement of knowledge can beexpected; and, though many must be disappointed in their labours, yetthey are not to be charged with having spent their time in vain; theirexample contributed to inspire emulation, and their miscarriages taughtothers the way to success.

But the distant hope of being one day useful or eminent, ought not tomislead us too far from that study which is equally requisite to thegreat and mean, to the celebrated and obscure; the art of moderating thedesires, of repressing the appetites, and of conciliating or retainingthe favour of mankind.

No man can imagine the course of his own life, or the conduct of theworld around him, unworthy his attention; yet, among the sons oflearning, many seem to have thought of every thing rather than ofthemselves, and to have observed every thing but what passes beforetheir eyes: many who toil through the intricacy of complicated systems,are insuperably embarrassed with the least perplexity in common affairs;many who compare the actions, and ascertain the characters of ancientheroes, let their own days glide away without examination, and suffervicious habits to encroach upon their minds without resistance ordetection.

The most frequent reproach of the scholastick race is the want offortitude, not martial but philosophick. Men bred in shades and silence,taught to immure themselves at sunset, and accustomed to no other weaponthan syllogism, may be allowed to feel terrour at personal danger, andto be disconcerted by tumult and alarm. But why should he whose life isspent in contemplation, and whose business is only to discover truth, beunable to rectify the fallacies of imagination, or contend successfullyagainst prejudice and passion? To what end has he read and meditated, ifhe gives up his understanding to false appearances, and suffers himselfto be enslaved by fear of evils to which only folly or vanity can exposehim, or elated by advantages to which, as they are equally conferredupon the good and bad, no real dignity is annexed.

Such, however, is the state of the world, that the most obsequious ofthe slaves of pride, the most rapturous of the gazers upon wealth, themost officious of the whisperers of greatness, are collected fromseminaries appropriated to the study of wisdom and of virtue, where itwas intended that appetite should learn to be content with little, andthat hope should aspire only to honours which no human power can give ortake away[j].

The student, when he comes forth into the world, instead ofcongratulating himself upon his exemption from the errours of thosewhose opinions have been formed by accident or custom, and who livewithout any certain principles of conduct, is commonly in haste tomingle with the multitude, and shew his sprightliness and ductility byan expeditious compliance with fashions or vices. The first smile of aman, whose fortune gives him power to reward his dependants, commonlyenchants him beyond resistance; the glare of equipage, the sweets ofluxury, the liberality of general promises, the softness of habitualaffability, fill his imagination; and he soon ceases to have any otherwish than to be well received, or any measure of right and wrong but theopinion of his patron.

A man flattered and obeyed, learns to exact grosser adulation, andenjoin lower submission. Neither our virtues nor vices are all our own.If there were no cowardice, there would be little insolence; pridecannot rise to any great degree, but by the concurrence of blandishmentor the sufferance of tameness. The wretch who would shrink and crouchbefore one that should dart his eyes upon him with the spirit of naturalequality, becomes capricious and tyrannical when he sees himselfapproached with a downcast look, and hears the soft address of awe andservility. To those who are willing to purchase favour by cringes andcompliance, is to be imputed the haughtiness that leaves nothing to behoped by firmness and integrity.

If, instead of wandering after the meteors of philosophy, which fill theworld with splendour for a while, and then sink and are forgotten, thecandidates of learning fixed their eyes upon the permanent lustre ofmoral and religious truth, they would find a more certain direction tohappiness. A little plausibility of discourse, and acquaintance withunnecessary speculations, is dearly purchased, when it excludes thoseinstructions which fortify the heart with resolution, and exalt thespirit to independence.

[Footnote j: "Such are a sort of sacrilegious ministers in the temple ofintellect. They profane its shew-bread to pamper the palate, itseverlasting lamp they use to light unholy fires within their breast, andshow them the way to the sensual chambers of sense and worldliness."IRVING.]

No. 181. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1751.

—Neu fluitem dubue spe pendulus horae. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. xviii. 110.

Nor let me float in fortune's pow'r,
Dependent on the future hour. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

As I have passed much of my life in disquiet and suspense, and lost manyopportunities of advantage by a passion which I have reason to believeprevalent in different degrees over a great part of mankind, I cannotbut think myself well qualified to warn those who are yet uncaptivated,of the danger which they incur by placing themselves within itsinfluence.

I served an apprenticeship to a linen-draper, with uncommon reputationfor diligence and fidelity; and at the age of three-and-twenty opened ashop for myself with a large stock, and such credit among all themerchants, who were acquainted with my master, that I could commandwhatever was imported curious or valuable. For five years I proceededwith success proportionate to close application and untainted integrity;was a daring bidder at every sale; always paid my notes before they weredue; and advanced so fast in commercial reputation, that I wasproverbially marked out as the model of young traders, and every oneexpected that a few years would make me an alderman.

In this course of even prosperity, I was one day persuaded to buy aticket in the lottery. The sum was inconsiderable, part was to be repaidthough fortune might fail to favour me, and therefore my establishedmaxims of frugality did not restrain me from so trifling an experiment.The ticket lay almost forgotten till the time at which every man's fatewas to be determined; nor did the affair even then seem of anyimportance, till I discovered by the publick papers that the number nextto mine had conferred the great prize.

My heart leaped at the thought of such an approach to sudden riches,which I considered myself, however contrarily to the laws ofcomputation, as having missed by a single chance; and I could notforbear to revolve the consequences which such a bounteous allotmentwould have produced, if it had happened to me. This dream of felicity,by degrees, took possession of my imagination. The great delight of mysolitary hours was to purchase an estate, and form plantations withmoney which once might have been mine, and I never met my friends but Ispoiled all their merriment by perpetual complaints of my ill luck.

At length another lottery was opened, and I had now so heated myimagination with the prospect of a prize, that I should have pressedamong the first purchasers, had not my ardour been withheld bydeliberation upon the probability of success from one ticket rather thananother. I hesitated long between even and odd; considered the squareand cubick numbers through the lottery; examined all those to which goodluck had been hitherto annexed; and at last fixed upon one, which, bysome secret relation to the events of my life, I thought predestined tomake me happy. Delay in great affairs is often mischievous; the ticketwas sold, and its possessor could not be found.

I returned to my conjectures, and after many arts of prognostication,fixed upon another chance, but with less confidence. Never did captive,heir, or lover, feel so much vexation from the slow pace of time, as Isuffered between the purchase of my ticket and the distribution of theprizes. I solaced my uneasiness as well as I could, by frequentcontemplation of approaching happiness; when the sun rose I knew itwould set, and congratulated myself at night that I was so much nearerto my wishes. At last the day came, my ticket appeared, and rewarded allmy care and sagacity with a despicable prize of fifty pounds.

My friends, who honestly rejoiced upon my success, were very coldlyreceived; I hid myself a fortnight in the country, that my chagrin mightfume away without observation, and then returning to my shop, began tolisten after another lottery.

With the news of a lottery I was soon gratified, and having now foundthe vanity of conjecture, and inefficacy of computation, I resolved totake the prize by violence, and therefore bought forty tickets, notomitting, however, to divide them between the even and odd numbers, thatI might not miss the lucky class. Many conclusions did I form, and manyexperiments did I try, to determine from which of those tickets I mightmost reasonably expect riches. At last, being unable to satisfy myselfby any modes of reasoning, I wrote the numbers upon dice, and allottedfive hours every day to the amusem*nt of throwing them in a garret; and,examining the event by an exact register, found, on the evening beforethe lottery was drawn, that one of my numbers had been turned up fivetimes more than any of the rest in three hundred and thirty thousandthrows.

This experiment was fallacious; the first day presented the hopefulticket, a detestable blank. The rest came out with different fortune,and in conclusion I lost thirty pounds by this great adventure.

I had now wholly changed the cast of my behaviour and the conduct of mylife. The shop was for the most part abandoned to my servants, and if Ientered it, my thoughts were so engrossed by my tickets, that I scarcelyheard or answered a question, but considered every customer as anintruder upon my meditations, whom I was in haste to despatch. I mistookthe price of my goods, committed blunders in my bills, forgot to file myreceipts, and neglected to regulate my books. My acquaintances bydegrees began to fall away; but I perceived the decline of my businesswith little emotion, because whatever deficience there might be in mygains, I expected the next lottery to supply.

Miscarriage naturally produces diffidence; I began now to seekassistance against ill luck, by an alliance with those that had beenmore successful. I inquired diligently at what office any prize had beensold, that I might purchase of a propitious vender; solicited those whohad been fortunate in former lotteries, to partake with me in my newtickets; and whenever I met with one that had in any event of his lifebeen eminently prosperous, I invited him to take a larger share. I had,by this rule of conduct, so diffused my interest, that I had a fourthpart of fifteen tickets, an eighth of forty, and a sixteenth of ninety.

I waited for the decision of my fate with my former palpitations, andlooked upon the business of my trade with the usual neglect. The wheelat last was turned, and its revolutions brought me a long succession ofsorrows and disappointments. I indeed often partook of a small prize,and the loss of one day was generally balanced by the gain of the next;but my desires yet remained unsatisfied, and when one of my chances hadfailed, all my expectation was suspended on those which remained yetundetermined. At last a prize of five thousand pounds was proclaimed; Icaught fire at the cry, and inquiring the number, found it to be one ofmy own tickets, which I had divided among those on whose luck Idepended, and of which I had retained only a sixteenth part.

You will easily judge with what detestation of himself, a man thusintent upon gain reflected that he had sold a prize which was once inhis possession. It was to no purpose, that I represented to my mind theimpossibility of recalling the past, or the folly of condemning an act,which only its event, an event which no human intelligence couldforesee, proved to be wrong. The prize which, though put in my hands,had been suffered to slip from me, filled me with anguish, and knowingthat complaint would only expose me to ridicule, I gave myself upsilently to grief, and lost by degrees my appetite and my rest.

My indisposition soon became visible; I was visited by my friends, andamong them by Eumathes, a clergyman, whose piety and learning gave himsuch an ascendant over me, that I could not refuse to open my heart.There are, said he, few minds sufficiently firm to be trusted in thehands of chance. Whoever finds himself inclined to anticipate futurity,and exalt possibility to certainty, should avoid every kind of casualadventure, since his grief must be always proportionate to his hope. Youhave long wasted that time, which, by a proper application, would havecertainly, though moderately, increased your fortune, in a laborious andanxious pursuit of a species of gain, which no labour or anxiety, no artor expedient, can secure or promote. You are now fretting away your lifein repentance of an act, against which repentance can give no caution,but to avoid the occasion of committing it. Rouse from this lazy dreamof fortuitous riches, which, if obtained, you could scarcely haveenjoyed, because they could confer no consciousness of desert; return torational and manly industry, and consider the mere gift of luck as belowthe care of a wise man.

No. 182. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1751.

—Dives qui fieri vult, Et cilo vult fieri.— JUV. Sat. xiv. 176

The lust of wealth can never bear delay.

It has been observed in a late paper, that we are unreasonably desirousto separate the goods of life from those evils which Providence hasconnected with them, and to catch advantages without paying the price atwhich they are offered us. Every man wishes to be rich, but very fewhave the powers necessary to raise a sudden fortune, either by newdiscoveries, or by superiority of skill, in any necessary employment;and among lower understandings, many want the firmness and industryrequisite to regular gain and gradual acquisitions.

From the hope of enjoying affluence by methods more compendious thanthose of labour, and more generally practicable than those of genius,proceeds the common inclination to experiment and hazard, and thatwillingness to snatch all opportunities of growing rich by chance,which, when it has once taken possession of the mind, is seldom drivenout either by time or argument, but continues to waste life in perpetualdelusion, and generally ends in wretchedness and want.

The folly of untimely exultation and visionary prosperity, is by nomeans peculiar to the purchasers of tickets; there are multitudes whoselife is nothing but a continual lottery; who are always within a fewmonths of plenty and happiness, and how often soever they are mockedwith blanks, expect a prize from the next adventure.

Among the most resolute and ardent of the votaries of chance, may benumbered the mortals whose hope is to raise themselves by a wealthymatch; who lay out all their industry on the assiduities of courtship,and sleep and wake with no other ideas than of treats, compliments,guardians and rivals.

One of the most indefatigable of this class, is my old friend Leviculus,whom I have never known for thirty years without some matrimonialproject of advantage. Leviculus was bred under a merchant, and by thegraces of his person, the sprightliness of his prattle, and the neatnessof his dress, so much enamoured his master's second daughter, a girl ofsixteen, that she declared her resolution to have no other husband. Herfather, after having chidden her for undutifulness, consented to thematch, not much to the satisfaction of Leviculus, who was sufficientlyelated with his conquest to think himself entitled to a larger fortune.He was, however, soon rid of his perplexity, for his mistress diedbefore their marriage.

He was now so well satisfied with his own accomplishments, that hedetermined to commence fortune-hunter; and when his apprenticeshipexpired, instead of beginning, as was expected, to walk the Exchangewith a face of importance, or associating himself with those who weremost eminent for their knowledge of the stocks, he at once threw off thesolemnity of the counting-house, equipped himself with a modish wig,listened to wits in coffee-houses, passed his evenings behind the scenesin the theatres, learned the names of beauties of quality, hummed thelast stanzas of fashionable songs, talked with familiarity of high play,boasted of his achievements upon drawers and coachmen, was often broughtto his lodgings at midnight in a chair, told with negligence andjocularity of bilking a tailor, and now and then let fly a shrewd jestat a sober citizen.

Thus furnished with irresistible artillery, he turned his batteries uponthe female world, and, in the first warmth of self-approbation, proposedno less than the possession of riches and beauty united. He thereforepaid his civilities to Flavilla, the only daughter of a wealthyshop-keeper, who not being accustomed to amorous blandishments, orrespectful addresses, was delighted with the novelty of love, and easilysuffered him to conduct her to the play, and to meet her where shevisited. Leviculus did not doubt but her father, however offended by aclandestine marriage, would soon be reconciled by the tears of hisdaughter, and the merit of his son-in-law, and was in haste to concludethe affair. But the lady liked better to be courted than married, andkept him three years in uncertainty and attendance. At last she fell inlove with a young ensign at a ball, and having danced with him allnight, married him in the morning.

Leviculus, to avoid the ridicule of his companions, took a journey to asmall estate in the country, where, after his usual inquiries concerningthe nymphs in the neighbourhood, he found it proper to fall in love withAltilia, a maiden lady, twenty years older than himself, for whosefavour fifteen nephews and nieces were in perpetual contention. Theyhovered round her with such jealous officiousness, as scarcely left amoment vacant for a lover. Leviculus, nevertheless, discovered hispassion in a letter, and Altilia could not withstand the pleasure ofhearing vows and sighs, and flatteries and protestations. She admittedhis visits, enjoyed for five years the happiness of keeping all herexpectants in perpetual alarms, and amused herself with the variousstratagems which were practised to disengage her affections. Sometimesshe was advised with great earnestness to travel for her health, andsometimes entreated to keep her brother's house. Many stories werespread to the disadvantage of Leviculus, by which she commonly seemedaffected for a time, but took care soon afterwards to express herconviction of their falsehood. But being at last satiated with thisludicrous tyranny, she told her lover, when he pressed for the reward ofhis services, that she was very sensible of his merit, but was resolvednot to impoverish an ancient family.

He then returned to the town, and soon after his arrival, becameacquainted with Latronia, a lady distinguished by the elegance of herequipage, and the regularity of her conduct. Her wealth was evident inher magnificence, and her prudence in her economy, and thereforeLeviculus, who had scarcely confidence to solicit her favour, readilyacquitted fortune of her former debts, when he found himselfdistinguished by her with such marks of preference as a woman of modestyis allowed to give. He now grew bolder, and ventured to breathe out hisimpatience before her. She heard him without resentment, in timepermitted him to hope for happiness, and at last fixed the nuptial day,without any distrustful reserve of pin-money, or sordid stipulations forjointure, and settlements.

Leviculus was triumphing on the eve of marriage, when he heard on thestairs the voice of Latronia's maid, whom frequent bribes had secured inhis service. She soon burst into his room, and told him that she couldnot suffer him to be longer deceived; that her mistress was now spendingthe last payment of her fortune, and was only supported in her expenseby the credit of his estate. Leviculus shuddered to see himself so neara precipice, and found that he was indebted for his escape to theresentment of the maid, who having assisted Latronia to gain theconquest, quarrelled with her at last about the plunder.

Leviculus was now hopeless and disconsolate, till one Sunday he saw alady in the Mall, whom her dress declared a widow, and whom, by thejolting prance of her gait, and the broad resplendence of hercountenance, he guessed to have lately buried some prosperous citizen.He followed her home, and found her to be no less than the relict ofPrune the grocer, who, having no children, had bequeathed to her all hisdebts and dues, and his estates real and personal. No formality wasnecessary in addressing madam Prune, and therefore Leviculus went nextmorning without an introductor. His declaration was received with a loudlaugh; she then collected her countenance, wondered at his impudence,asked if he knew to whom he was talking, then shewed him the door, andagain laughed to find him confused. Leviculus discovered that thiscoarseness was nothing more than the coquetry of Cornhill, and next dayreturned to the attack. He soon grew familiar to her dialect, and in afew weeks heard, without any emotion, hints of gay clothes with emptypockets; concurred in many sage remarks on the regard due to people ofproperty; and agreed with her in detestation of the ladies at the otherend of the town, who pinched their bellies to buy fine laces, and thenpretended to laugh at the city.

He sometimes presumed to mention marriage; but was always answered witha slap, a hoot, and a flounce. At last he began to press her closer, andthought himself more favourably received; but going one morning, with aresolution to trifle no longer, he found her gone to church with a youngjourneyman from the neighbouring shop, of whom she had become enamouredat her window.

In these, and a thousand intermediate adventures, has Leviculus spenthis time, till he is now grown grey with age, fatigue, anddisappointment. He begins at last to find that success is not to beexpected, and being unfit for any employment that might improve hisfortune, and unfurnished with any arts that might amuse his leisure, iscondemned to wear out a tasteless life in narratives which few willhear, and complaints which none will pity.

No. 183. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1751.

Nidla fides regni sociis, omnisque potestas
Impatiens consortis erit. LUCAN. Lib. i. 92.

No faith of partnership dominion owns;
Still discord hovers o'er divided thrones.

The hostility perpetually exercised between one man and another, iscaused by the desire of many for that which only few can possess. Everyman would be rich, powerful, and famous; yet fame, power, and riches areonly the names of relative conditions, which imply the obscurity,dependance, and poverty of greater numbers. This universal and incessantcompetition produces injury and malice by two motives, interest andenvy; the prospect of adding to our possessions what we can take fromothers, and the hope of alleviating the sense of our disparity bylessening others, though we gain nothing to ourselves.

Of these two malignant and destructive powers, it seems probable at thefirst view, that interest has the strongest and most extensiveinfluence. It is easy to conceive that opportunities to seize what hasbeen long wanted, may excite desires almost irresistible; but surely thesame eagerness cannot be kindled by an accidental power of destroyingthat which gives happiness to another. It must be more natural to robfor gain, than to ravage only for mischief.

Yet I am inclined to believe, that the great law of mutual benevolenceis oftener violated by envy than by interest, and that most of themisery which the defamation of blameless actions, or the obstruction ofhonest endeavours, brings upon the world, is inflicted by men thatpropose no advantage to themselves but the satisfaction of poisoning thebanquet which they cannot taste, and blasting the harvest which theyhave no right to reap.

Interest can diffuse itself but to a narrow compass. The number is neverlarge of those who can hope to fill the posts of degraded power, catchthe fragments of shattered fortune, or succeed to the honours ofdepreciated beauty. But the empire of envy has no limits, as it requiresto its influence very little help from external circ*mstances. Envy mayalways be produced by idleness and pride, and in what place will theynot be found?

Interest requires some qualities not universally bestowed. The ruin ofanother will produce no profit to him who has not discernment to markhis advantage, courage to seize, and activity to pursue it; but the coldmalignity of envy may be exerted in a torpid and quiescent state, amidstthe gloom of stupidity, in the coverts of cowardice. He that falls bythe attacks of interest, is torn by hungry tigers; he may discover andresist his enemies. He that perishes in the ambushes of envy, isdestroyed by unknown and invisible assailants, and dies like a mansuffocated by a poisonous vapour, without knowledge of his danger, orpossibility of contest.

Interest is seldom pursued but at some hazard. He that hopes to gainmuch, has commonly something to lose, and when he ventures to attacksuperiority, if he fails to conquer, is irrecoverably crushed. But envymay act without expense or danger. To spread suspicion, to inventcalumnies, to propagate scandal, requires neither labour nor courage. Itis easy for the author of a lie, however malignant, to escape detection,and infamy needs very little industry to assist its circulation.

Envy is almost the only vice which is practicable at all times, and inevery place; the only passion which can never lie quiet for want ofirritation: its effects therefore are every where discoverable, and itsattempts always to be dreaded.

It is impossible to mention a name which any advantageous distinctionhas made eminent, but some latent animosity will burst out. The wealthytrader, however he may abstract himself from publick affairs, will neverwant those who hint, with Shylock, that ships are but boards. Thebeauty, adorned only with the unambitious graces of innocence andmodesty, provokes, whenever she appears, a thousand murmurs ofdetraction. The genius, even when he endeavours only to entertain orinstruct, yet suffers persecution from innumerable criticks, whoseacrimony is excited merely by the pain of seeing others pleased, and ofhearing applauses which another enjoys.

The frequency of envy makes it so familiar, that it escapes our notice;nor do we often reflect upon its turpitude or malignity, till we happento feel its influence. When he that has given no provocation to malice,but by attempting to excel, finds himself pursued by multitudes whom henever saw, with all the implacability of personal resentment; when heperceives clamour and malice let loose upon him as a publick enemy, andincited by every stratagem of defamation; when he hears the misfortunesof his family, or the follies of his youth, exposed to the world; andevery failure of conduct, or defect of nature, aggravated and ridiculed;he then learns to abhor those artifices at which he only laughed before,and discovers how much the happiness of life would be advanced by theeradication of envy from the human heart.

Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind, and seldom yields to theculture of philosophy. There are, however, considerations, which, ifcarefully implanted and diligently propagated, might in time overpowerand repress it, since no one can nurse it for the sake of pleasure, asits effects are only shame, anguish, and perturbation. It is above allother vices inconsistent with the character of a social being, becauseit sacrifices truth and kindness to very weak temptations. He thatplunders a wealthy neighbour gains as much as he takes away, and mayimprove his own condition in the same proportion as he impairsanother's; but he that blasts a flourishing reputation, must be contentwith a small dividend of additional fame, so small as can afford verylittle consolation to balance the guilt by which it is obtained.

I have hitherto avoided that dangerous and empirical morality, whichcures one vice by means of another. But envy is so base and detestable,so vile in its original, and so pernicious in its effects, that thepredominance of almost any other quality is to be preferred. It is oneof those lawless enemies of society, against which poisoned arrows mayhonestly be used. Let it therefore be constantly remembered, thatwhoever envies another, confesses his superiority, and let those bereformed by their pride who have lost their virtue.

It is no slight aggravation of the injuries which envy incites, thatthey are committed against those who have given no intentionalprovocation; and that the sufferer is often marked out for ruin, notbecause he has failed in any duty, but because he has dared to do morethan was required.

Almost every other crime is practised by the help of some quality whichmight have produced esteem or love, if it had been well employed; butenvy is mere unmixed and genuine evil; it pursues a hateful end bydespicable means, and desires not so much its own happiness as another'smisery. To avoid depravity like this, it is not necessary that any oneshould aspire to heroism or sanctity, but only that he should resolvenot to quit the rank which nature assigns him, and wish to maintain thedignity of a human being.

No. 184. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1751.

Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid
Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris. JUV. Sat. x. 347.

Intrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above;
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want. DRYDEN.

As every scheme of life, so every form of writing, has its advantagesand inconveniencies, though not mingled in the same proportions. Thewriter of essays escapes many embarrassments to which a large work wouldhave exposed him; he seldom harasses his reason with long trains ofconsequences, dims his eyes with the perusal of antiquated volumes, orburthens his memory with great accumulations of preparatory knowledge. Acareless glance upon a favourite author, or transient survey of thevarieties of life, is sufficient to supply the first hint or seminalidea, which, enlarged by the gradual accretion of matter stored in themind, is by the warmth of fancy easily expanded into flowers, andsometimes ripened into fruit.

The most frequent difficulty by which the authors of these pettycompositions are distressed, arises from the perpetual demand of noveltyand change. The compiler of a system of science lays his invention atrest, and employs only his judgment, the faculty exerted with leastfatigue. Even the relator of feigned adventures, when once the principalcharacters are established, and the great events regularly connected,finds incidents and episodes crowding upon his mind; every change opensnew views, and the latter part of the story grows without labour out ofthe former. But he that attempts to entertain his reader withunconnected pieces, finds the irksomeness of his task rather increasedthan lessened by every production. The day calls afresh upon him for anew topick, and he is again obliged to choose, without any principle toregulate his choice.

It is indeed true, that there is seldom any necessity of looking far, orinquiring long for a proper subject. Every diversity of art or nature,every publick blessing or calamity, every domestick pain orgratification, every sally of caprice, blunder of absurdity, orstratagem of affectation, may supply matter to him whose only rule is toavoid uniformity. But it often happens, that the judgment is distractedwith boundless multiplicity, the imagination ranges from one design toanother, and the hours pass imperceptibly away, till the composition canbe no longer delayed, and necessity enforces the use of those thoughtswhich then happen to be at hand. The mind, rejoicing at deliverance onany terms from perplexity and suspense, applies herself vigorously tothe work before her, collects embellishments and illustrations, andsometimes finishes, with great elegance and happiness, what in a stateof ease and leisure she never had begun.

It is not commonly observed, how much, even of actions, considered asparticularly subject to choice, is to be attributed to accident, or somecause out of our own power, by whatever name it be distinguished. Toclose tedious deliberations with hasty resolves, and after longconsultations with reason to refer the question to caprice, is by nomeans peculiar to the essayist. Let him that peruses this paper reviewthe series of his life, and inquire how he was placed in his presentcondition. He will find, that of the good or ill which he hasexperienced, a great part came unexpected, without any visiblegradations of approach; that every event has been influenced by causesacting without his intervention; and that whenever he pretended to theprerogative of foresight, he was mortified with new conviction of theshortness of his views.

The busy, the ambitious, the inconstant, and the adventurous, may besaid to throw themselves by design into the arms of fortune, andvoluntarily to quit the power of governing themselves; they engage in acourse of life in which little can be ascertained by previous measures;nor is it any wonder that their time is passed between elation anddespondency, hope and disappointment.

Some there are who appear to walk the road of life with morecirc*mspection, and make no step till they think themselves secure fromthe hazard of a precipice, when neither pleasure nor profit can temptthem from the beaten path; who refuse to climb lest they should fall, orto run lest they should stumble, and move slowly forward without anycompliance with those passions by which the heady and vehement areseduced and betrayed.

Yet even the timorous prudence of this judicious class is far fromexempting them from the dominion of chance, a subtle and insidiouspower, who will intrude upon privacy and embarrass caution. No course oflife is so prescribed and limited, but that many actions must resultfrom arbitrary election. Every one must form the general plan of hisconduct by his own reflections; he must resolve whether he willendeavour at riches or at content; whether he will exercise private orpublick virtues; whether he will labour for the general benefit ofmankind, or contract his beneficence to his family and dependants.

This question has long exercised the schools of philosophy, but remainsyet undecided; and what hope is there that a young man, unacquaintedwith the arguments on either side, should determine his own destinyotherwise than by chance?

When chance has given him a partner of his bed, whom he prefers to allother women, without any proof of superior desert, chance must againdirect him in the education of his children; for, who was ever able toconvince himself by arguments, that he had chosen for his son that modeof instruction to which his understanding was best adapted, or by whichhe would most easily be made wise or virtuous?

Whoever shall inquire by what motives he was determined on theseimportant occasions, will find them such as his pride will scarcelysuffer him to confess; some sudden ardour of desire, some uncertainglimpse of advantage, some petty competition, some inaccurateconclusion, or some example implicitly reverenced. Such are often thefirst causes of our resolves; for it is necessary to act, but impossibleto know the consequences of action, or to discuss all the reasons whichoffer themselves on every part to inquisitiveness and solicitude.

Since life itself is uncertain, nothing which has life for its basis canboast much stability. Yet this is but a small part of our perplexity. Weset out on a tempestuous sea in quest of some port, where we expect tofind rest, but where we are not sure of admission, we are not only indanger of sinking in the way, but of being misled by meteors mistakenfor stars, of being driven from our course by the changes of the wind,and of losing it by unskilful steerage; yet it sometimes happens, thatcross winds blow us to a safer coast, that meteors draw us aside fromwhirlpools, and that negligence or errour contributes to our escape frommischiefs to which a direct course would have exposed us. Of those that,by precipitate conclusions, involve themselves in calamities withoutguilt, very few, however they may reproach themselves, can be certainthat other measures would have been more successful.

In this state of universal uncertainty, where a thousand dangers hoverabout us, and none can tell whether the good that he pursues is not evilin disguise, or whether the next step will lead him to safety ordestruction, nothing can afford any rational tranquillity, but theconviction that, however we amuse ourselves with unideal sounds, nothingin reality is governed by chance, but that the universe is under theperpetual superintendance of Him who created it; that our being is inthe hands of omnipotent Goodness, by whom what appears casual to us, isdirected for ends ultimately kind and merciful; and that nothing canfinally hurt him who debars not himself from the Divine favour.

No. 185. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1751.

At vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa,
Nempe hoc indocti.—
Chrysippus non dicet idem, nec mite Thaletis
Ingenium, dulcique senex vicinus Hymetto,
Qui partem adceptæ sæva inter vincla Cicutæ
Adcusatori nollet dare.—
—Quippe minuti
Semper et infirmi est animi exiguique voluptas
Ultio. JUV. Sat. xiii. 180.

But O! revenge is sweet.
Thus think the crowd; who, eager to engage,
Take quickly fire, and kindle into rage.
Not so mild Thales nor Chrysippus thought,
Nor that good man, who drank the poisonous draught.
With mind serene; and could not wish to see
His vile accuser drink as deep as he:
Exalted Socrates! divinely brave!
Injur'd he fell, and dying he forgave!
Too noble for revenge; which still we find
The weakest frailty of a feeble mind. DRYDEN.

No vicious dispositions of the mind more obstinately resist both thecounsels of philosophy and the injunctions of religion, than those whichare complicated with an opinion of dignity; and which we cannot dismisswithout leaving in the hands of opposition some advantage iniquitouslyobtained, or suffering from our own prejudices some imputation ofpusillanimity.

For this reason scarcely any law of our Redeemer is more openlytransgressed, or more industriously evaded, than that by which hecommands his followers to forgive injuries, and prohibits, under thesanction of eternal misery, the gratification of the desire which everyman feels to return pain upon him that inflicts it. Many who could haveconquered their anger, are unable to combat pride, and pursue offencesto extremity of vengeance, lest they should be insulted by the triumphof an enemy.

But certainly no precept could better become him, at whose birth peacewas proclaimed to the earth. For, what would so soon destroy all theorder of society, and deform life with violence and ravage, as apermission to every one to judge his own cause, and to apportion his ownrecompense for imagined injuries?

It is difficult for a man of the strictest justice not to favour himselftoo much, in the calmest moments of solitary meditation. Every onewishes for the distinctions for which thousands are wishing at the sametime, in their own opinion, with better claims. He that, when his reasonoperates in its full force, can thus, by the mere prevalence ofself-love, prefer himself to his fellow-beings, is very unlikely tojudge equitably when his passions are agitated by a sense of wrong, andhis attention wholly engrossed by pain, interest, or danger. Whoeverarrogates, to himself the right of vengeance, shews how little he isqualified to decide his own claims, since he certainly demands what hewould think unfit to be granted to another.

Nothing is more apparent than that, however injured, or howeverprovoked, some must at last be contented to forgive. For it can never behoped, that he who first commits an injury, will contentedly acquiescein the penalty required: the same haughtiness of contempt, or vehemenceof desire, that prompt the act of injustice, will more strongly inciteits justification; and resentment can never so exactly balance thepunishment with the fault, but there will remain an overplus ofvengeance which even he who condemns his first action will think himselfentitled to retaliate. What then can ensue but a continual exacerbationof hatred, an unextinguishable feud, an incessant reciprocation ofmischief, a mutual vigilance to entrap, and eagerness to destroy.

Since then the imaginary right of vengeance must be at last remitted,because it is impossible to live in perpetual hostility, and equallyimpossible that of two enemies, either should first think himselfobliged by justice to submission, it is surely eligible to forgiveearly. Every passion is more easily subdued before it has been longaccustomed to possession of the heart; every idea is obliterated withless difficulty, as it has been more slightly impressed, and lessfrequently renewed. He who has often brooded over his wrongs, pleasedhimself with schemes of malignity, and glutted his pride with thefancied supplications of humbled enmity, will not easily open his bosomto amity and reconciliation, or indulge the gentle sentiments ofbenevolence and peace.

It is easiest to forgive, while there is yet little to be forgiven. Asingle injury may be soon dismissed from the memory; but a longsuccession of ill offices by degrees associates itself with every idea;a long contest involves so many circ*mstances, that every place andaction will recall it to the mind, and fresh remembrance of vexationmust still enkindle rage, and irritate revenge.

A wise man will make haste to forgive, because he knows the true valueof time, and will not suffer it to pass away in unnecessary pain. Hethat willingly suffers the corrosions of inveterate hatred, and gives uphis days and nights to the gloom of malice, and perturbations ofstratagem, cannot surely be said to consult his ease. Resentment is anunion of sorrow with malignity, a combination of a passion which allendeavour to avoid, with a passion which all concur to detest. The manwho retires to meditate mischief, and to exasperate his own rage; whosethoughts are employed only on means of distress and contrivances ofruin; whose mind never pauses from the remembrance of his ownsufferings, but to indulge some hope of enjoying the calamities ofanother, may justly be numbered among the most miserable of humanbeings, among those who are guilty without reward, who have neither thegladness of prosperity, nor the calm of innocence.

Whoever considers the weakness both of himself and others, will not longwant persuasives to forgiveness. We know not to what degree of malignityany injury is to be imputed; or how much its guilt, if we were toinspect the mind of him that committed it, would be extenuated bymistake, precipitance, or negligence; we cannot be certain how much morewe feel than was intended to be inflicted, or how much we increase themischief to ourselves by voluntary aggravations. We may charge to designthe effects of accident; we may think the blow violent only because wehave made ourselves delicate and tender; we are on every side in dangerof errour and of guilt; which we are certain to avoid only by speedyforgiveness.

From this pacifick and harmless temper, thus propitious to others andourselves, to domestick tranquillity and to social happiness, no man iswithheld but by pride, by the fear of being insulted by his adversary,or despised by the world.

It may be laid down as an unfailing and universal axiom, that "all prideis abject and mean." It is always an ignorant, lazy, or cowardlyacquiescence in a false appearance of excellence, and proceeds not fromconsciousness of our attainments, but insensibility of our wants.

Nothing can be great which is not right. Nothing which reason condemnscan be suitable to the dignity of the human mind. To be driven byexternal motives from the path which our own heart approves, to give wayto any thing but conviction, to suffer the opinion of others to rule ourchoice, or overpower our resolves, is to submit tamely to the lowest andmost ignominious slavery, and to resign the right of directing our ownlives.

The utmost excellence at which humanity can arrive, is a constant anddeterminate pursuit of virtue, without regard to present dangers oradvantage; a continual reference of every action to the divine will; anhabitual appeal to everlasting justice; and an unvaried elevation of theintellectual eye to the reward which perseverance only can obtain. Butthat pride which many, who presume to boast of generous sentiments,allow to regulate their measures, has nothing nobler in view than theapprobation of men, of beings whose superiority we are under noobligation to acknowledge, and who, when we have courted them with theutmost assiduity, can confer no valuable or permanent reward; of beingswho ignorantly judge of what they do not understand, or partiallydetermine what they never have examined; and whose sentence is thereforeof no weight till it has received the ratification of our ownconscience.

He that can descend to bribe suffrages like these, at the price of hisinnocence; he that can suffer the delight of such acclamations towithhold his attention from the commands of the universal Sovereign, haslittle reason to congratulate himself upon the greatness of his mind;whenever he awakes to seriousness and reflection, he must becomedespicable in his own eyes, and shrink with shame from the remembranceof his cowardice and folly.

Of him that hopes to be forgiven, it is indispensably required that heforgive. It is therefore superfluous to urge any other motive. On thisgreat duty eternity is suspended, and to him that refuses to practiseit, the Throne of mercy is inaccessible, and the Saviour of the worldhas been born in vain.

No. 186. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1751.

Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor æstica recreatur aurâ—
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem. HOR. Lib. i. Ode xxii. 17.

Place me where never summer breeze
Unbinds the glebe, or warms the trees;
Where ever lowering clouds appear,
And angry Jove deforms th' inclement year:
Love and the nymph shall charm my toils,
The nymph, who sweetly speaks and sweetly smiles. FRANCIS.

Of the happiness and misery of our present state, part arises from oursensations, and part from our opinions; part is distributed by nature,and part is in a great measure apportioned by ourselves. Positivepleasure we cannot always obtain, and positive pain we often cannotremove. No man can give to his own plantations the fragrance of theIndian groves; nor will any precepts of philosophy enable him towithdraw his attention from wounds or diseases. But the negativeinfelicity which proceeds, not from the pressure of sufferings, but theabsence of enjoyments, will always yield to the remedies of reason.

One of the great arts of escaping superfluous uneasiness, is to free ourminds from the habit of comparing our condition with that of others onwhom the blessings of life are more bountifully bestowed, or withimaginary states of delight and security, perhaps unattainable bymortals. Few are placed in a situation so gloomy and distressful, as notto see every day beings yet more forlorn and miserable, from whom theymay learn to rejoice in their own lot.

No inconvenience is less superable by art or diligence than theinclemency of climates, and therefore none affords more proper exercisefor this philosophical abstraction. A native of England, pinched withthe frosts of December, may lessen his affection for his own country bysuffering his imagination to wander in the vales of Asia, and sportamong the woods that are always green, and streams that always murmur;but if he turns his thought towards the polar regions, and considers thenations to whom a great portion of the year is darkness, and who arecondemned to pass weeks and months amidst mountains of snow, he willsoon recover his tranquillity, and, while he stirs his fire, or throwshis cloak about him, reflect how much he owes to Providence, that he isnot placed in Greenland or Siberia.

The barrenness of the earth and the severity of the skies in thesedreary countries, are such as might be expected to confine the mindwholly to the contemplation of necessity and distress, so that the careof escaping death from cold and hunger, should leave no room for thosepassions which, in lands of plenty, influence conduct, or diversifycharacters; the summer should be spent only in providing for the winter,and the winter in longing for the summer.

Yet learned curiosity is known to have found its way into these abodesof poverty and gloom: Lapland and Iceland have their historians, theircriticks, and their poets; and love, that extends his dominion whereverhumanity can be found, perhaps exerts the same power in theGreenlander's hut as in the palaces of eastern monarchs.

In one of the large caves to which the families of Greenland retiretogether, to pass the cold months, and which may be termed theirvillages or cities, a youth and maid, who came from different parts ofthe country, were so much distinguished for their beauty, that they werecalled by the rest of the inhabitants Anningait and Ajut, from asupposed resemblance to their ancestors of the same names, who had beentransformed of old into the sun and moon.

Anningait for some time heard the praises of Ajut with little emotion,but at last, by frequent interviews, became sensible of her charms, andfirst made a discovery of his affection, by inviting her with herparents to a feast, where he placed before Ajut the tail of a whale.Ajut seemed not much delighted by this gallantry; yet, however, fromthat time was observed rarely to appear, but in a vest made of the skinof a white deer; she used frequently to renew the black dye upon herhands and forehead, to adorn her sleeves with coral and shells, and tobraid her hair with great exactness.

The elegance of her dress, and the judicious disposition of herornaments, had such an effect upon Anningait, that he could no longer berestrained from a declaration of his love. He therefore composed a poemin her praise, in which, among other heroick and tender sentiments, heprotested, that "she was beautiful as the vernal willow, and fragrant asthe thyme upon the mountains; that her fingers were white as the teethof the morse, and her smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice; thathe would pursue her, though she should pass the snows of the midlandcliffs, or seek shelter in the caves of the eastern cannibals: that hewould tear her from the embraces of the genius of the rocks, snatch herfrom the paws of Amarock, and rescue her from the ravine of Hafgufa." Heconcluded with a wish, that "whoever shall attempt to hinder his unionwith Ajut, might be buried without his bow, and that, in the land ofsouls, his skull might serve for no other use than to catch thedroppings of the starry lamps."

This ode being universally applauded, it was expected that Ajut wouldsoon yield to such fervour and accomplishments; but Ajut, with thenatural haughtiness of beauty, expected all the forms of courtship; andbefore she would confess herself conquered, the sun returned, the icebroke, and the season of labour called all to their employments.

Anningait and Ajut for a time always went out in the same boat, anddivided whatever was caught. Anningait, in the sight of his mistress,lost no opportunity of signalizing his courage: he attacked thesea-horses on the ice; pursued the seals into the water, and leaped uponthe back of the whale, while he was yet struggling with the remains oflife. Nor was his diligence less to accumulate all that could benecessary to make winter comfortable: he dried the roe of fishes and theflesh of seals; he entrapped deer and foxes, and dressed their skins toadorn his bride; he feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and strewed hertent with flowers.

It happened that a tempest drove the fish to a distant part of thecoast, before Anningait had completed his store; he therefore entreatedAjut, that she would at last grant him her hand, and accompany him tothat part of the country whither he was now summoned by necessity. Ajutthought him not yet entitled to such condescension, but proposed, as atrial of his constancy, that he should return at the end of summer tothe cavern where their acquaintance commenced, and there expect thereward of his assiduities. "O virgin, beautiful as the sun shining onthe water, consider," said Anningait, "what thou hast required. Howeasily may my return be precluded by a sudden frost or unexpected fogs!then must the night be passed without my Ajut. We live not, my fair, inthose fabled countries, which lying strangers so wantonly describe;where the whole year is divided into short days and nights; where thesame habitation serves for summer and winter; where they raise houses inrows above the ground, dwell together from year to year, with flocks oftame animals grazing in the fields about them; can travel at any timefrom one place to another, through ways inclosed with trees, or overwalls raised upon the inland waters; and direct their course throughwide countries by the sight of green hills or scattered buildings. Evenin summer we have no means of crossing the mountains, whose snows arenever dissolved; nor can remove to any distant residence, but in ourboats coasting the bays. Consider, Ajut, a few summer-days, and a fewwinter-nights, and the life of man is at an end. Night is the time ofease and festivity, of revels and gaiety; but what will be the flaminglamp, the delicious seal, or the soft oil, without the smile of Ajut?"

The eloquence of Anningait was vain; the maid continued inexorable, andthey parted with ardent promises to meet again before the night ofwinter.

No. 187. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1751.

Non illum nostri possunt mutare labores;
Non si frigoribus mediis Hebrunique bibamus,
Sithoniasque nives hyemis subeamus aquosae:—
Ominia vincit amor. Vinc. Ec. x. 64.

Love alters not for us his hard decrees,
Not though beneath the Thracian clime we freeze,
Or the mild bliss of temperate skies forego,
And in raid winter tread Sithonian snow:—
Love conquers all.—DRYDEN.

Anningait, however discomposed by the dilatory coyness of Ajut, was yetresolved to omit no tokens of amorous respect; and therefore presentedher at his departure with the skins of seven white fawns, of five swansand eleven seals, with three marble lamps, ten vessels of seal oil, anda large kettle of brass, which he had purchased from a ship, at theprice of half a whale, and two horns of sea-unicorns.

Ajut was so much affected by the fondness of her lover, or so muchoverpowered by his magnificence, that she followed him to the sea-side;and, when she saw him enter the boat, wished aloud, that he might returnwith plenty of skins and oil; that neither the mermaids might snatch himinto the deeps, nor the spirits of the rocks confine him in theircaverns.

She stood a while to gaze upon the departing vessel, and then returningto her hut, silent and dejected, laid aside, from that hour, her whitedeer skin, suffered her hair to spread unbraided on her shoulders, andforbore to mix in the dances of the maidens. She endeavoured to diverther thoughts, by continual application to feminine employments, gatheredmoss for the winter lamps, and dried grass to line the boots ofAnningait. Of the skins which he had bestowed upon her, she made afishing-coat, a small boat, and tent, all of exquisite manufacture; andwhile she was thus busied, solaced her labours with a song, in which sheprayed, "that her lover might have hands stronger than the paws of thebear, and feet swifter than the feet of the reindeer; that his dartmight never err, and that his boat might never leak; that he might neverstumble on the ice, nor faint in the water; that the seal might rush onhis harpoon, and the wounded whale might dash the waves in vain."

The large boats in which the Greenlanders transport their families, arealways rowed by women; for a man will not debase himself by work, whichrequires neither skill nor courage. Anningait was therefore exposed byidleness to the ravages of passion. He went thrice to the stern of theboat, with an intent to leap into the water, and swim back to hismistress; but, recollecting the misery which they must endure in thewinter, without oil for the lamp, or skins for the bed, he resolved toemploy the weeks of absence in provision for a night of plenty andfelicity. He then composed his emotions as he could, and expressed, inwild numbers and uncouth images, his hopes, his sorrows, and his fears."O life!" says he, "frail and uncertain! where shall wretched man findthy resemblance, but in ice floating on the ocean? It towers on high, itsparkles from afar, while the storms drive and the waters beat it, thesun melts it above, and the rocks shatter it below. What art thou,deceitful pleasure! but a sudden blaze streaming from the north, whichplays a moment on the eye, mocks the traveller with the hopes of light,and then vanishes for ever? What, love, art thou but a whirlpool, whichwe approach without knowledge of our danger, drawn on by imperceptibledegrees, till we have lost all power of resistance and escape? Till Ifixed my eyes on the graces of Ajut, while I had not yet called her tothe banquet, I was careless as the sleeping morse, was merry as thesingers in the stars. Why, Ajut, did I gaze upon thy graces? why, myfair, did I call thee to the banquet? Yet, be faithful, my love,remember Anningait, and meet my return with the smile of virginity. Iwill chase the deer, I will subdue the whale, resistless as the frost ofdarkness, and unwearied as the summer sun. In a few weeks I shall returnprosperous and wealthy; then shall the roe-fish and the porpoise feastthy kindred; the fox and hare shall cover thy couch; the tough hide ofthe seal shall shelter thee from cold; and the fat of the whaleilluminate thy dwelling."

Anningait having with these sentiments consoled his grief, and animatedhis industry, found that they had now coasted the headland, and saw thewhales spouting at a distance. He therefore placed himself in hisfishing-boat, called his associates to their several employments, pliedhis oar and harpoon with incredible courage and dexterity; and, bydividing his time between the chace and fishery, suspended the miseriesof absence and suspicion.

Ajut, in the mean time, notwithstanding her neglected dress, happened,as she was drying some skins in the sun, to catch the eye of Norngsuk,on his return from hunting. Norngsuk was of birth truly illustrious. Hismother had died in child-birth, and his father, the most expert fisherof Greenland, had perished by too close pursuit of the whale. Hisdignity was equalled by his riches; he was master of four men's and twowomen's boats, had ninety tubs of oil in his winter habitation, andfive-and-twenty seals buried in the snow against the season of darkness.When he saw the beauty of Ajut, he immediately threw over her the skinof a deer that he had taken, and soon after presented her with a branchof coral. Ajut refused his gifts, and determined to admit no lover inthe place of Anningait.

Norngsuk, thus rejected, had recourse to stratagem. He knew that Ajutwould consult an Angekkok, or diviner, concerning the fate of her lover,and the felicity of her future life. He therefore applied himself to themost celebrated Angekkok of that part of the country, and, by a presentof two seals and a marble kettle, obtained a promise, that when Ajutshould consult him, he would declare that her lover was in the land ofsouls. Ajut, in a short time, brought him a coat made by herself, andinquired what events were to befall her, with assurances of a muchlarger reward at the return of Anningait, if the prediction shouldflatter her desires. The Angekkok knew the way to riches, and foretoldthat Anningait, having already caught two whales, would soon return homewith a large boat laden with provisions.

This prognostication she was ordered to keep secret; and Norngsukdepending upon his artifice, renewed his addresses with greaterconfidence; but finding his suit still unsuccessful, applied himself toher parents with gifts and promises. The wealth of Greenland is toopowerful for the virtue of a Greenlander; they forgot the merit and thepresents of Anningait, and decreed Ajut to the embraces of Norngsuk. Sheentreated; she remonstrated; she wept, and raved; but finding richesirresistible, fled away into the uplands, and lived in a cave upon suchberries as she could gather, and the birds or hares which she had thefortune to ensnare, taking care, at an hour when she was not likely tobe found, to view the sea every day, that her lover might not miss herat his return.

At last she saw the great boat in which Anningait had departed, stealingslow and heavy laden along the coast. She ran with all the impatience ofaffection to catch her lover in her arms, and relate her constancy andsufferings. When the company reached the land, they informed her thatAnningait, after the fishery was ended, being unable to support the slowpassage of the vessel of carriage, had set out before them in hisfishing-boat, and they expected at their arrival to have found him onshore.

Ajut, distracted at this intelligence, was about to fly into the hills,without knowing why, though she was now in the hands of her parents, whoforced her back to their own hut, and endeavoured to comfort her; butwhen at last they retired to rest, Ajut went down to the beach; where,finding a fishing-boat, she entered it without hesitation, and tellingthose who wondered at her rashness, that she was going in search ofAnningait, rowed away with great swiftness, and was seen no more.

The fate of these lovers gave occasion to various fictions andconjectures. Some are of opinion, that they were changed into stars;others imagine, that Anningait was seized in his passage by the geniusof the rocks, and that Ajut was transformed into a mermaid, and stillcontinues to seek her lover in the deserts of the sea. But the generalpersuasion is, that they are both in that part of the land of soulswhere the sun never sets, where oil is always fresh, and provisionsalways warm. The virgins sometimes throw a thimble and a needle into thebay, from which the hapless maid departed; and when a Greenlander wouldpraise any couple for virtuous affection, he declares that they lovelike Anningait and Ajut.

No. 188. SATURDAY, JANUARY 4, 1751.

—Si te colo, Sexte, non amabo. MART. Lib. ii. Ep. lv. 33.

The more I honour thee, the less I love.

None of the desires dictated by vanity is more general, or lessblamable, than that of being distinguished for the arts of conversation.Other accomplishments may be possessed without opportunity of exertingthem, or wanted without danger that the defect can often be remarked;but as no man can live, otherwise than in an hermitage, without hourlypleasure or vexation, from the fondness or neglect of those about him,the faculty of giving pleasure is of continual use. Few are morefrequently envied than those who have the power of forcing attentionwherever they come, whose entrance is considered as a promise offelicity, and whose departure is lamented, like the recess of the sunfrom northern climates, as a privation of all that enlivens fancy, orinspirits gaiety.

It is apparent, that to excellence in this valuable art, some peculiarqualifications are necessary; for every one's experience will informhim, that the pleasure which men are able to give in conversation, holdsno stated proportion to their knowledge or their virtue. Many find theirway to the tables and the parties of those who never consider them as ofthe least importance in any other place; we have all, at one time orother, been content to love those whom we could not esteem, and beenpersuaded to try the dangerous experiment of admitting him for acompanion, whom we knew to be too ignorant for a counsellor, and tootreacherous for a friend.

I question whether some abatement of character is not necessary togeneral acceptance. Few spend their time with much satisfaction underthe eye of uncontestable superiority; and therefore, among those whosepresence is courted at assemblies of jollity, there are seldom found meneminently distinguished for powers or acquisitions. The wit whosevivacity condemns slower tongues to silence, the scholar whose knowledgeallows no man to fancy that he instructs him, the critick who suffers nofallacy to pass undetected, and the reasoner who condemns the idle tothought, and the negligent to attention, are generally praised andfeared, reverenced and avoided.

He that would please must rarely aim at such excellence as depresses hishearers in their own opinion, or debars them from the hope ofcontributing reciprocally to the entertainment of the company.Merriment, extorted by sallies of imagination, sprightliness of remark,or quickness of reply, is too often what the Latins call, the Sardinianlaughter, a distortion of the face without gladness of heart.

For this reason, no style of conversation is more extensively acceptablethan the narrative. He who has stored his memory with slight anecdotes,private incidents, and personal peculiarities, seldom fails to find hisaudience favourable. Almost every man listens with eagerness tocontemporary history; for almost every man has some real or imaginaryconnexion with a celebrated character, some desire to advance or opposea rising name. Vanity often co-operates with curiosity. He that is ahearer in one place, qualifies himself to become a speaker in another;for though he cannot comprehend a series of argument, or transport thevolatile spirit of wit without evaporation, he yet thinks himself ableto treasure up the various incidents of a story, and please his hopeswith the information which he shall give to some inferior society.

Narratives are for the most part heard without envy, because they arenot supposed to imply any intellectual qualities above the common rate.To be acquainted with facts not yet echoed by plebeian mouths, mayhappen to one man as well as to another; and to relate them when theyare known, has in appearance so little difficulty, that every oneconcludes himself equal to the task.

But it is not easy, and in some situations of life not possible, toaccumulate such a stock of materials as may support the expense ofcontinual narration; and it frequently happens, that they who attemptthis method of ingratiating themselves, please only at the firstinterview; and, for want of new supplies of intelligence, wear out theirstories by continual repetition.

There would be, therefore, little hope of obtaining the praise of a goodcompanion, were it not to be gained by more compendious methods; butsuch is the kindness of mankind to all, except those who aspire to realmerit and rational dignity, that every understanding may find some wayto excite benevolence; and whoever is not envied may learn the art ofprocuring love. We are willing to be pleased, but are not willing toadmire: we favour the mirth or officiousness that solicits our regard,but oppose the worth or spirit that enforces it.

The first place among those that please, because they desire only toplease, is due to the merry fellow, whose laugh is loud, and whosevoice is strong; who is ready to echo every jest with obstreperousapprobation, and countenance every frolick with vociferations ofapplause. It is not necessary to a merry fellow to have in himself anyfund of jocularity, or force of conception; it is sufficient that healways appears in the highest exaltation of gladness, for the greaterpart of mankind are gay or serious by infection, and follow withoutresistance the attraction of example.

Next to the merry fellow is the good-natured man, a being generallywithout benevolence, or any other virtue, than such as indolence andinsensibility confer. The characteristick of a good-natured man is tobear a joke; to sit unmoved and unaffected amidst noise and turbulence,profaneness and obscenity; to hear every tale without contradiction; toendure insult without reply; and to follow the stream of folly, whatevercourse it shall happen to take. The good-natured man is commonly thedarling of the petty wits, with whom they exercise themselves in therudiments of raillery; for he never takes advantage of failings, nordisconcerts a puny satirist with unexpected sarcasms; but while theglass continues to circulate, contentedly bears the expense of anuninterrupted laughter, and retires rejoicing at his own importance.

The modest man is a companion of a yet lower rank, whose only power ofgiving pleasure is not to interrupt it. The modest man satisfies himselfwith peaceful silence, which all his companions are candid enough toconsider as proceeding not from inability to speak, but willingness tohear.

Many, without being able to attain any general character of excellence,have some single art of entertainment which serves them as a passportthrough the world. One I have known for fifteen years the darling of aweekly club, because every night, precisely at eleven, he begins hisfavourite song, and during the vocal performance, by correspondingmotions of his hand, chalks out a giant upon the wall. Another hasendeared himself to a long succession of acquaintances by sitting amongthem with his wig reversed; another by contriving to smut the nose ofany stranger who was to be initiated in the club; another by purringlike a cat, and then pretending to be frighted; and another by yelpinglike a hound, and calling to the drawers to drive out the dog[k].

Such are the arts by which cheerfulness is promoted, and sometimesfriendship established; arts, which those who despise them should notrigorously blame, except when they are practised at the expense ofinnocence; for it is always necessary to be loved, but not alwaysnecessary to be reverenced.

No. 189. TUESDAY, JANUARY 7, 1752.

Quod tam grande Sophos clamat tibi turba togata;
Non tu, Pomponi; caena diserta tua est. MART. Lib. vi. Ep. xlviii.

Resounding plaudits though the crowd have rung;
Thy treat is eloquent, and not thy tongue. F. LEWIS.

The world scarcely affords opportunities of making anyobservation more frequently, than on false claims to commendation.Almost every man wastes part of his life in attempts to displayqualities which he does not possess, and to gain applause which hecannot keep; so that scarcely can two persons casually meet, but one isoffended or diverted by the ostentation of the other.

Of these pretenders it is fit to distinguish those who endeavour todeceive from them who are deceived; those who by designed imposturespromote their interest, or gratify their pride, from them who mean onlyto force into regard their latent excellencies and neglected virtues;who believe themselves qualified to instruct or please, and thereforeinvite the notice of mankind.

The artful and fraudulent usurpers of distinction deserve greaterseverities than ridicule and contempt, since they are seldom contentwith empty praise, but are instigated by passions more pernicious thanvanity. They consider the reputation which they endeavour to establishas necessary to the accomplishment of some subsequent design, and valuepraise only as it may conduce to the success of avarice or ambition.

The commercial world is very frequently put into confusion by thebankruptcy of merchants, that assumed the splendour of wealth only toobtain the privilege of trading with the stock of other men, and ofcontracting debts which nothing but lucky casualties could enable themto pay; till after having supported their appearance a while bytumultuous magnificence of boundless traffick, they sink at once, anddrag down into poverty those whom their equipages had induced to trustthem.

Among wretches that place their happiness in the favour of the great, ofbeings whom only high titles or large estates set above themselves,nothing is more common than to boast of confidence which they do notenjoy; to sell promises which they know their interest unable toperform; and to reimburse the tribute which they pay to an imperiousmaster, from the contributions of meaner dependants, whom they can amusewith tales of their influence, and hopes of their solicitation.

Even among some, too thoughtless and volatile for avarice or ambition,may be found a species of falsehood more detestable than the levee orexchange can shew. There are men that boast of debaucheries, of whichthey never had address to be guilty; ruin, by lewd tales, the charactersof women to whom they are scarcely known, or by whom they have beenrejected; destroy in a drunken frolick the happiness of families; blastthe bloom of beauty, and intercept the reward of virtue.

Other artifices of falsehood, though utterly unworthy of an ingenuousmind, are not yet to be ranked with flagitious enormities, nor is itnecessary to incite sanguinary justice against them, since they may beadequately punished by detection and laughter. The traveller whodescribes cities which he has never seen; the squire, who, at his returnfrom London, tells of his intimacy with nobles to whom he has only bowedin the park or coffee-house; the author who entertains his admirers withstories of the assistance which he gives to wits of a higher rank; thecity dame who talks of her visits at great houses, where she happens toknow the cook-maid, are surely such harmless animals as truth herselfmay be content to despise without desiring to hurt them.

But of the multitudes who struggle in vain for distinction, and displaytheir own merits only to feel more acutely the sting of neglect, a greatpart are wholly innocent of deceit, and are betrayed, by infatuation andcredulity, to that scorn with which the universal love of praise incitesus all to drive feeble competitors out of our way.

Few men survey themselves with so much severity, as not to admitprejudices in their own favour, which an artful flatterer may graduallystrengthen, till wishes for a particular qualification are improved tohopes of attainment, and hopes of attainment to belief of possession.Such flatterers every one will find, who has power to reward theirassiduities. Wherever there is wealth there will be dependance andexpectation, and wherever there is dependance, there will be anemulation of servility.

Many of the follies which provoke general censure, are the effects ofsuch vanity as, however it might have wantoned in the imagination, wouldscarcely have dared the publick eye, had it not been animated andemboldened by flattery. Whatever difficulty there may be in theknowledge of ourselves, scarcely any one fails to suspect his ownimperfections, till he is elevated by others to confidence. We arealmost all naturally modest and timorous; but fear and shame are uneasysensations, and whosoever helps to remove them is received withkindness.

Turpicula was the heiress of a large estate, and having lost her motherin her infancy, was committed to a governess, whom misfortunes hadreduced to suppleness and humility. The fondness of Turpicula's fatherwould not suffer him to trust her at a publick school, but he hireddomestick teachers, and bestowed on her all the accomplishments thatwealth could purchase. But how many things are necessary to happinesswhich money cannot obtain! Thus secluded from all with whom she mightconverse on terms of equality, she heard none of those intimations ofher defects, which envy, petulance, or anger, produce among children,where they are not afraid of telling what they think.

Turpicula saw nothing but obsequiousness, and heard nothing butcommendations. None are so little acquainted with the heart, as not toknow that woman's first wish is to be handsome, and that consequentlythe readiest method of obtaining her kindness is to praise her beauty.Turpicula had a distorted shape and a dark complexion; yet, when theimpudence of adulation had ventured to tell her of the commandingdignity of her motion, and the soft enchantment of her smile, she waseasily convinced, that she was the delight or torment of every eye, andthat all who gazed upon her felt the fire of envy or love. She thereforeneglected the culture of an understanding which might have supplied thedefects of her form, and applied all her care to the decoration of herperson; for she considered that more could judge of beauty than of wit,and was, like the rest of human beings, in haste to be admired. Thedesire of conquest naturally led her to the lists in which beautysignalizes her power. She glittered at court, fluttered in the park, andtalked aloud in the front box; but after a thousand experiments of hercharms, was at last convinced that she had been flattered, and that herglass was honester than her maid.

[Footnote k: Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes, informs us, that the man whosung, and, by corresponding motions of his arm, chalked out a giant onthe wall, was one Richardson, an attorney: the ingenious imitator of acat, was one Busby, a proctor in the Commons: and the father of Dr.Salter, of the Charter-House, a friend of Johnson's, and a member of theIvy-Lane Club, was the person who yelped like a hound, and perplexed thedistracted waiters.—Mr. Chalmers, in his preface to the Rambler,observes, that the above-quoted lively writer was the only authority forthese assignments. She is certainly far too hasty and negligent to berelied on, when unsupported by other testimony.—See Preface.]

No. 190. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1752.

Ploravere suis non respondere favorem
Speratum meritis.—HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 9.

Henry and Alfred—
Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind. POPE.

Among the emirs and visiers, the sons of valour and of wisdom, thatstand at the corners of the Indian throne, to assist the counsels orconduct the wars of the posterity of Timur, the first place was longheld by Morad the son of Hanuth. Morad, having signalized himself inmany battles and sieges, was rewarded with the government of a province,from which the fame of his wisdom and moderation was wafted to thepinnacles of Agra, by the prayers of those whom his administration madehappy. The emperour called him into his presence, and gave into his handthe keys of riches, and the sabre of command. The voice of Morad washeard from the cliffs of Taurus to the Indian ocean, every tonguefaultered in his presence, and every eye was cast down before him.

Morad lived many years in prosperity; every day increased his wealth,and extended his influence. The sages repeated his maxims, the captainsof thousands waited his commands. Competition withdrew into the cavernof envy, and discontent trembled at his own murmurs. But human greatnessis short and transitory, as the odour of incense in the fire. The sungrew weary of gilding the palaces of Morad, the clouds of sorrowgathered round his head, and the tempest of hatred roared about hisdwelling.

Morad saw ruin hastily approaching. The first that forsook him were hispoets; their example was followed by all those whom he had rewarded forcontributing to his pleasures, and only a few, whose virtue had entitledthem to favour, were now to be seen in his hall or chambers. He felt hisdanger, and prostrated himself at the foot of the throne. His accuserswere confident and loud, his friends stood contented with frigidneutrality, and the voice of truth was overborne by clamour. He wasdivested of his power, deprived of his acquisitions, and condemned topass the rest of his life on his hereditary estate.

Morad had been so long-accustomed to crowds and business, supplicantsand flattery, that he knew not how to fill up his hours in solitude; hesaw with regret the sun rise to force on his eye a new day for which hehad no use; and envied the savage that wanders in the desert, because hehas no time vacant from the calls of nature, but is always chasing hisprey, or sleeping in his den.

His discontent in time vitiated his constitution, and a slow diseaseseized upon him. He refused physick, neglected exercise, and lay down onhis couch peevish and restless, rather afraid to die than desirous tolive. His domesticks, for a time, redoubled their assiduities; butfinding that no officiousness could soothe, nor exactness satisfy, theysoon gave way to negligence and sloth; and he that once commandednations, often languished in his chamber without an attendant.

In this melancholy state, he commanded messengers to recall his eldestson Abouzaid from the army. Abouzaid was alarmed at the account of hisfather's sickness, and hasted by long journeys to his place ofresidence. Morad was yet living, and felt his strength return at theembraces of his son; then commanding him to sit down at his bedside,"Abouzaid," says he, "thy father has no more to hope or fear from theinhabitants of the earth; the cold hand of the angel of death is nowupon him, and the voracious grave is howling for his prey. Hear,therefore, the precepts of ancient experience, let not my lastinstructions issue forth in vain. Thou hast seen me happy andcalamitous, thou hast beheld my exaltation and my fall. My power is inthe hands of my enemies, my treasures have rewarded my accusers; but myinheritance, the clemency of the emperour has spared, and my wisdom hisanger could not take away. Cast thine eyes around thee; whatever thoubeholdest will, in a few hours, be thine: apply thine ear to mydictates, and these possessions will promote thy happiness. Aspire notto public honours, enter not the palaces of kings; thy wealth will setthee above insult, let thy moderation keep thee below envy. Contentthyself with private dignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends, letevery day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not thy heart to be at resttill thou art loved by all to whom thou art known. In the height of mypower, I said to defamation, Who will hear thee? and to artifice, Whatcanst thou perform? But, my son, despise not thou the malice of theweakest, remember that venom supplies the want of strength, and that thelion may perish by the puncture of an asp."

Morad expired in a few hours. Abouzaid, after the months of mourning,determined to regulate his conduct by his father's precepts, andcultivate the love of mankind by every art of kindness and endearment.He wisely considered, that domestick happiness was first to be secured,and that none have so much power of doing good or hurt, as those who arepresent in the hour of negligence, hear the bursts of thoughtlessmerriment, and observe the starts of unguarded passion. He thereforeaugmented the pay of all his attendants, and requited every exertion ofuncommon diligence by supernumerary gratuities. While he congratulatedhimself upon the fidelity and affection of his family, he was in thenight alarmed with robbers, who, being pursued and taken, declared thatthey had been admitted by one of his servants; the servant immediatelyconfessed, that he unbarred the door, because another not more worthy ofconfidence was entrusted with the keys.

Abouzaid was thus convinced that a dependant could not easily be made afriend; and that while many were soliciting for the first rank offavour, all those would be alienated whom he disappointed. He thereforeresolved to associate with a few equal companions selected from amongthe chief men of the province. With these he lived happily for a time,till familiarity set them free from restraint, and every man thoughthimself at liberty to indulge his own caprice, and advance his ownopinions. They then disturbed each other with contrariety ofinclinations, and difference of sentiments, and Abouzaid wasnecessitated to offend one party by concurrence, or both byindifference.

He afterwards determined to avoid a close union with beings sodiscordant in their nature, and to diffuse himself in a larger circle.He practised the smile of universal courtesy, and invited all to histable, but admitted none to his retirements. Many who had been rejectedin his choice of friendship, now refused to accept his acquaintance; andof those whom plenty and magnificence drew to his table, every onepressed forward toward intimacy, thought himself overlooked in thecrowd, and murmured because he was not distinguished above the rest. Bydegrees all made advances, and all resented repulse. The table was thencovered with delicacies in vain; the musick sounded in empty rooms; andAbouzaid was left to form in solitude some new scheme of pleasure orsecurity.

Resolving now to try the force of gratitude, he inquired for men ofscience, whose merit was obscured by poverty. His house was soon crowdedwith poets, sculptors, painters, and designers, who wantoned inunexperienced plenty, and employed their powers in celebration of theirpatron. But in a short time they forgot the distress from which they hadbeen rescued, and began to consider their deliverer as a wretch ofnarrow capacity, who was growing great by works which he could notperform, and whom they overpaid by condescending to accept his bounties.Abouzaid heard their murmurs and dismissed them, and from that hourcontinued blind to colours, and deaf to panegyrick.

As the sons of art departed, muttering threats of perpetual infamy,Abouzaid, who stood at the gate, called to him Hamet the poet. "Hamet,"said he, "thy ingratitude has put an end to my hopes and experiments: Ihave now learned the vanity of those labours that wish to be rewarded byhuman benevolence; I shall henceforth do good, and avoid evil, withoutrespect to the opinion of men; and resolve to solicit only theapprobation of that Being whom alone we are sure to please byendeavouring to please him."

No. 191. TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1752.

Cereus in vitium flecli, monitoribus asper. HOR. Art. Poet. 163.

The youth—
Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears;
Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

DEAR MR. RAMBLER,

I have been four days confined to my chamber by a cold, which hasalready kept me from three plays, nine sales, five shows, and sixcard-tables, and put me seventeen visits behind-hand; and the doctortells my mamma, that, if I fret and cry, it will settle in my head,and I shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks. But, dear Mr. Rambler,how can I help it? At this very time Melissa is dancing with theprettiest gentleman;—she will breakfast with him to-morrow, and then runto two auctions, and hear compliments, and have presents; then she willbe drest, and visit, and get a ticket to the play; then go to cards andwin, and come home with two flambeaux before her chair. Dear Mr.Rambler, who can bear it?

My aunt has just brought me a bundle of your papers for my amusem*nt.She says you are a philosopher, and will teach me to moderate mydesires, and look upon the world with indifference. But, dear sir, I donot wish nor intend to moderate my desires, nor can I think it proper tolook upon the world with indifference, till the world looks withindifference on me. I have been forced, however, to sit this morning awhole quarter of an hour with your paper before my face; but just as myaunt came in, Phyllida had brought me a letter from Mr. Trip, which Iput within the leaves; and read about absence and inconsolableness,and ardour, and irresistible passion, and eternal constancy, whilemy aunt imagined that I was puzzling myself with your philosophy, andoften cried out when she saw me look confused, "If there is any wordthat you do not understand, child, I will explain it."

Dear soul! how old people that think themselves wise may be imposedupon! But it is fit that they should take their turn, for I am sure,while they can keep poor girls close in the nursery, they tyrannize overus in a very shameful manner, and fill our imaginations with tales ofterrour, only to make us live in quiet subjection, and fancy that we cannever be safe but by their protection.

I have a mamma and two aunts, who have all been formerly celebrated forwit and beauty, and are still generally admired by those that valuethemselves upon their understanding, and love to talk of vice andvirtue, nature and simplicity, and beauty and propriety; but if therewas not some hope of meeting me, scarcely a creature would come nearthem that wears a fashionable coat. These ladies, Mr. Rambler, have hadme under their government fifteen years and a half, and have all thattime been endeavouring to deceive me by such representations of life asI now find not to be true; but I know not whether I ought to impute themto ignorance or malice, as it is possible the world may be much changedsince they mingled in general conversation.

Being desirous that I should love books, they told me, that nothing butknowledge could make me an agreeable companion to men of sense, orqualify me to distinguish the superficial glitter of vanity from thesolid merit of understanding; and that a habit of reading would enableme to fill up the vacuities of life without the help of silly ordangerous amusem*nts, and preserve me from the snares of idleness andthe inroads of temptation.

But their principal intention was to make me afraid of men; in whichthey succeeded so well for a time, that I durst not look in their faces,or be left alone with them in a parlour; for they made me fancy, that noman ever spoke but to deceive, or looked but to allure; that the girlwho suffered him that had once squeezed her hand, to approach her asecond time, was on the brink of ruin; and that she who answered abillet, without consulting her relations, gave love such power over her,that she would certainly become either poor or infamous.

From the time that my leading-strings were taken off, I scarce heard anymention of my beauty but from the milliner, the mantua-maker, and my ownmaid; for my mamma never said more, when she heard me commended, but"the girl is very well," and then endeavoured to divert my attention bysome inquiry after my needle, or my book.

It is now three months since I have been suffered to pay and receivevisits, to dance at publick assemblies, to have a place kept for me inthe boxes, and to play at lady Racket's rout; and you may easily imaginewhat I think of those who have so long cheated me with falseexpectations, disturbed me with fictitious terrours, and concealed fromme all that I have found to make the happiness of woman.

I am so far from perceiving the usefulness or necessity of books, thatif I had not dropped all pretensions to learning, I should have lost Mr.Trip, whom I once frighted into another box, by retailing some ofDryden's remarks upon a tragedy; for Mr. Trip declares, that he hatesnothing like hard words, and I am sure, there is not a better partner tobe found; his very walk is a dance. I have talked once or twice amongladies about principles and ideas, but they put their fans before theirfaces, and told me I was too wise for them, who for their part neverpretended to read any thing but the play-bill, and then asked me theprice of my best head.

Those vacancies of time which are to be filled up with books I havenever vet obtained; for, consider, Mr. Rambler, I go to bed late, andtherefore cannot rise early; as soon as I am up, I dress for thegardens; then walk in the park; then always go to some sale or show, orentertainment at the little theatre; then must be dressed for dinner;then must pay my visits; then walk in the park; then hurry to the play;and from thence to the card-table. This is the general course of theday, when there happens nothing extraordinary; but sometimes I rambleinto the country, and come back again to a ball; sometimes I am engagedfor a whole day and part of the night. If, at any time, I can gain anhour by not being at home, I have so many things to do, so many ordersto give to the milliner, so many alterations to make in my clothes, somany visitants' names to read over, so many invitations to accept orrefuse, so many cards to write, and so many fashions to consider, that Iam lost in confusion, forced at last to let in company or step into mychair, and leave half my affairs to the direction of my maid.

This is the round of my day; and when shall I either stop my course, orso change it as to want a book? I suppose it cannot be imagined, thatany of these diversions will soon be at an end. There will always begardens, and a park, and auctions, and shows, and playhouses, and cards;visits will always be paid, and clothes always be worn; and how can Ihave time unemployed upon my hands?

But I am most at a loss to guess for what purpose they related suchtragick stories of the cruelty, perfidy, and artifices of men, who, ifthey ever were so malicious and destructive, have certainly now reformedtheir manners. I have not, since my entrance into the world, found onewho does not profess himself devoted to my service, and ready to live ordie as I shall command him. They are so far from intending to hurt me,that their only contention is, who shall be allowed most closely toattend, and most frequently to treat me; when different places ofentertainment, or schemes of pleasure are mentioned, I can see the eyesparkle and the cheeks glow of him whose proposals obtain myapprobation; he then leads me off in triumph, adores my condescension,and congratulates himself that he has lived to the hour of felicity. Arethese, Mr. Rambler, creatures to be feared? Is it likely that an injurywill be done me by those who can enjoy life only while I favour themwith my presence?

As little reason can I yet find to suspect them of stratagems and fraud.When I play at cards, they never take advantage of my mistakes, norexact from me a rigorous observation of the game. Even Mr. Shuffle, agrave gentleman, who has daughters older than myself, plays with me sonegligently, that I am sometimes inclined to believe he loses his moneyby design, and yet he is so fond of play, that he says, he will one daytake me to his house in the country, that we may try by ourselves whocan conquer. I have not yet promised him; but when the town grows alittle empty, I shall think upon it, for I want some trinkets, likeLetitia's, to my watch. I do not doubt my luck, but must study somemeans of amusing my relations.

For all these distinctions I find myself indebted to that beauty which Iwas never suffered to hear praised, and of which, therefore, I did notbefore know the full value. The concealment was certainly an intentionalfraud, for my aunts have eyes like other people, and I am every daytold, that nothing but blindness can escape the influence of my charms.Their whole account of that world which they pretend to know so well,has been only one fiction entangled with another; and though the modesof life oblige me to continue some appearances of respect, I cannotthink that they, who have been so clearly detected in ignorance orimposture, have any right to the esteem, veneration, or obedience of,

Sir, Yours,
BELLARIA.

No. 192. SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1752.

[Greek:
Genos ouden eis Erota;
Sophiae, tropos pateitai;
Monon arguron blepousin.
Apoloito protos autos
Ho ton arguron philaesas.
Dia touton ou tokaees,
Dai touton ou tokaees;
Polemoi, phonoi di auton.
To de cheiron, ollymestha
Dia touton oi philountes.] ANACREON. [Greek: ODLI Ms.] 5.

Vain the noblest birth would prove,
Nor worth or wit avail in love;
'Tis gold alone succeeds—by gold
The venal sex is bought and sold.
Accurs'd be he who first of yore
Discover'd the pernicious ore!
This sets a brother's heart on fire,
And arms the son against the sire;
And what, alas! is worse than all,
To this the lover owes his fall. F. LEWIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I am the son of a gentleman, whose ancestors, for many ages, held thefirst rank in the country; till at last one of them, too desirous ofpopularity, set his house open, kept a table covered with continualprofusion, and distributed his beef and ale to such as chose rather tolive upon the folly of others, than their own labour, with suchthoughtless liberality, that he left a third part of his estatemortgaged. His successor, a man of spirit, scorned to impair his dignityby parsimonious retrenchments, or to admit, by a sale of his lands, anyparticipation of the rights of his manour; he therefore made anothermortgage to pay the interest of the former, and pleased himself with thereflection, that his son would have the hereditary estate without thediminution of an acre.

Nearly resembling this was the practice of my wise progenitors for manyages. Every man boasted the antiquity of her family, resolved to supportthe dignity of his birth, and lived in splendour and plenty at theexpense of his heir, who, sometimes by a wealthy marriage, and sometimesby lucky legacies, discharged part of the incumbrances, and thoughthimself entitled to contract new debts, and to leave to his children thesame inheritance of embarrassment and distress.

Thus the estate perpetually decayed; the woods were felled by one, thepark ploughed by another, the fishery let to farmers by a third; at lastthe old hall was pulled down to spare the cost of reparation, and partof the materials sold to build a small house with the rest. We were nowopenly degraded from our original rank, and my father's brother wasallowed with less reluctance to serve an apprenticeship, though we neverreconciled ourselves heartily to the sound of haberdasher, but alwaystalked of warehouses and a merchant, and when the wind happened to blowloud, affected to pity the hazards of commerce, and to sympathize withthe solicitude of my poor uncle, who had the true retailer's terrour ofadventure, and never exposed himself or his property to any wider waterthan the Thames.

In time, however, by continual profit and small expenses, he grew rich,and began to turn his thoughts towards rank. He hung the arms of thefamily over his parlour-chimney; pointed at a chariot decorated onlywith a cypher; became of opinion that money could not make a gentleman;resented the petulance of upstarts; told stories of alderman Puff'sgrandfather the porter; wondered that there was no better method forregulating precedence; wished for some dress peculiar to men of fashion;and when his servant presented a letter, always inquired whether it camefrom his brother the esquire.

My father was careful to send him game by every carrier, which, thoughthe conveyance often cost more than the value, was well received,because it gave him an opportunity of calling his friends together,describing the beauty of his brother's seat, and lamenting his ownfolly, whom no remonstrances could withhold from polluting his fingerswith a shop-book.

The little presents which we sent were always returned with greatmunificence. He was desirous of being the second founder of his family,and could not bear that we should be any longer outshone by those whomwe considered as climbers upon our ruins, and usurpers of our fortune.He furnished our house with all the elegance of fashionable expense, andwas careful to conceal his bounties, lest the poverty of his familyshould be suspected.

At length it happened that, by misconduct like our own, a large estate,which had been purchased from us, was again exposed to the best bidder.My uncle, delighted with an opportunity of reinstating the family intheir possessions, came down with treasures scarcely to be imagined in aplace where commerce has not made large sums familiar, and at once droveall the competitors away, expedited the writings, and took possession.He now considered himself as superior to trade, disposed of his stock,and as soon as he had settled his economy, began to shew his ruralsovereignty, by breaking the hedges of his tenants in hunting, andseizing the guns or nets of those whose fortunes did not qualify themfor sportsmen. He soon afterwards solicited the office of sheriff, fromwhich all his neighbours were glad to be reprieved, but which heregarded as a resumption of ancestral claims, and a kind of restorationto blood after the attainder of a trade.

My uncle, whose mind was so filled with this change of his condition,that he found no want of domestick entertainment, declared himself tooold to marry, and resolved to let the newly-purchased estate fall intothe regular channel of inheritance. I was therefore considered as heirapparent, and courted with officiousness and caresses, by the gentlemenwho had hitherto coldly allowed me that rank which they could notrefuse, depressed me with studied neglect, and irritated me withambiguous insults.

I felt not much pleasure from the civilities for which I knew myselfindebted to my uncle's industry, till, by one of the invitations whichevery day now brought me, I was induced to spend a week with Lucius,whose daughter Flavilla I had often seen and admired like others,without any thought of nearer approaches. The inequality which hadhitherto kept me at a distance being now levelled, I was received withevery evidence of respect: Lucius told me the fortune which he intendedfor his favourite daughter; many odd accidents obliged us to be oftentogether without company, and I soon began to find that they werespreading for me the nets of matrimony.

Flavilla was all softness and complaisance. I, who had been excluded bya narrow fortune from much acquaintance with the world, and never beenhonoured before with the notice of so fine a lady, was easily enamoured.Lucius either perceived my passion, or Flavilla betrayed it; care wastaken, that our private meetings should be less frequent, and my charmerconfessed by her eyes how much pain she suffered from our restraint. Irenewed my visit upon every pretence, but was not allowed one interviewwithout witness; at last I declared my passion to Lucius, who receivedme as a lover worthy of his daughter, and told me that nothing waswanting to his consent, but that my uncle should settle his estate uponme. I objected the indecency of encroaching on his life, and the dangerof provoking him by such an unseasonable demand. Lucius seemed not tothink decency of much importance, but admitted the danger ofdispleasing, and concluded that as he was now old and sickly, we might,without any inconvenience, wait for his death.

With this resolution I was better contented, as it procured me thecompany of Flavilla, in which the days passed away amidst continualrapture; but in time I began to be ashamed of sitting idle, inexpectation of growing rich by the death of my benefactor, and proposedto Lucius many schemes of raising my own fortune by such assistance as Iknew my uncle willing to give me. Lucius, afraid lest I should change myaffection in absence, diverted me from my design by dissuasives to whichmy passion easily listened. At last my uncle died, and consideringhimself as neglected by me, from the time that Flavilla took possessionof my heart, left his estate to my younger brother, who was alwayshovering about his bed, and relating stories of my pranks andextravagance, my contempt of the commercial dialect, and my impatienceto be selling stock.

My condition was soon known, and I was no longer admitted by the fatherof Flavilla. I repeated the protestations of regard, which had beenformerly returned with so much ardour, in a letter which she receivedprivately, but returned by her father's footman. Contempt has driven outmy love, and I am content to have purchased, by the loss of fortune, anescape from a harpy, who has joined the artifices of age to theallurements of youth. I am now going to pursue my former projects with alegacy which my uncle bequeathed me, and if I succeed, shall expect tohear of the repentance of Flavilla.

I am, Sir, Yours, &c.

CONSTANTIUS.

No. 193. TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1752.

Laudis amore tumes? sunt certa piacula, quoe te
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello. HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 36.

Or art thou vain? books yield a certain spell
To stop thy tumour; you shall cease to swell
When you have read them thrice, and studied well. CREECH.

Whatever is universally desired, will be sought by industry andartifice, by merit and crimes, by means good and bad, rational andabsurd, according to the prevalence of virtue or vice, of wisdom orfolly. Some will always mistake the degree of their own desert, and somewill desire that others may mistake it. The cunning will have recourseto stratagem, and the powerful to violence, for the attainment of theirwishes; some will stoop to theft, and others venture upon plunder.

Praise is so pleasing to the mind of man, that it is the original motiveof almost all our actions. The desire of commendation, as of every thingelse, is varied indeed by innumerable differences of temper, capacity,and knowledge; some have no higher wish than for the applause of a club;some expect the acclamations of a county; and some have hoped to fillthe mouths of all ages and nations with their names. Every man pants forthe highest eminence within his view; none, however mean, ever sinksbelow the hope of being distinguished by his fellow-beings, and very fewhave by magnanimity or piety been so raised above it, as to act whollywithout regard to censure or opinion.

To be praised, therefore, every man resolves; but resolutions will notexecute themselves. That which all think too parsimoniously distributedto their own claims, they will not gratuitously squander upon others,and some expedient must be tried, by which praise may be gained beforeit can be enjoyed.

Among the innumerable bidders for praise, some are willing to purchaseat the highest rate, and offer ease and health, fortune and life. Yeteven of these only a small part have gained what they so earnestlydesired; the student wastes away in meditation, and the soldier perisheson the ramparts, but unless some accidental advantage cooperates withmerit, neither perseverance nor adventure attracts attention, andlearning and bravery sink into the grave, without honour or remembrance.

But ambition and vanity generally expect to be gratified on easierterms. It has been long observed, that what is procured by skill orlabour to the first possessor, may be afterwards transferred for money;and that the man of wealth may partake all the acquisitions of couragewithout hazard, and all the products of industry without fatigue. It waseasily discovered, that riches would obtain praise among otherconveniencies, and that he whose pride was unluckily associated withlaziness, ignorance, or cowardice, needed only to pay the hire of apanegyrist, and he might be regaled with periodical eulogies; mightdetermine, at leisure, what virtue or science he would be pleased toappropriate, and be lulled in the evening with soothing serenades, orwaked in the morning by sprightly gratulations.

The happiness which mortals receive from the celebration of beneficencewhich never relieved, eloquence which never persuaded, or elegance whichnever pleased, ought not to be envied or disturbed, when they are knownhonestly to pay for their entertainment. But there are unmercifulexactors of adulation, who withhold the wages of venality; retain theirencomiast from year to year by general promises and ambiguousblandishments; and when he has run through the whole compass offlattery, dismiss him with contempt, because his vein of fiction isexhausted.

A continual feast of commendation is only to be obtained by merit or bywealth; many are therefore obliged to content themselves with singlemorsels, and recompense the infrequency of their enjoyment by excess andriot, whenever fortune sets the banquet before them. Hunger is neverdelicate; they who are seldom gorged to the full with praise, may besafely fed with gross compliments; for the appetite must be satisfiedbefore it is disgusted.

It is easy to find the moment at which vanity is eager for sustenance,and all that impudence or servility can offer will be well received.When any one complains of the want of what he is known to possess in anuncommon degree, he certainly waits with impatience to be contradicted.When the trader pretends anxiety about the payment of his bills, or thebeauty remarks how frightfully she looks, then is the lucky moment totalk of riches or of charms, of the death of lovers, or the honour of amerchant.

Others there are yet more open and artless, who, instead of suborning aflatterer, are content to supply his place, and, as some animalsimpregnate themselves, swell with the praises which they hear from theirown tongues. Recte is dicitur laudare sese, cui nemo alius contigitlaudator. "It is right," says Erasmus, "that he, whom no one else willcommend, should bestow commendations on himself." Of all the sons ofvanity, these are surely the happiest and greatest; for what isgreatness or happiness but independence on external influences,exemption from hope or fear, and the power of supplying every want fromthe common stores of nature, which can neither be exhausted norprohibited? Such is the wise man of the stoicks; such is the divinity ofthe epicureans; and such is the flatterer of himself. Every otherenjoyment malice may destroy; every other panegyrick envy may withhold;but no human power can deprive the boaster of his own encomiums. Infamymay hiss, or contempt may growl, the hirelings of the great may followfortune, and the votaries of truth may attend on virtue; but hispleasures still remain the same; he can always listen with rapture tohimself, and leave those who dare not repose upon their own attestation,to be elated or depressed by chance, and toil on in the hopeless task offixing caprice, and propitiating malice.

This art of happiness has been long practised by periodical writers,with little apparent violation of decency. When we think ourexcellencies overlooked by the world, or desire to recall the attentionof the publick to some particular performance, we sit down with greatcomposure and write a letter to ourselves. The correspondent, whosecharacter we assume, always addresses us with the deference due to asuperior intelligence; proposes his doubts with a proper sense of hisown inability; offers an objection with trembling diffidence; and atlast has no other pretensions to our notice than his profundity ofrespect, and sincerity of admiration, his submission to our dictates,and zeal for our success. To such a reader, it is impossible to refuseregard, nor can it easily be imagined with how much alacrity we snatchup the pen which indignation or despair had condemned to inactivity,when we find such candour and judgment yet remaining in the world.

A letter of this kind I had lately the honour of perusing, in which,though some of the periods were negligently closed, and some expressionsof familiarity were used, which I thought might teach others to addressme with too little reverence, I was so much delighted with the passagesin which mention was made of universal learning—unbounded genius—soulof Homer, Pythagoras, and Plato—solidity of thought—accuracy ofdistinction—elegance of combination—vigour of fancy—strength ofreason—and regularity of composition—that I had once determined to layit before the publick. Three times I sent it to the printer, and threetimes I fetched it back. My modesty was on the point of yielding, whenreflecting that I was about to waste panegyricks on myself, which mightbe more profitably reserved for my patron, I locked it up for a betterhour, in compliance with the farmer's principle, who never eats at homewhat he can carry to the market.

No. 194. SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 1752.

Si damnosa senem juvat alea, ludit et heres
Bullatus, parvoque eadem movet arma fritillo. JUV. Sat. xiv. 4.

If gaming does an aged sire entice,
Then my young master swiftly learns the vice,
And shakes in hanging sleeves the little box and dice. J. DRYDEN, jun.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

That vanity which keeps every man important in his own eyes, inclines meto believe that neither you nor your readers have yet forgotten the nameof Eumathes, who sent you a few months ago an account of his arrival atLondon, with a young nobleman his pupil. I shall therefore continue mynarrative without preface or recapitulation.

My pupil, in a very short time, by his mother's countenance anddirection, accomplished himself with all those qualifications whichconstitute puerile politeness. He became in a few days a perfect masterof his hat, which with a careless nicety he could put off or on, withoutany need to adjust it by a second motion. This was not attained but byfrequent consultations with his dancing-master, and constant practicebefore the glass, for he had some rustick habits to overcome; but, whatwill not time and industry perform? A fortnight more furnished him withall the airs and forms of familiar and respectful salutation, from theclap on the shoulder to the humble bow; he practises the stare ofstrangeness, and the smile of condescension, the solemnity of promise,and the graciousness of encouragement, as if he had been nursed at alevee; and pronounces, with no less propriety than his father, themonosyllables of coldness, and sonorous periods of respectfulprofession.

He immediately lost the reserve and timidity which solitude and studyare apt to impress upon the most courtly genius; was able to enter acrowded room with airy civility; to meet the glances of a hundred eyeswithout perturbation; and address those whom he never saw before withease and confidence. In less than a month his mother declared hersatisfaction at his proficiency by a triumphant observation, that shebelieved nothing would make him blush.

The silence with which I was contented to hear my pupil's praises, gavethe lady reason to suspect me not much delighted with his acquisitions;but she attributed my discontent to the diminution of my influence, andmy fears of losing the patronage of the family; and though she thinksfavourably of my learning and morals, she considers me as whollyunacquainted with the customs of the polite part of mankind; andtherefore not qualified to form the manners of a young nobleman, orcommunicate the knowledge of the world. This knowledge she comprises inthe rules of visiting, the history of the present hour, an earlyintelligence of the change of fashions, an extensive acquaintance withthe names and faces of persons of rank, and a frequent appearance inplaces of resort.

All this my pupil pursues with great application. He is twice a day inthe Mall, where he studies the dress of every man splendid enough toattract his notice, and never comes home without some observation uponsleeves, button-holes, and embroidery. At his return from the theatre,he can give an account of the gallantries, glances, whispers, smiles,sighs, flirts, and blushes of every box, so much to his mother'ssatisfaction, that when I attempted to resume my character, by inquiringhis opinion of the sentiments and diction of the tragedy, she at oncerepressed my criticism, by telling me, "that she hoped he did not go tolose his time in attending to the creatures on the stage."

But his acuteness was most eminently signalized at the masquerade, wherehe discovered his acquaintance through their disguises, with suchwonderful facility, as has afforded the family an inexhaustible topickof conversation. Every new visitor is informed how one was detected byhis gait, and another by the swinging of his arms, a third by the tossof his head, and another by his favourite phrase; nor can you doubt butthese performances receive their just applause, and a genius thushastening to maturity is promoted by every art of cultivation.

Such have been his endeavours, and such his assistances, that everytrace of literature was soon obliterated. He has changed his languagewith his dress, and instead of endeavouring at purity or propriety, hasno other care than to catch the reigning phrase and current exclamation,till, by copying whatever is peculiar in the talk of all those whosebirth or fortune entitles them to imitation, he has collected everyfashionable barbarism of the present winter, and speaks a dialect not tobe understood among those who form their style by poring upon authors.

To this copiousness of ideas, and felicity of language, he has joinedsuch eagerness to lead the conversation, that he is celebrated among theladies as the prettiest gentleman that the age can boast of, except thatsome who love to talk themselves, think him too forward, and otherslament that, with so much wit and knowledge, he is not taller.

His mother listens to his observations with her eyes sparkling and herheart beating, and can scarcely contain, in the most numerousassemblies, the expectations which she has formed for his futureeminence. Women, by whatever fate, always judge absurdly of theintellects of boys. The vivacity and confidence which attract femaleadmiration, are seldom produced in the early part of life, but byignorance at least, if not by stupidity; for they proceed not fromconfidence of right, but fearlessness of wrong. Whoever has a clearapprehension, must have quick sensibility, and where he has nosufficient reason to trust his own judgment, will proceed with doubt andcaution, because he perpetually dreads the disgrace of errour. The painof miscarriage is naturally proportionate to the desire of excellence;and, therefore, till men are hardened by long familiarity with reproach,or have attained, by frequent struggles, the art of suppressing theiremotions, diffidence is found the inseparable associate ofunderstanding.

But so little distrust has my pupil of his own abilities, that he hasfor some time professed himself a wit, and tortures his imagination onall occasions for burlesque and jocularity. How he supports a characterwhich, perhaps, no man ever assumed without repentance, may be easilyconjectured. Wit, you know, is the unexpected copulation of ideas, thediscovery of some occult relation between images in appearance remotefrom each other; an effusion of wit, therefore, presupposes anaccumulation of knowledge; a memory stored with notions, which theimagination may cull out to compose, new assemblages. Whatever may bethe native vigour of the mind, she can never form many combinations fromfew ideas, as many changes can never be rung upon a few bells. Accidentmay indeed sometimes produce a lucky parallel or a striking contrast;but these gifts of chance are not frequent, and he that has nothing ofhis own, and yet condemns himself to needless expenses, must live uponloans or theft.

The indulgence which his youth has hitherto obtained, and the respectwhich his rank secures, have hitherto supplied the want of intellectualqualifications; and he imagines that all admire who applaud, and thatall who laugh are pleased. He therefore returns every day to the chargewith increase of courage, though not of strength, and practises all thetricks by which wit is counterfeited. He lays trains for a quibble; hecontrives blunders for his footman; he adapts old stories to presentcharacters; he mistakes the question, that he may return a smart answer;he anticipates the argument, that he may plausibly object; when he hasnothing to reply, he repeats the last words of his antagonist, thensays, "your humble servant," and concludes with a laugh of triumph.

These mistakes I have honestly attempted to correct; but what can beexpected from reason unsupported by fashion, splendour, or authority? Hehears me, indeed, or appears to hear me, but is soon rescued from thelecture by more pleasing avocations; and shows, diversions, andcaresses, drive my precepts from his remembrance.

He at last imagines himself qualified to enter the world, and has metwith adventures in his first sally, which I shall, by your paper,communicate to the publick.

I am, &c.

EUMATHES.

No. 195. TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 1752.

—Nescit equo rudis
Haerere ingenuus puer,
Venarique timet; ludere doctior,
Seu Graeco jubeas trocho,
Seu malis vetitâ legibus aleâ. HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 54.

Nor knows our youth, of noblest race,
To mount the manag'd steed, or urge the chace;
More skill'd in the mean arts of vice,
The whirling troque, or law-forbidden dice. FRANCIS.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Favours of every kind are doubled when they are speedily conferred. Thisis particularly true of the gratification of curiosity. He that longdelays a story, and suffers his auditor to torment himself withexpectation, will seldom be able to recompense the uneasiness, or equalthe hope which he suffers to be raised.

For this reason, I have already sent you the continuation of my pupil'shistory, which, though it contains no events very uncommon, may be ofuse to young men who are in too much haste to trust their own prudence,and quit the wing of protection before they are able to shift forthemselves.

When he first settled in London, he was so much bewildered in theenormous extent of the town, so confounded by incessant noise, andcrowds, and hurry, and so terrified by rural narratives of the arts ofsharpers, the rudeness of the populace, malignity of porters, andtreachery of coachmen, that he was afraid to go beyond the door withoutan attendant, and imagined his life in danger if he was obliged to passthe streets at night in any vehicle but his mother's chair.

He was therefore contented, for a time, that I should accompany him inall his excursions. But his fear abated as he grew more familiar withits objects; and the contempt to which his rusticity exposed him fromsuch of his companions as had accidentally known the town longer,obliged him to dissemble his remaining terrours.

His desire of liberty made him now willing to spare me the trouble ofobserving his motions; but knowing how much his ignorance exposed him tomischief, I thought it cruel to abandon him to the fortune of the town.We went together every day to a coffee-house, where he met wits, heirs,and fops, airy, ignorant, and thoughtless as himself, with whom he hadbecome acquainted at card-tables, and whom he considered as the onlybeings to be envied or admired. What were their topicks of conversation,I could never discover; for, so much was their vivacity repressed by myintrusive seriousness, that they seldom proceeded beyond the exchange ofnods and shrugs, an arch grin, or a broken hint, except when they couldretire, while I was looking on the papers, to a corner of the room,where they seemed to disburden their imaginations, and commonly ventedthe superfluity of their sprightliness in a peal of laughter. When theyhad tittered themselves into negligence, I could sometimes overhear afew syllables, such as—solemn rascal—academical airs—smoke the tutor—company for gentlemen!—and other broken phrases, by which I did notsuffer my quiet to be disturbed, for they never proceeded to avowedindignities, but contented themselves to murmur in secret, and, wheneverI turned my eye upon them, shrunk into stillness.

He was, however, desirous of withdrawing from the subjection which hecould not venture to break, and made a secret appointment to assist hiscompanions in the persecution of a play. His footman privately procuredhim a catcall, on which he practised in a back-garret for two hours inthe afternoon. At the proper time a chair was called; he pretended anengagement at lady Flutter's, and hastened to the place where hiscritical associates had assembled. They hurried away to the theatre,full of malignity and denunciations against a man whose name they hadnever heard, and a performance which they could not understand; for theywere resolved to judge for themselves, and would not suffer the town tobe imposed upon by scribblers. In the pit, they exerted themselves withgreat spirit and vivacity; called out for the tunes of obscene songs,talked loudly at intervals of Shakespeare and Jonson, played on theircatcalls a short prelude of terrour, clamoured vehemently for aprologue, and clapped with great dexterity at the first entrance of theplayers.

Two scenes they heard without attempting interruption; but, being nolonger able to restrain their impatience, they then began to exertthemselves in groans and hisses, and plied their catcalls with incessantdiligence; so that they were soon considered by the audience asdisturbers of the house; and some who sat near them, either provoked atthe obstruction of their entertainment, or desirous to preserve theauthor from the mortification of seeing his hopes destroyed by children,snatched away their instruments of criticism, and, by the seasonablevibration of a stick, subdued them instantaneously to decency andsilence.

To exhilarate themselves after this vexatious defeat, they posted to atavern, where they recovered their alacrity, and, after two hours ofobstreperous jollity, burst out big with enterprize, and panting forsome occasion to signalize their prowess. They proceeded vigorouslythrough two streets, and with very little opposition dispersed a rabbleof drunkards less daring than themselves, then rolled two watchmen inthe kennel, and broke the windows of a tavern in which the fugitivestook shelter. At last it was determined to march up to a row of chairs,and demolish them for standing on the pavement; the chairmen formed aline of battle, and blows were exchanged for a time with equal courageon both sides. At last the assailants were overpowered, and thechairmen, when they knew then-captives, brought them home by force.

The young gentleman, next morning, hung his head, and was so muchashamed of his outrages and defeat, that perhaps he might have beenchecked in his first follies, had not his mother, partly in pity of hisdejection, and partly in approbation of his spirit, relieved him fromhis perplexity by paying the damages privately, and discouraging allanimadversion and reproof.

This indulgence could not wholly preserve him from the remembrance ofhis disgrace, nor at once restore his confidence and elation. He was forthree days silent, modest, and compliant, and thought himself neithertoo wise for instruction, nor too manly for restraint. But his levityovercame this salutary sorrow; he began to talk with his former rapturesof masquerades, taverns, and frolicks; blustered when his wig was notcombed with exactness; and threatened destruction to a tailor who hadmistaken his directions about the pocket.

I knew that he was now rising again above control, and that hisinflation of spirits would burst out into some mischievous absurdity. Itherefore watched him with great attention; but one evening, havingattended his mother at a visit, he withdrew himself, unsuspected, whilethe company was engaged at cards. His vivacity and officiousness weresoon missed, and his return impatiently expected; supper was delayed,and conversation suspended; every coach that rattled through the streetwas expected to bring him, and every servant that entered the room wasexamined concerning his departure. At last the lady returned home, andwas with great difficulty preserved from fits by spirits and cordials.The family was despatched a thousand ways without success, and the housewas filled with distraction, till, as we were deliberating what furthermeasures to take, he returned from a petty gaming-table, with his coattorn and his head broken; without his sword, snuff-box, sleeve-buttons,and watch.

Of this loss or robbery, he gave little account; but, instead of sinkinginto his former shame, endeavoured to support himself by surliness andasperity. "He was not the first that had played away a few trifles, andof what use were birth and fortune if they would not admit some salliesand expenses?" His mamma was so much provoked by the cost of this prank,that she would neither palliate nor conceal it; and his father, aftersome threats of rustication which his fondness would not suffer him toexecute, reduced the allowance of his pocket, that he might not betempted by plenty to profusion. This method would have succeeded in aplace where there are no panders to folly and extravagance, but was nowlikely to have produced pernicious consequences; for we have discovereda treaty with a broker, whose daughter he seems disposed to marry, oncondition that he shall be supplied with present money, for which he isto repay thrice the value at the death of his father.

There was now no time to be lost. A domestick consultation wasimmediately held, and he was doomed to pass two years in the country;but his mother, touched with his tears, declared, that she thought himtoo much of a man to be any longer confined to his book, and hetherefore begins his travels to-morrow under a French governour.

I am, &c.

EUMATHES.

No. 196. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1752.

Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum,
Multa recedentes adimunt.— HOR. De Ar. Poet. 175.

The blessings flowing in with life's full tide,
Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide. FRANCIS.

Baxter, in the narrative of his own life, has enumerated severalopinions, which, though he thought them evident and incontestable at hisfirst entrance into the world, time and experience disposed him tochange.

Whoever reviews the state of his own mind from the dawn of manhood toits decline, and considers what he pursued or dreaded, slighted oresteemed, at different periods of his age, will have no reason toimagine such changes of sentiment peculiar to any station or character.Every man, however careless and inattentive, has conviction forced uponhim; the lectures of time obtrude themselves upon the most unwilling ordissipated auditor; and, by comparing our past with our presentthoughts, we perceive that we have changed our minds, though perhaps wecannot discover when the alteration happened, or by what causes it wasproduced.

This revolution of sentiments occasions a perpetual contest between theold and young. They who imagine themselves entitled to veneration by theprerogative of longer life, are inclined to treat the notions of thosewhose conduct they superintend with superciliousness and contempt, forwant of considering that the future and the past have differentappearances; that the disproportion will always be great betweenexpectation and enjoyment, between new possession and satiety; that thetruth of many maxims of age gives too little pleasure to be allowed tillit is felt; and that the miseries of life would be increased beyond allhuman power of endurance, if we were to enter the world with the sameopinions as we carry from it.

We naturally indulge those ideas that please us. Hope will predominatein every mind, till it has been suppressed by frequent disappointments.The youth has not yet discovered how many evils are continually hoveringabout us, and when he is set free from the shackles of discipline, looksabroad into the world with rapture; he sees an elysian region openbefore him, so variegated with beauty, and so stored with pleasure, thathis care is rather to accumulate good, than to shun evil; he standsdistracted by different forms of delight, and has no other doubt, thanwhich path to follow of those which all lead equally to the bowers ofhappiness.

He who has seen only the superficies of life believes every thing to bewhat it appears, and rarely suspects that external splendour concealsany latent sorrow or vexation. He never imagines that there may begreatness without safety, affluence without content, jollity withoutfriendship, and solitude without peace. He fancies himself permitted tocull the blessings of every condition, and to leave its inconvenienciesto the idle and the ignorant. He is inclined to believe no man miserablebut by his own fault, and seldom looks with much pity upon failings ormiscarriages, because he thinks them willingly admitted, or negligentlyincurred.

It is impossible, without pity and contempt, to hear a youth of generoussentiments and warm imagination, declaring, in the moment of opennessand confidence, his designs and expectations; because long life ispossible, he considers it as certain, and therefore promises himself allthe changes of happiness, and provides gratifications for every desire.He is, for a time, to give himself wholly to frolick and diversion, torange the world in search of pleasure, to delight every eye, to gainevery heart, and to be celebrated equally for his pleasing levities andsolid attainments, his deep reflections and his sparkling repartees. Hethen elevates his views to nobler enjoyments, and finds all thescattered excellencies of the female world united in a woman, whoprefers his addresses to wealth and titles; he is afterwards to engagein business, to dissipate difficulty, and overpower opposition: toclimb, by the mere force of merit, to fame and greatness; and reward allthose who countenanced his rise, or paid due regard to his earlyexcellence. At last he will retire in peace and honour; contract hisviews to domestick pleasures; form the manners of children like himself;observe how every year expands the beauty of his daughters, and how hissons catch ardour from their father's history; he will give laws to theneighbourhood; dictate axioms to posterity; and leave the world anexample of wisdom and of happiness.

With hopes like these, he sallies jocund into life; to little purpose ishe told, that the condition of humanity admits no pure and unmingledhappiness; that the exuberant gaiety of youth ends in poverty ordisease; that uncommon qualifications and contrarieties of excellence,produce envy equally with applause; that whatever admiration andfondness may promise him, he must marry a wife like the wives of others,with some virtues and some faults, and be as often disgusted by hervices, as delighted by her elegance; that if he adventures into thecircle of action, he must expect to encounter men as artful, as daring,as resolute as himself; that of his children, some may be deformed, andothers vicious; some may disgrace him by their follies, some offend himby their insolence, and some exhaust him by their profusion. He hearsall this with obstinate incredulity, and wonders by what malignity oldage is influenced, that it cannot forbear to fill his ears withpredictions of misery.

Among other pleasing errours of young minds, is the opinion of their ownimportance. He that has not yet remarked, how little attention hiscontemporaries can spare from their own affairs, conceives all eyesturned upon himself, and imagines every one that approaches him to be anenemy or a follower, an admirer or a spy. He therefore considers hisfame as involved in the event of every action. Many of the virtues andvices of youth proceed from this quick sense of reputation. This it isthat gives firmness and constancy, fidelity, and disinterestedness, andit is this that kindles resentment for slight injuries, and dictates allthe principles of sanguinary honour.

But as time brings him forward into the world, he soon discovers that heonly shares fame or reproach with innumerable partners; that he is leftunmarked in the obscurity of the crowd; and that what he does, whethergood or bad, soon gives way to new objects of regard. He then easilysets himself free from the anxieties of reputation, and considers praiseor censure as a transient breath, which, while he hears it, is passingaway, without any lasting mischief or advantage.

In youth, it is common to measure right and wrong by the opinion of theworld, and, in age, to act without any measure but interest, and to loseshame without substituting virtue.

Such is the condition of life, that something is always wanting tohappiness. In youth, we have warm hopes, which are soon blasted byrashness and negligence, and great designs, which are defeated byinexperience. In age, we have knowledge and prudence without spirit toexert, or motives to prompt them; we are able to plan schemes andregulate measures, but have not time remaining to bring them tocompletion.

No. 197. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1752.

Cujus vulturis hoc erit cadaver? MART. Lib. vi. Ep. lxii. 4.

Say, to what vulture's share this carcase falls? F. LEWIS

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

I belong to an order of mankind, considerable at least for their number,to which your notice has never been formally extended, though equallyentitled to regard with those triflers, who have hitherto supplied youwith topicks of amusem*nt or instruction. I am, Mr. Rambler, alegacy-hunter; and, as every man is willing to think well of the tribein which his name is registered, you will forgive my vanity, if I remindyou that the legacy-hunter, however degraded by an ill-compoundedappellation in our barbarous language, was known, as I am told, inancient Rome, by the sonorous titles of Captator and Hæredipeta.

My father was an attorney in the country, who married his master'sdaughter in hopes of a fortune which he did not obtain, having been, ashe afterwards discovered, chosen by her only because she had no betteroffer, and was afraid of service. I was the first offspring of amarriage, thus reciprocally fraudulent, and therefore could not beexpected to inherit much dignity or generosity, and if I had them notfrom nature, was not likely ever to attain them; for, in the years whichI spent at home, I never heard any reason for action or forbearance, butthat we should gain money or lose it; nor was taught any other style ofcommendation, than that Mr. Sneaker is a warm man, Mr. Gripe has donehis business, and needs care for nobody.

My parents, though otherwise not great philosophers, knew the force ofearly education, and took care that the blank of my understanding shouldbe filled with impressions of the value of money. My mother used, uponall occasions, to inculcate some salutary axioms, such as might inciteme to keep what I had, and get what I could; she informed me that wewere in a world, where all must catch that catch can; and as I grewup, stored my memory with deeper observations; restrained me from theusual puerile expenses, by remarking that many a little made a mickle;and, when I envied the finery of my neighbours, told me that brag was agood dog, but hold-fast was a better.

I was soon sagacious enough to discover that I was not born to greatwealth; and having heard no other name for happiness, was sometimesinclined to repine at my condition. But my mother always relieved me, bysaying, that there was money enough in the family, that it was good tobe of kin to means, that I had nothing to do but to please my friends,and I might come to hold up my head with the best squire in the country.

These splendid expectations arose from our alliance to three persons ofconsiderable fortune. My mother's aunt had attended on a lady, who, whenshe died, rewarded her officiousness and fidelity with a large legacy.My father had two relations, of whom one had broken his indentures andrun to sea, from whence, after an absence of thirty years, he returnedwith ten thousand pounds; and the other had lured an heiress out of awindow, who, dying of her first child, had left him her estate, on whichhe lived, without any other care than to collect his rents, and preservefrom poachers that game which he could not kill himself.

These hoarders of money were visited and courted by all who had anypretence to approach them, and received presents and compliments fromcousins who could scarcely tell the degree of their relation. But we hadpeculiar advantages, which encouraged us to hope, that we should bydegrees supplant our competitors. My father, by his profession, madehimself necessary in their affairs; for the sailor and the chambermaid,he inquired out mortgages and securities, and wrote bonds and contracts;and had endeared himself to the old woman, who once rashly lent anhundred pounds without consulting him, by informing her, that herdebtor, was on the point of bankruptcy, and posting so expeditiouslywith an execution, that all the other creditors were defrauded.

To the squire he was a kind of steward, and had distinguished himself inhis office by his address in raising the rents, his inflexibility indistressing the tardy tenants, and his acuteness in setting the parishfree from burdensome inhabitants, by shifting them off to some othersettlement.

Business made frequent attendance necessary; trust soon producedintimacy; and success gave a claim to kindness; so that we hadopportunity to practise all the arts of flattery and endearment. Mymother, who could not support the thoughts of losing any thing,determined, that all their fortunes should centre in me; and, in theprosecution of her schemes, took care to inform me that nothing costless than good words, and that it is comfortable to leap into an estatewhich another has got.

She trained me by these precepts to the utmost ductility of obedience,and the closest attention to profit. At an age when other boys aresporting in the fields or murmuring in the school, I was contriving somenew method of paying my court; inquiring the age of my futurebenefactors; or considering how I should employ their legacies.

If our eagerness of money could have been satisfied with the possessionsof any one of my relations, they might perhaps have been obtained; butas it was impossible to be always present with all three, ourcompetitors were busy to efface any trace of affection which we mighthave left behind; and since there was not, on any part, such superiorityof merit as could enforce a constant and unshaken preference, whoeverwas the last that flattered or obliged, had, for a time, the ascendant.

My relations maintained a regular exchange of courtesy, took care tomiss no occasion of condolence or congratulation, and sent presents atstated times, but had in their hearts not much esteem for one another.The seaman looked with contempt upon the squire as a milksop and alandman, who had lived without knowing the points of the compass, orseeing any part of the world beyond the county-town; and whenever theymet, would talk of longitude and latitude, and circles and tropicks,would scarcely tell him the hour without some mention of the horizon andmeridian, nor shew him the news without detecting his ignorance of thesituation of other countries.

The squire considered the sailor as a rude uncultivated savage, withlittle more of human than his form, and diverted himself with hisignorance of all common objects and affairs; when he could persuade himto go into the field, he always exposed him to the sportsmen, by sendinghim to look for game in improper places; and once prevailed upon him tobe present at the races, only that he might shew the gentlemen how asailor sat upon a horse.

The old gentlewoman thought herself wiser than both, for she lived withno servant but a maid, and saved her money. The others were indeedsufficiently frugal; but the squire could not live without dogs andhorses, and the sailor never suffered the day to pass but over a bowl ofpunch, to which, as he was not critical in the choice of his company,every man was welcome that could roar out a catch, or tell a story.

All these, however, I was to please; an arduous task; but what will notyouth and avarice undertake? I had an unresisting suppleness of temper,and an insatiable wish for riches; I was perpetually instigated by theambition of my parents, and assisted occasionally by their instructions.What these advantages enabled me to perform, shall be told in the nextletter of,

Yours, &c.

CAPTATOR.

No. 198. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1752.

Nil mihi das vivus: dicis, post fata daturum.
Si non es stultus, scis, Maro, quid cupiam. MART. Lib. xi. 67.

You've told me, Maro, whilst you live,
You'd not a single penny give,
But that whene'er you chance to die,
You'd leave a handsome legacy:
You must be mad beyond redress,
If my next wish you cannot guess. F. LEWIS.

MR. RAMBLER.

SIR,

You, who must have observed the inclination which almost every man,however unactive or insignificant, discovers of representing his life asdistinguished by extraordinary events, will not wonder that Captatorthinks his narrative important enough to be continued. Nothing is morecommon than for those to tease their companions with their history, whohave neither done nor suffered any thing that can excite curiosity, orafford instruction.

As I was taught to flatter with the first essays of speech, and had veryearly lost every other passion in the desire of money, I began mypursuit with omens of success; for I divided my officiousness sojudiciously among my relations, that I was equally the favourite of all.When any of them entered the door, I went to welcome him with raptures;when he went away, I hung down my head, and sometimes entreated to gowith him with so much importunity, that I very narrowly escaped aconsent which I dreaded in my heart. When at an annual entertainmentthey were altogether, I had a harder task; but plied them so impartiallywith caresses, that none could charge me with neglect; and when theywere wearied with my fondness and civilities, I was always dismissedwith money to buy playthings.

Life cannot be kept at a stand: the years of innocence and prattle weresoon at an end, and other qualifications were necessary to recommend meto continuance of kindness. It luckily happened that none of my friendshad high notions of book-learning. The sailor hated to see tall boysshut up in a school, when they might more properly be seeing the world,and making their fortunes; and was of opinion, that when the first rulesof arithmetick were known, all that was necessary to make a man completemight be learned on ship-board. The squire only insisted, that so muchscholarship was indispensably necessary, as might confer ability to drawa lease and read the court hands; and the old chambermaid declaredloudly her contempt of books, and her opinion that they only took thehead off the main chance.

To unite, as well as we could, all their systems, I was bred at home.Each was taught to believe, that I followed his directions, and I gainedlikewise, as my mother observed, this advantage, that I was always inthe way; for she had known many favourite children sent to schools oracademies, and forgotten.

As I grew fitter to be trusted to my own discretion, I was oftendespatched upon various pretences to visit my relations, with directionsfrom my parents how to ingratiate myself, and drive away competitors.

I was, from my infancy, considered by the sailor as a promising genius,because I liked punch better than wine; and I took care to improve thisprepossession by continual inquiries about the art of navigation, thedegree of heat and cold in different climates, the profits of trade, andthe dangers of shipwreck. I admired the courage of the seamen, andgained his heart by importuning him for a recital of his adventures, anda sight of his foreign curiosities. I listened with an appearance ofclose attention to stories which I could already repeat, and at theclose never failed to express my resolution to visit distant countries,and my contempt of the cowards and drones that spend all their lives intheir native parish; though I had in reality no desire of any thing butmoney, nor ever felt the stimulations of curiosity or ardour ofadventure, but would contentedly have passed the years of Nestor inreceiving rents, and lending upon mortgages.

The squire I was able to please with less hypocrisy, for I reallythought it pleasant enough to kill the game and eat it. Some arts offalsehood, however, the hunger of gold persuaded me to practise, bywhich, though no other mischief was produced, the purity of my thoughtswas vitiated, and the reverence for truth gradually destroyed. Isometimes purchased fish, and pretended to have caught them; I hired thecountrymen to shew me partridges, and then gave my uncle intelligence oftheir haunt; I learned the seats of hares at night, and discovered themin the morning with a sagacity that raised the wonder and envy of oldsportsmen. One only obstruction to the advancement of my reputation Icould never fully surmount; I was naturally a coward, and was thereforealways left shamefully behind, when there was a necessity to leap ahedge, to swim a river, or force the horses to the utmost speed; but asthese exigencies did not frequently happen, I maintained my honour withsufficient success, and was never left out of a hunting party.

The old chambermaid was not so certainly, nor so easily pleased, for shehad no predominant passion but avarice, and was therefore cold andinaccessible. She had no conception of any virtue in a young man butthat of saving his money. When she heard of my exploits in the field,she would shake her head, inquire how much I should be the richer forall my performances, and lament that such sums should be spent upon dogsand horses. If the sailor told her of my inclination to travel, she wassure there was no place like England, and could not imagine why any manthat can live in his own country should leave it. This sullen and frigidbeing I found means, however, to propitiate by frequent commendations offrugality, and perpetual care to avoid expense.

From the sailor was our first and most considerable expectation; for hewas richer than the chambermaid, and older than the squire. He was soawkward and bashful among women, that we concluded him secure frommatrimony; and the noisy fondness with which he used to welcome me tohis house, made us imagine that he would look out for no other heir, andthat we had nothing to do but wait patiently for his death. But in themidst of our triumph, my uncle saluted us one morning with a cry oftransport, and, clapping his hand hard on my shoulder, told me, I was ahappy fellow to have a friend like him in the world, for he came to fitme out for a voyage with one of his old acquaintances. I turned pale,and trembled; my father told him, that he believed my constitution notfitted to the sea; and my mother, bursting into tears, cried out, thather heart would break if she lost me. All this had no effect; the sailorwas wholly insusceptive of the softer passions, and, without regard totears or arguments, persisted in his resolution to make me a man. Wewere obliged to comply in appearance, and preparations were accordinglymade. I took leave of my friends with great alacrity, proclaimed thebeneficence of my uncle with the highest strains of gratitude, andrejoiced at the opportunity now put into my hands of gratifying mythirst of knowledge. But, a week before the day appointed for mydeparture, I fell sick by my mother's direction, and refused all foodbut what she privately brought me; whenever my uncle visited me I waslethargick or delirious, but took care in my raving fits to talkincessantly of travel and merchandize. The room was kept dark; the tablewas filled with vials and gallipots; my mother was with difficultypersuaded not to endanger her life with nocturnal attendance; my fatherlamented the loss of the profits of the voyage; and such superfluity ofartifices was employed, as perhaps might have discovered the cheat to aman of penetration. But the sailor, unacquainted with subtilties andstratagems, was easily deluded; and as the ship could not stay for myrecovery, sold the cargo, and left me to re-establish my health atleisure.

I was sent to regain my flesh in a purer air, lest it should appearnever to have been wasted, and in two months returned to deplore mydisappointment. My uncle pitied my dejection, and bid me prepare myselfa*gainst next year, for no land-lubber should touch his money.

A reprieve however was obtained, and perhaps some new stratagem mighthave succeeded another spring; but my uncle unhappily made amorousadvances to my mother's maid, who, to promote so advantageous a match,discovered the secret with which only she had been entrusted. Hestormed, and raved, and declaring that he would have heirs of his own,and not give his substance to cheats and cowards, married the girl intwo days, and has now four children.

Cowardice is always scorned, and deceit universally detested. I found myfriends, if not wholly alienated, at least cooled in their affection;the squire, though he did not wholly discard me, was less fond, andoften inquired when I would go to sea. I was obliged to bear hisinsults, and endeavoured to rekindle his kindness by assiduity andrespect; but all my care was vain; he died without a will, and theestate devolved to the legal heir.

Thus has the folly of my parents condemned me to spend in flattery andattendance those years in which I might have been qualified to placemyself above hope or fear. I am arrived at manhood without any usefulart, or generous sentiment; and, if the old woman should likewise atlast deceive me, am in danger at once of beggary and ignorance.

I am, &c.

CAPTATOR.

No. 199. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1752.

Decolor, obscurus, cilis. Non ille repexam
Cæsariem Regum, nec Candida virginis ornat
Colla, nec insigni splendet per cingula morsu:
Sed nova si nigri videas miracula suai,
Tum pulcros superat cultus, et quldquid Evis
Indus litoribus rubra scrutatur in alga. CLAUDIANUS, xlviii. 10.

Obscure, unpris'd, and dark, the magnet lies,
Nor lures the search of avaricious eyes,
Nor binds the neck, nor sparkles in the hair,
Nor dignifies the great, nor decks the fair.
But search the wonders of the dusky stone,
And own all glories of the mine outdone,
Each grace of form, each ornament of state,
That decks the fair, or dignifies the great.

TO THE RAMBLER.

SIR,

Though you have seldom digressed from moral subjects, I suppose you arenot so rigorous or cynical as to deny the value or usefulness of naturalphilosophy; or to have lived in this age of inquiry and experiment,without any attention to the wonders every day produced by the pokers ofmagnetism and the wheels of electricity. At least, I may be allowed tohope that, since nothing is more contrary to moral excellence than envy,you will not refuse to promote the happiness of others, merely becauseyou cannot partake of their enjoyments.

In confidence, therefore, that your ignorance has not made you an enemyto knowledge, I offer you the honour of introducing to the notice of thepublick, an adept, who, having long laboured for the benefit of mankind,is not willing, like too many of his predecessors, to conceal hissecrets in the grave.

Many have signalized themselves by melting their estates in crucibles. Iwas born to no fortune, and therefore had only my mind and body todevote to knowledge, and the gratitude of posterity will attest, thatneither mind nor body have been spared. I have sat whole weeks withoutsleep by the side of an athanor, to watch the moment of projection; Ihave made the first experiment in nineteen diving engines of newconstruction; I have fallen eleven times speechless under the shock ofelectricity; I have twice dislocated my limbs, and once fractured myskull, in essaying to fly[l]; and four times endangered my life bysubmitting to the transfusion of blood.

In the first period of my studies, I exerted the powers of my body morethan those of my mind, and was not without hopes that fame might bepurchased by a few broken bones without the toil of thinking; but havingbeen shattered by some violent experiments, and constrained to confinemyself to my books, I passed six-and-thirty years in searching thetreasures of ancient wisdom, but am at last amply recompensed for all myperseverance.

The curiosity of the present race of philosophers, having been longexercised upon electricity, has been lately transferred to magnetism;the qualities of the loadstone have been investigated, if not with muchadvantage, yet with great applause; and as the highest praise of art isto imitate nature, I hope no man will think the makers of artificialmagnets celebrated or reverenced above their deserts.

I have, for some time, employed myself in the same practice, but withdeeper knowledge and more extensive views. While my contemporaries weretouching needles and raising weights, or busying themselves withinclination and variation, I have been examining those qualities ofmagnetism which may be applied to the accommodation and happiness ofcommon life. I have left to inferior understandings the care ofconducting the sailor through the hazards of the ocean, and reserved tomyself the more difficult and illustrious province of preserving theconnubial compact from violation, and setting mankind free for ever fromthe danger of supposititious children, and the torments of fruitlessvigilance and anxious suspicion.

To defraud any man of his due praise is unworthy of a philosopher; Ishall, therefore, openly confess that I owe the first hint of thisinestimable secret to the rabbi Abraham Ben Hannase, who, in histreatise of precious stones, has left this account of the magnet:[Hebrew: chkalamta],&c. "The calamita, or loadstone that attracts iron,produces many bad fantasies in man. Women fly from this stone. If,therefore, any husband be disturbed with jealousy, and fear lest hiswife converses with other men, let him lay this stone upon her while sheis asleep. If she be pure, she will, when she wakes, clasp her husbandfondly in her arms; but if she be guilty, she will fall out of bed, andrun away."

When I first read this wonderful passage, I could not easily conceivewhy it had remained hitherto unregarded in such a zealous competitionfor magnetical fame. It would surely be unjust to suspect that any ofthe candidates are strangers to the name or works of rabbi Abraham, orto conclude, from a late edict of the Royal Society in favour of theEnglish language, that philosophy and literature are no longer to act inconcert. Yet, how should a quality so useful escape promulgation, but bythe obscurity of the language in which it was delivered? Why are footmenand chambermaids paid on every side for keeping secrets, which nocaution nor expense could secure from the all-penetrating magnet? Or,why are so many witnesses summoned, and so many artifices practised, todiscover what so easy an experiment would infallibly reveal?

Full of this perplexity, I read the lines of Abraham to a friend, whoadvised me not to expose my life by a mad indulgence of the love offame: he warned me by the fate of Orpheus, that knowledge or geniuscould give no protection to the invader of female prerogatives; assuredme that neither the armour of Achilles, nor the antidote of Mithridates,would be able to preserve me; and counselled me, if I could not livewithout renown, to attempt the acquisition of universal empire, in whichthe honour would perhaps be equal, and the danger certainly be less.

I, a solitary student, pretend not to much knowledge of the world, butam unwilling to think it so generally corrupt, as that a scheme for thedetection of incontinence should bring any danger upon its inventor. Myfriend has indeed told me that all the women will be my enemies, andthat, however I flatter myself with hopes of defence from the men, Ishall certainly find myself deserted in the hour of danger. Of the youngmen, said he, some will be afraid of sharing the disgrace of theirmothers, and some the danger of their mistresses; of those who aremarried, part are already convinced of the falsehood of their wives, andpart shut their eyes to avoid conviction; few ever sought for virtue inmarriage, and therefore few will try whether they have found it. Almostevery man is careless or timorous, and to trust is easier and safer thanto examine.

These observations discouraged me, till I began to consider whatreception I was likely to find among the ladies, whom I have reviewedunder the three classes of maids, wives, and widows, and cannot but hopethat I may obtain some countenance among them. The single ladies Isuppose universally ready to patronise my method, by which connubialwickedness may be detected, since no woman marries with a previousdesign to be unfaithful to her husband. And to keep them steady in mycause, I promise never to sell one of my magnets to a man who steals agirl from school; marries a woman of forty years younger than himself;or employs the authority of parents to obtain a wife without her ownconsent.

Among the married ladies, notwithstanding the insinuations of slander,yet I resolve to believe, that the greater part are my friends, and amat least convinced, that they who demand the test, and appear on myside, will supply, by their spirit, the deficiency of their numbers, andthat their enemies will shrink and quake at the sight of a magnet, asthe slaves of Scythia fled from the scourge.

The widows will be confederated in my favour by their curiosity, if notby their virtue; for it may be observed, that women who have outlivedtheir husbands, always think themselves entitled to superintend theconduct of young wives; and as they are themselves in no danger fromthis magnetick trial, I shall expect them to be eminently andunanimously zealous in recommending it.

With these hopes I shall, in a short time, offer to sale magnets armedwith a particular metallick composition, which concentrates theirvirtue, and determines their agency. It is known that the efficacy ofthe magnet, in common operations, depends much upon its armature, and itcannot be imagined, that a stone, naked, or cased only in a commonmanner, will discover the virtues ascribed to it by Rabbi Abraham. Thesecret of this metal I shall carefully conceal, and, therefore, am notafraid of imitators, nor shall trouble the offices with solicitationsfor a patent.

I shall sell them of different sizes, and various degrees of strength. Ihave some of a bulk proper to be hung at the bed's head, as scare-crows,and some so small that they may be easily concealed. Some I have groundinto oval forms to be hung at watches; and some, for the curious, I haveset in wedding rings, that ladies may never want an attestation of theirinnocence. Some I can produce so sluggish and inert, that they will notact before the third failure; and others so vigorous and animated, thatthey exert their influence against unlawful wishes, if they have beenwillingly and deliberately indulged. As it is my practice honestly totell my customers the properties of my magnets, I can judge, by theirchoice, of the delicacy of their sentiments. Many have been content tospare cost by purchasing only the lowest degree of efficacy, and allhave started with terrour from those which operate upon the thoughts.One young lady only fitted on a ring of the strongest energy, anddeclared that she scorned to separate her wishes from her acts, or allowherself to think what she was forbidden to practise.

I am, &c.

HERMETICUS.

[Footnote l: In the sixth chapter of Rasselas we have an excellent storyof an experimentalist in the art of flying. Dr. Johnson sketched perhapsfrom life, for we are informed that he once lodged in the same housewith a man who broke his legs in the daring attempt.]

No. 200. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1752.

Nemo petit, modicis quae mittebantur amicis
A Seneca, quae Piso bonus, quae Cotta solebut
Largiri; namque et titulis, et fascibus olim
Major habebatur donandi gloria: solum
Poscimus, ut caenes civiliter. Hoc face, el esto,
Esto, ut nunc multi, dives tibi, pauper amicis. JUV. Sat. v. 108.

No man expects (for who so much a sot
Who has the times he lives in so forgot?)
What Seneca, what Piso us'd to send,
To raise or to support a sinking friend.
Those godlike men, to wanting virtue kind,
Bounty well plac'd, preferr'd, and well design'd,
To all their titles, all that height of pow'r,
Which turns the brains of fools, and fools alone adore.
When your poor client is condemn'd t' attend,
'Tis all we ask, receive him as a friend:
Descend to this, and then we ask no more;
Rich to yourself, to all beside be poor. BOWLES.

TO THE RAMBLER.

MR. RAMBLER,

Such is the tenderness or infirmity of many minds, that when anyaffliction oppresses them, they have immediate recourse to lamentationand complaint, which, though it can only be allowed reasonable whenevils admit of remedy, and then only when addressed to those from whomthe remedy is expected, yet seems even in hopeless and incurabledistresses to be natural, since those by whom it is not indulged,imagine that they give a proof of extraordinary fortitude by suppressingit.

I am one of those who, with the Sancho of Cervantes, leave to highercharacters the merit of suffering in silence, and give vent withoutscruple to any sorrow that swells in my heart. It is therefore to me asevere aggravation of a calamity, when it is such as in the commonopinion will not justify the acerbity of exclamation, or support thesolemnity of vocal grief. Yet many pains are incident to a man ofdelicacy, which the unfeeling world cannot be persuaded to pity, andwhich, when they are separated from their peculiar and personalcirc*mstances, will never be considered as important enough to claimattention, or deserve redress.

Of this kind will appear to gross and vulgar apprehensions, the miserieswhich I endured in a morning visit to Prospero, a man lately raised towealth by a lucky project, and too much intoxicated by sudden elevation,or too little polished by thought and conversation, to enjoy his presentfortune with elegance and decency.

We set out in the world together; and for a long time mutually assistedeach other in our exigencies, as either happened to have money orinfluence beyond his immediate necessities. You know that nothinggenerally endears men so much as participation of dangers andmisfortunes; I therefore always considered Prospero as united with me inthe strongest league of kindness, and imagined that our friendship wasonly to be broken by the hand of death. I felt at his sudden shoot ofsuccess an honest and disinterested joy; but as I want no part of hissuperfluities, am not willing to descend from that equality in which wehitherto have lived.

Our intimacy was regarded by me as a dispensation from ceremonialvisits; and it was so long before I saw him at his new house, that hegently complained of my neglect, and obliged me to come on a dayappointed. I kept my promise, but found that the impatience of my friendarose not from any desire to communicate his happiness, but to enjoy hissuperiority.

When I told my name at the door, the footman went to see if his masterwas at home, and, by the tardiness of his return, gave me reason tosuspect that time was taken to deliberate. He then informed me, thatProspero desired my company, and shewed the staircase carefully securedby mats from the pollution of my feet. The best apartments wereostentatiously set open, that I might have a distant view of themagnificence which I was not permitted to approach; and my old friendreceiving me with all the insolence of condescension at the top of thestairs, conducted me to a back room, where he told me he alwaysbreakfasted when he had not great company.

On the floor where we sat lay a carpet covered with a cloth, of whichProspero ordered his servant to lift up a corner, that I mightcontemplate the brightness of the colours, and the elegance of thetexture, and asked me whether I had ever seen any thing so fine before?I did not gratify his folly with any outcries of admiration, but coldlybade the footman let down the cloth.

We then sat down, and I began to hope that pride was glutted withpersecution, when Prospero desired that I would give the servant leaveto adjust the cover of my chair, which was slipt a little aside, to shewthe damask; he informed me that he had bespoke ordinary chairs forcommon use, but had been disappointed by his tradesman. I put the chairaside with my foot, and drew another so hastily, that I was entreatednot to rumple the carpet.

Breakfast was at last set, and as I was not willing to indulge thepeevishness that began to seize me, I commended the tea: Prospero thentold me, that another time I should taste his finest sort, but that hehad only a very small quantity remaining, and reserved it for those whomhe thought himself obliged to treat with particular respect.

While we were conversing upon such subjects as imagination happened tosuggest, he frequently digressed into directions to the servant thatwaited, or made a slight inquiry after the jeweller or silversmith; andonce, as I was pursuing an argument with some degree of earnestness, hestarted from his posture of attention, and ordered, that if lord Loftycalled on him that morning, he should be shown into the best parlour.

My patience was yet not wholly subdued. I was willing to promote hissatisfaction, and therefore observed that the figures on the china wereeminently pretty. Prospero had now an opportunity of calling for hisDresden china, which, says he, I always associate with my chasedteakettle. The cups were brought; I once resolved not to have lookedupon them, but my curiosity prevailed. When I had examined them alittle, Prospero desired me to set them down, for they who wereaccustomed only to common dishes, seldom handled china with much care.You will, I hope, commend my philosophy, when I tell you that I did notdash his baubles to the ground.

He was now so much elevated with his own greatness, that he thought somehumility necessary to avert the glance of envy, and therefore told me,with an air of soft composure, that I was not to estimate life byexternal appearance, that all these shining acquisitions had addedlittle to his happiness, that he still remembered with pleasure the daysin which he and I were upon the level, and had often, in the moment ofreflection, been doubtful, whether he should lose much by changing hiscondition for mine.

I began now to be afraid lest his pride should, by silence andsubmission be emboldened to insults that could not easily be borne, andtherefore coolly considered, how I should repress it without suchbitterness of reproof as I was yet unwilling to use. But he interruptedmy meditation, by asking leave to be dressed, and told me, that he hadpromised to attend some ladies in the park, and, if I was going the sameway, would take me in his chariot. I had no inclination to any otherfavours, and therefore left him without any intention of seeing himagain, unless some misfortune should restore his understanding.

I am, &c.

ASPER.

Though I am not wholly insensible of the provocations which mycorrespondent has received, I cannot altogether commend the keenness ofhis resentment, nor encourage him to persist in his resolution ofbreaking off all commerce with his old acquaintance. One of the goldenprecepts of Pythagoras directs, that a friend should not be hated forlittle faults; and surely he, upon whom nothing worse can be charged,than that he mats his stairs, and covers his carpet, and sets out hisfinery to show before those whom he does not admit to use it, has yetcommitted nothing that should exclude him from common degrees ofkindness. Such improprieties often proceed rather from stupidity thanmalice. Those who thus shine only to dazzle, are influenced merely bycustom and example, and neither examine, nor are qualified to examine,the motives of their own practice, or to state the nice limits betweenelegance and ostentation. They are often innocent of the pain whichtheir vanity produces, and insult others when they have no worse purposethan to please themselves.

He that too much refines his delicacy will always endanger his quiet. Ofthose with whom nature and virtue oblige us to converse, some areignorant of the art of pleasing, and offend when they design to caress;some are negligent, and gratify themselves without regard to the quietof another; some, perhaps, are malicious, and feel no greatersatisfaction in prosperity, than that of raising envy and tramplinginferiority. But, whatever be the motive of insult, it is always best tooverlook it, for folly scarcely can deserve resentment, and malice ispunished by neglect[m].

[Footnote m: Garrick's little vanities are recognized by all in thecharacter of Prospero. Mr. Boswell informs us, that he never forgave itspointed satire. On the same authority we are assured, that thoughJohnson so dearly loved to ridicule his pupil, yet he so habituallyconsidered him as his own property, that he would permit no one besideto hold up his weaknesses to derision.]

No. 201. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1752.

—Sanctus haberi
Justitiæque tenat factis dictisque mereris,
Adnosco procerem. JUV. Sat. Lib. viii. 24.

Convince the world that you're devout and true;
Be just in all you say, and all you do;
Whatever be your birth, you're sure to be
A peer of the first magnitude to me. STEPNEY.

Boyle has observed, that the excellency of manufactures, and thefacility of labour, would be much promoted, if the various expedientsand contrivances which lie concealed in private hands, were byreciprocal communications made generally known; for there are fewoperations that are not performed by one or other with some peculiaradvantages, which, though singly of little importance, would, byconjunction and concurrence, open new inlets to knowledge, and give newpowers to diligence.

There are, in like manner, several moral excellencies distributed amongthe different classes of a community. It was said by Cujacius, that henever read more than one book by which he was not instructed; and hethat shall inquire after virtue with ardour and attention, will seldomfind a man by whose example or sentiments he may not be improved.

Every profession has some essential and appropriate virtue, withoutwhich there can be no hope of honour or success, and which, as it ismore or less cultivated, confers within its sphere of activity differentdegrees of merit and reputation. As the astrologers range thesubdivisions of mankind under the planets which they suppose toinfluence their lives, the moralist may distribute them according to thevirtues which they necessarily practise, and consider them asdistinguished by prudence or fortitude, diligence or patience.

So much are the modes of excellence settled by time and place, that menmay be heard boasting in one street of that which they would anxiouslyconceal in another. The grounds of scorn and esteem, the topicks ofpraise and satire, are varied according to the several virtues or viceswhich the course of life has disposed men to admire or abhor; but he whois solicitous for his own improvement, must not be limited by localreputation, but select from every tribe of mortals theircharacteristical virtues, and constellate in himself the scatteredgraces which shine single in other men.

The chief praise to which a trader aspires is that of punctuality, or anexact and rigorous observance of commercial engagements; nor is thereany vice of which he so much dreads the imputation, as of negligence andinstability. This is a quality which the interest of mankind requires tobe diffused through all the ranks of life, but which many seem toconsider as a vulgar and ignoble virtue, below the ambition of greatnessor attention of wit, scarcely requisite among men of gaiety and spirit,and sold at its highest rate when it is sacrificed to a frolick or ajest.

Every man has daily occasion to remark what vexations arise from thisprivilege of deceiving one another. The active and vivacious have solong disdained the restraints of truth, that promises and appointmentshave lost their cogency, and both parties neglect their stipulations,because each concludes that they will be broken by the other.

Negligence is first admitted in small affairs, and strengthened by pettyindulgences. He that is not yet hardened by custom, ventures not on theviolation of important engagements, but thinks himself bound by his wordin cases of property or danger, though he allows himself to forget atwhat time he is to meet ladies in the park, or at what tavern hisfriends are expecting him.

This laxity of honour would be more tolerable, if it could be restrainedto the play-house, the ball-room, or the card-table; yet even there itis sufficiently troublesome, and darkens those moments with expectation,suspense, and resentment, which are set aside for pleasure, and fromwhich we naturally hope for unmingled enjoyment, and total relaxation.But he that suffers the slightest breach in his morality, can seldomtell what shall enter it, or how wide it shall be made; when a passageis open, the influx of corruption is every moment wearing downopposition, and by slow degrees deluges the heart.

Aliger entered the world a youth of lively imagination, extensive views,and untainted principles. His curiosity incited him to range from placeto place, and try all the varieties of conversation; his elegance ofaddress and fertility of ideas gained him friends wherever he appeared;or at least he found the general kindness of reception always shown to ayoung man whose birth and fortune give him a claim to notice, and whohas neither by vice nor folly destroyed his privileges. Aliger waspleased with this general smile of mankind, and was industrious topreserve it by compliance and officiousness, but did not suffer hisdesire of pleasing to vitiate his integrity. It was his establishedmaxim, that a promise is never to be broken; nor was it without longreluctance that he once suffered himself to be drawn away from a festalengagement by the importunity of another company.

He spent the evening, as is usual in the rudiments of vice, inperturbation and imperfect enjoyment, and met his disappointed friendsin the morning with confusion and excuses. His companions, notaccustomed to such scrupulous anxiety, laughed at his uneasiness,compounded the offence for a bottle, gave him courage to break his wordagain, and again levied the penalty. He ventured the same experimentupon another society, and found them equally ready to consider it as avenial fault, always incident to a man of quickness and gaiety; till, bydegrees, he began to think himself at liberty to follow the lastinvitation, and was no longer shocked at the turpitude of falsehood. Hemade no difficulty to promise his presence at distant places, and iflistlessness happened to creep upon him, would sit at home with greattranquillity, and has often sunk to sleep in a chair, while he held tentables in continual expectations of his entrance.

It was so pleasant to live in perpetual vacancy, that he soon dismissedhis attention as an useless incumbrance, and resigned himself tocarelessness and dissipation, without any regard to the future or thepast, or any other motive of action than the impulse of a sudden desire,or the attraction of immediate pleasure. The absent were immediatelyforgotten, and the hopes or fears felt by others, had no influence uponhis conduct. He was in speculation completely just, but never kept hispromise to a creditor; he was benevolent, but always deceived thosefriends whom he undertook to patronise or assist; he was prudent, butsuffered his affairs to be embarrassed for want of regulating hisaccounts at stated times. He courted a young lady, and when thesettlements were drawn, took a ramble into the country on the dayappointed to sign them. He resolved to travel, and sent his chests onshipboard, but delayed to follow them till he lost his passage. He wassummoned as an evidence in a cause of great importance, and loitered onthe way till the trial was past. It is said that when he had, with greatexpense, formed an interest in a borough, his opponent contrived, bysome agents who knew his temper, to lure him away on the day ofelection.

His benevolence draws him into the commission of a thousand crimes,which others less kind or civil would escape. His courtesy invitesapplication; his promises produce dependence; he has his pockets filledwith petitions, which he intends some time to deliver and enforce, andhis table covered with letters of request, with which he purposes tocomply; but time slips imperceptibly away, while he is either idle orbusy; his friends lose their opportunities, and charge upon him theirmiscarriages and calamities.

This character, however contemptible, is not peculiar to Aliger. Theywhose activity of imagination is often shifting the scenes ofexpectation, are frequently subject to such sallies of caprice as makeall their actions fortuitous, destroy the value of their friendship,obstruct the efficacy of their virtues, and set them below the meanestof those that persist in their resolutions, execute what they design,and perform what they have promised.

No. 202. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1752.

[Greek: Pros apanta deilos estin o penaes pragmata,
Kai pantas autou kataphronein upolambanei
O de metrios pratton periskegesteron
Apanta t aniara, dampria, phepei.] CALLIMACHUS.

From no affliction is the poor exempt,
He thinks each eye surveys him with contempt;
Unmanly poverty subdues the heart,
Cankers each wound, and sharpen's[1] ev'ry dart. F. LEWIS.
[1] Transcriber's note: sic.

Among those who have endeavoured to promote learning, and rectifyjudgment, it has been long customary to complain of the abuse of words,which are often admitted to signify things so different, that, insteadof assisting the understanding as vehicles of knowledge, they produceerrour, dissention, and perplexity, because what is affirmed in onesense, is received in another.

If this ambiguity sometimes embarrasses the most solemn controversies,and obscures the demonstrations of science, it may well be expected toinfest the pompous periods of declaimers, whose purpose is often only toamuse with fallacies, and change the colours of truth and falsehood; orthe musical compositions of poets, whose style is professedlyfigurative, and whose art is imagined to consist in distorting wordsfrom their original meaning.

There are few words of which the reader believes himself better to knowthe import, than of poverty; yet, whoever studies either the poets orphilosophers, will find such an account of the condition expressed bythat term as his experience or observation will not easily discover tobe true. Instead of the meanness, distress, complaint, anxiety, anddependance, which have hitherto been combined in his ideas of poverty,he will read of content, innocence, and cheerfulness, of health andsafety, tranquillity and freedom; of pleasures not known but to menunencumbered with possessions; and of sleep that sheds his balsamickanodynes only on the cottage. Such are the blessings to be obtained bythe resignation of riches, that kings might descend from their thrones,and generals retire from a triumph, only to slumber undisturbed in theelysium of poverty.

If these authors do not deceive us, nothing can be more absurd than thatperpetual contest for wealth which keeps the world in commotion; nor anycomplaints more justly censured than those which proceed from want ofthe gifts of fortune, which we are taught by the great masters of moralwisdom to consider as golden shackles, by which the wearer is at oncedisabled and adorned; as luscious poisons which may for a time pleasethe palate, but soon betray their malignity by languor and by pain. Itis the great privilege of poverty to be happy unenvied, to be healthfulwithout physick, and secure without a guard; to obtain from the bountyof nature, what the great and wealthy are compelled to procure by thehelp of artists and attendants, of flatterers and spies.

But it will be found upon a nearer view, that they who extol thehappiness of poverty, do not mean the same state with those who deploreits miseries. Poets have their imaginations filled with ideas ofmagnificence; and being accustomed to contemplate the downfall ofempires, or to contrive forms of lamentations, for monarchs in distress,rank all the classes of mankind in a state of poverty, who make noapproaches to the dignity of crowns. To be poor, in the epick language,is only not to command the wealth of nations, nor to have fleets andarmies in pay.

Vanity has perhaps contributed to this impropriety of style. He thatwishes to become a philosopher at a cheap rate, easily gratifies hisambition by submitting to poverty when he does not feel it, and byboasting his contempt of riches when he has already more than he enjoys.He who would shew the extent of his views, and grandeur of hisconceptions, or discover his acquaintance with splendour andmagnificence, may talk like Cowley, of an humble station and quietobscurity, of the paucity of nature's wants, and the inconveniencies ofsuperfluity, and at last, like him, limit his desires to five hundredpounds a year; a fortune, indeed, not exuberant, when we compare it withthe expenses of pride and luxury, but to which it little becomes aphilosopher to affix the name of poverty, since no man can, with anypropriety, be termed poor, who does not see the greater part of mankindricher than himself.

As little is the general condition of human life understood by thepanegyrists and historians, who amuse us with accounts of the poverty ofheroes and sages. Riches are of no value in themselves, their use isdiscovered only in that which they procure. They are not coveted, unlessby narrow understandings, which confound the means with the end, but forthe sake of power, influence, and esteem; or, by some of less elevatedand refined sentiments, as necessary to sensual enjoyment.

The pleasures of luxury, many have, without uncommon virtue, been ableto despise, even when affluence and idleness have concurred to temptthem; and therefore he who feels nothing from indigence but the want ofgratifications which he could not in any other condition make consistentwith innocence, has given no proof of eminent patience. Esteem andinfluence every man desires, but they are equally pleasing, and equallyvaluable, by whatever means they are obtained; and whoever has found theart of securing them without the help of money, ought, in reality, to beaccounted rich, since he has all that riches can purchase to a wise man.Cincinnatus, though he lived upon a few acres cultivated by his ownhand, was sufficiently removed from all the evils generally comprehendedunder the name of poverty, when his reputation was such, that the voiceof his country called him from his farm to take absolute command intohis hand; nor was Diogenes much mortified by his residence in a tub,where he was honoured with the visit of Alexander the Great.

The same fallacy has conciliated veneration to the religious orders.When we behold a man abdicating the hope of terrestrial possessions, andprecluding himself, by an irrevocable vow, from the pursuit andacquisition of all that his fellow-beings consider as worthy of wishesand endeavours, we are immediately struck with the purity, abstraction,and firmness of his mind, and regard him as wholly employed in securingthe interests of futurity, and devoid of any other care than to gain, atwhatever price, the surest passage to eternal rest.

Yet, what can the votary be justly said to have lost of his presenthappiness? If he resides in a convent, he converses only with men whosecondition is the same with his own; he has, from the munificence of thefounder, all the necessaries of life, and is safe from that destitution,which Hooker declares to be "such an impediment to virtue, as, till itbe removed, suffereth not the mind of man to admit any other care." Alltemptations to envy and competition are shut out from his retreat; he isnot pained with the sight of unattainable dignity, nor insulted with thebluster of insolence, or the smile of forced familiarity. If he wandersabroad, the sanctity of his character amply compensates all otherdistinctions; he is seldom seen but with reverence, nor heard but withsubmission.

It has been remarked, that death, though often defied in the field,seldom fails to terrify when it approaches the bed of sickness in itsnatural horrour; so poverty may easily be endured, while associated withdignity and reputation, but will always be shunned and dreaded, when itis accompanied with ignominy and contempt.

No. 203. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1752.

Cum volet illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis hujus
Jus habet, incerti spatium mihi finiat avi. OVID. Met. xv. 873.

Come, soon or late, death's undetermin'd day,
This mortal being only can decay. WELSTED.

It seems to be the fate of man to seek all his consolations in futurity.The time present is seldom able to fill desire or imagination withimmediate enjoyment, and we are forced to supply its deficiencies byrecollection or anticipation.

Every one has so often detected the fallaciousness of hope, and theinconvenience of teaching himself to expect what a thousand accidentsmay preclude, that, when time has abated the confidence with which youthrushes out to take possession of the world, we endeavour, or wish, tofind entertainment in the review of life, and to repose upon real facts,and certain experience. This is perhaps one reason, among many, why agedelights in narratives.

But so full is the world of calamity, that every source of pleasure ispolluted, and every retirement of tranquillity disturbed. When time hassupplied us with events sufficient to employ our thoughts, it hasmingled them with so many disasters, that we shrink from theirremembrance, dread their intrusion upon our minds, and fly from them asfrom enemies that pursue us with torture.

No man past the middle point of life can sit down to feast upon thepleasures of youth without finding the banquet embittered by the cup ofsorrow; he may revive lucky accidents, and pleasing extravagancies; manydays of harmless frolick, or nights of honest festivity, will perhapsrecur; or, if he has been engaged in scenes of action, and acquaintedwith affairs of difficulty and vicissitudes of fortune, he may enjoy thenobler pleasure of looking back upon distress firmly supported, dangersresolutely encountered, and opposition artfully defeated. Aeneasproperly comforts his companions, when, after the horrours of a storm,they have landed on an unknown and desolate country, with the hope thattheir miseries will be at some distant time recounted with delight.There are few higher gratifications, than that of reflection onsurmounted evils, when they are not incurred nor protracted by ourfault, and neither reproach us with cowardice nor guilt.

But this felicity is almost always abated by the reflection that theywith whom we should be most pleased to share it are now in the grave. Afew years make such havock in human generations, that we soon seeourselves deprived of those with whom we entered the world, and whom theparticipation of pleasures or fatigues had endeared to our remembrance.The man of enterprise recounts his adventures and expedients, but isforced, at the close of the relation, to pay a sigh to the names ofthose that contributed to his success; he that passes his life among thegayer part of mankind, has his remembrance stored with remarks andrepartees of wits, whose sprightliness and merriment are now lost inperpetual silence; the trader, whose industry has supplied the want ofinheritance, repines in solitary plenty at the absence of companions,with whom he had planned out amusem*nts for his latter years; and thescholar, whose merit, after a long series of efforts, raises him fromobscurity, looks round in vain from his exaltation for his old friendsor enemies, whose applause or mortification would heighten his triumph.

Among Martial's requisites to happiness is, Res non parta labore, sedrelicta, "an estate not gained by industry, but left by inheritance."It is necessary to the completion of every good, that it be timelyobtained; for whatever comes at the close of life will come too late togive much delight; yet all human happiness has its defects. Of what wedo not gain for ourselves we have only a faint and imperfect fruition,because we cannot compare the difference between want and possession, orat least can derive from it no conviction of our own abilities, nor anyincrease of self-esteem; what we acquire by bravery or science, bymental or corporeal diligence, comes at last when we cannot communicate,and, therefore, cannot enjoy it.

Thus every period of life is obliged to borrow its happiness from thetime to come. In youth we have nothing past to entertain us, and in age,we derive little from retrospect but hopeless sorrow. Yet the futurelikewise has its limits, which the imagination dreads to approach, butwhich we see to be not far distant. The loss of our friends andcompanions impresses hourly upon us the necessity of our own departure;we know that the schemes of man are quickly at an end, that we must soonlie down in the grave with the forgotten multitudes of former ages, andyield our place to others, who, like us, shall be driven awhile by hopeor fear about the surface of the earth, and then like us be lost in theshades of death.

Beyond this termination of our material existence, we are thereforeobliged to extend our hopes; and almost every man indulges hisimagination with something, which is not to happen till he has changedhis manner of being: some amuse themselves with entails and settlements,provide for the perpetuation of families and honours, or contrive toobviate the dissipation of the fortunes, which it has been theirbusiness to accumulate; others, more refined or exalted, congratulatetheir own hearts upon the future extent of their reputation, thereverence of distant nations, and the gratitude of unprejudicedposterity.

They whose souls are so chained down to coffers and tenements, that theycannot conceive a state in which they shall look upon them with lesssolicitude, are seldom attentive or flexible to arguments; but thevotaries of fame are capable of reflection, and therefore may be calledto reconsider the probability of their expectations.

Whether to be remembered in remote times be worthy of a wise man's wish,has not yet been satisfactorily decided; and, indeed, to be longremembered, can happen to so small a number, that the bulk of mankindhas very little interest in the question. There is never room in theworld for more than a certain quantity or measure of renown. Thenecessary business of life, the immediate pleasures or pains of everycondition, leave us not leisure beyond a fixed proportion forcontemplations which do not forcibly influence our present welfare. Whenthis vacuity is filled, no characters can be admitted into thecirculation of fame, but by occupying the place of some that must bethrust into oblivion. The eye of the mind, like that of the body, canonly extend its view to new objects, by losing sight of those which arenow before it.

Reputation is therefore a meteor, which blazes a while and disappearsfor ever; and, if we except a few transcendent and invincible names,which no revolutions of opinion or length of time is able to suppress;all those that engage our thoughts, or diversify our conversation, areevery moment hasting to obscurity, as new favourites are adopted byfashion.

It is not therefore from this world, that any ray of comfort canproceed, to cheer the gloom of the last hour. But futurity has still itsprospects; there is yet happiness in reserve, which, if we transfer ourattention to it, will support us in the pains of disease, and thelanguor of decay. This happiness we may expect with confidence, becauseit is out of the power of chance, and may be attained by all thatsincerely desire and earnestly pursue it. On this therefore every mindought finally to rest. Hope is the chief blessing of man, and that hopeonly is rational, of which we are certain that it cannot deceive us.

No. 204. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1752

Nemo tam divos habuit faventes,
Crastinum ut possit sibi polliceit. SENECA.

Of heaven's protection who can be
So confident to utter this?—
To-morrow I will spend in bliss. F. LEWIS.

Seged, lord of Ethiopia, to the inhabitants of the world: To the sons ofPresumption, humility and fear; and to the daughters of Sorrow,content and acquiescence.

Thus, in the twenty-seventh year of his reign, spoke Seged, the monarchof forty nations, the distributor of the waters of the Nile: "At length,Seged, thy toils are at an end; thou hast reconciled disaffection, thouhast suppressed rebellion, thou hast pacified the jealousies of thycourtiers, thou hast chased war from thy confines, and erectedfortresses in the lands of thine enemies. All who have offended theetremble in thy presence, and wherever thy voice is heard, it is obeyed.Thy throne is surrounded by armies, numerous as the locusts of thesummer, and resistless as the blasts of pestilence. Thy magazines arestored with ammunition, thy treasures overflow with the tribute ofconquered kingdoms. Plenty waves upon thy fields, and opulence glittersin thy cities. Thy nod is as the earthquake that shakes the mountains,and thy smile as the dawn of the vernal day. In thy hand is the strengthof thousands, and thy health is the health of millions. Thy palace isgladdened by the song of praise, and thy path perfumed by the breath ofbenediction. Thy subjects gaze upon thy greatness, and think of dangeror misery no more. Why, Seged, wilt not thou partake the blessings thoubestowest? Why shouldst thou only forbear to rejoice in this generalfelicity? Why should thy face be clouded with anxiety, when the meanestof those who call thee sovereign, gives the day to festivity, and thenight to peace? At length, Seged, reflect and be wise. What is the giftof conquest but safety? Why are riches collected but to purchasehappiness?"

Seged then ordered the house of pleasure, built in an island of the lakeof Dambea, to be prepared for his reception. "I will retire," says he,"for ten days from tumult and care, from counsels and decrees. Longquiet is not the lot of the governours of nations, but a cessation often days cannot be denied me. This short interval of happiness maysurely be secured from the interruption of fear or perplexity, sorrow ordisappointment. I will exclude all trouble from my abode, and removefrom my thoughts whatever may confuse the harmony of the concert, orabate the sweetness of the banquet. I will fill the whole capacity of mysoul with enjoyment, and try what it is to live without a wishunsatisfied."

In a few days the orders were performed, and Seged hasted to the palaceof Dambea, which stood in an island cultivated only for pleasure,planted with every flower that spreads its colours to the sun, and everyshrub that sheds fragrance in the air. In one part of this extensivegarden, were open walks for excursions in the morning; in another, thickgroves, and silent arbours, and bubbling fountains for repose at noon.All that could solace the sense, or flatter the fancy, all that industrycould extort from nature, or wealth furnish to art, all that conquestcould seize, or beneficence attract, was collected together, and everyperception of delight was excited and gratified.

Into this delicious region Seged summoned all the persons of his court,who seemed eminently qualified to receive or communicate pleasure. Hiscall was readily obeyed; the young, the fair, the vivacious, and thewitty, were all in haste to be sated with felicity. They sailed jocundover the lake, which seemed to smooth its surface before them: theirpassage was cheered with musick, and their hearts dilated withexpectation.

Seged, landing here with his band of pleasure, determined from that hourto break off all acquaintance with discontent, to give his heart for tendays to ease and jollity, and then fall back to the common state of man,and suffer his life to be diversified, as before, with joy and sorrow.

He immediately entered his chamber, to consider where he should beginhis circle of happiness. He had all the artists of delight before him,but knew not whom to call, since he could not enjoy one, but by delayingthe performance of another. He chose and rejected, he resolved andchanged his resolution, till his faculties were harassed, and histhoughts confused; then returned to the apartment where his presence wasexpected, with languid eyes and clouded countenance, and spread theinfection of uneasiness over the whole assembly. He observed theirdepression, and was offended, for he found his vexation increased bythose whom he expected to dissipate and relieve it. He retired again tohis private chamber, and sought for consolation in his own mind; onethought flowed in upon another; a long succession of images seized hisattention; the moments crept imperceptibly away through the gloom ofpensiveness, till, having recovered his tranquillity, he lifted hishead, and saw the lake brightened by the setting sun. "Such," saidSeged, sighing, "is the longest day of human existence: before we havelearned to use it, we find it at, an end."

The regret which he felt for the loss of so great a part of his firstday, took from him all disposition to enjoy the evening; and, afterhaving endeavoured, for the sake of his attendants, to force an air ofgaiety, and excite that mirth which he could not share, he resolved torefer his hopes to the next morning, and lay down to partake with theslaves of labour and poverty the blessing of sleep.

He rose early the second morning, and resolved now to be happy. Hetherefore fixed upon the gate of the palace an edict, importing, thatwhoever, during nine days, should appear in the presence of the kingwith a dejected countenance, or utter any expression of discontent orsorrow, should be driven for ever from the palace of Dambea.

This edict was immediately made known in every chamber of the court, andbower of the gardens. Mirth was frighted away, and they who were beforedancing in the lawns, or singing in the shades, were at once engaged inthe care of regulating their looks, that Seged might find his willpunctually obeyed, and see none among them liable to banishment.

Seged now met every face settled in a smile; but a smile that betrayedsolicitude, timidity, and constraint. He accosted his favourites withfamiliarity and softness; but they durst not speak withoutpremeditation, lest they should be convicted of discontent or sorrow. Heproposed diversions, to which no objection was made, because objectionwould have implied uneasiness; but they were regarded with indifferenceby the courtiers, who had no other desire than to signalize themselvesby clamorous exultation. He offered various topicks of conversation, butobtained only forced jests, and laborious laughter; and after manyattempts to animate his train to confidence and alacrity, was obliged toconfess to himself the impotence of command, and resign another day togrief and disappointment.

He at last relieved his companions from their terrours, and shut himselfup in his chamber to ascertain, by different measures, the felicity ofthe succeeding days. At length he threw himself on the bed, and closedhis eyes, but imagined, in his sleep, that his palace and gardens wereoverwhelmed by an inundation, and waked with all the terrours of a manstruggling in the water. He composed himself again to rest, but wasaffrighted by an imaginary irruption into his kingdom; and striving, asis usual in dreams, without ability to move, fancied himself betrayed tohis enemies, and again started up with horrour and indignation.

It was now day, and fear was so strongly impressed on his mind, that hecould sleep no more. He rose, but his thoughts were filled with thedeluge and invasion, nor was he able to disengage his attention, ormingle with vacancy and ease in any amusem*nt. At length hisperturbation gave way to reason, and he resolved no longer to beharassed by visionary miseries; but, before this resolution could becompleted, half the day had elapsed: he felt a new conviction of theuncertainty of human schemes, and could not forbear to bewail theweakness of that being whose quiet was to be interrupted by vapours ofthe fancy. Having been first disturbed by a dream, he afterwards grievedthat a dream could disturb him. He at last discovered, that his terroursand grief were equally vain, and that to lose the present in lamentingthe past, was voluntarily to protract a melancholy vision. The third daywas now declining, and Seged again resolved to be happy on the morrow.

No. 205. TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 1752.

Volat ambiguis
Mobilis alis hora, nec ulli
Præstat velox Fortuna fidem. SENECA. Hippol. 1141.

On fickle wings the minutes haste,
And fortune's favours never last. F. LEWIS.

On the fourth morning Seged rose early, refreshed with sleep, vigorouswith health, and eager with expectation. He entered the garden, attendedby the princes and ladies of his court, and seeing nothing about him butairy cheerfulness, began to say to his heart, "This day shall be a dayof pleasure." The sun played upon the water, the birds warbled in thegroves, and the gales quivered among the branches. He roved from walk towalk as chance directed him, and sometimes listened to the songs,sometimes mingled with the dancers, sometimes let loose his imaginationin flights of merriment; and sometimes uttered grave reflections, andsententious maxims, and feasted on the admiration with which they werereceived.

Thus the day rolled on, without any accident of vexation, or intrusionof melancholy thoughts. All that beheld him caught gladness from hislooks, and the sight of happiness conferred by himself filled his heartwith satisfaction: but having passed three hours in this harmlessluxury, he was alarmed on a sudden by an universal scream among thewomen, and turning back saw the whole assembly flying in confusion. Ayoung crocodile had risen out of the lake, and was ranging the garden inwantonness or hunger. Seged beheld him with indignation, as a disturberof his felicity, and chased him back into the lake, but could notpersuade his retinue to stay, or free their hearts from the terrourwhich had seized upon them. The princesses inclosed themselves in thepalace, and could yet scarcely believe themselves in safety. Everyattention was fixed upon the late danger and escape, and no mind was anylonger at leisure for gay sallies or careless prattle.

Seged had now no other employment than to contemplate the innumerablecasualties which lie in ambush on every side to intercept the happinessof man, and break in upon the hour of delight and tranquillity. He had,however, the consolation of thinking, that he had not been nowdisappointed by his own fault, and that the accident which had blastedthe hopes of the day, might easily be prevented by future caution.

That he might provide for the pleasure of the next morning, he resolvedto repeal his penal edict, since he had already found that discontentand melancholy were not to be frighted away by the threats of authority,and that pleasure would only reside where she was exempted from control.He therefore invited all the companions of his retreat to unboundedpleasantry, by proposing prizes for those who should, on the followingday, distinguish themselves by any festive performances; the tables ofthe antechamber were covered with gold and pearls, and robes andgarlands decreed the rewards of those who could refine elegance orheighten pleasure.

At this display of riches every eye immediately sparkled, and everytongue was busied in celebrating the bounty and magnificence of theemperour. But when Seged entered, in hopes of uncommon entertainmentfrom universal emulation, he found that any passion too stronglyagitated, puts an end to that tranquillity which is necessary to mirth,and that the mind, that is to be moved by the gentle ventilations ofgaiety, must be first smoothed by a total calm. Whatever we ardentlywish to gain, we must in the same degree be afraid to lose, and fear andpleasure cannot dwell together.

All was now care and solicitude. Nothing was done or spoken, but with sovisible an endeavour at perfection, as always failed to delight, thoughit sometimes forced admiration: and Seged could not but observe withsorrow, that his prizes had more influence than himself. As the eveningapproached, the contest grew more earnest, and those who were forced toallow themselves excelled, began to discover the malignity of defeat,first by angry glances, and at last by contemptuous murmurs. Segedlikewise shared the anxiety of the day, for considering himself asobliged to distribute with exact justice the prizes which had been sozealously sought, he durst never remit his attention, but passed histime upon the rack of doubt, in balancing different kinds of merit, andadjusting the claims of all the competitors.

At last, knowing that no exactness could satisfy those whose hopes heshould disappoint, and thinking that on a day set apart for happiness,it would be cruel to oppress any heart with sorrow, he declared that allhad pleased him alike, and dismissed all with presents of equal value.

Seged soon saw that his caution had not been able to avoid offence. Theywho had believed themselves secure of the highest prizes, were notpleased to be levelled with the crowd: and though, by the liberality ofthe king, they received more than his promise had entitled them toexpect, they departed unsatisfied, because they were honoured with nodistinction, and wanted an opportunity to triumph in the mortificationof their opponents. "Behold here," said Seged, "the condition of him whoplaces his happiness in the happiness of others." He then retired tomeditate, and, while the courtiers were repining at his distributions,saw the fifth sun go down in discontent.

The next dawn renewed his resolution to be happy. But having learned howlittle he could effect by settled schemes or preparatory measures, hethought it best to give up one day entirely to chance, and left everyone to please and be pleased his own way.

This relaxation of regularity diffused a general complacence through thewhole court, and the emperour imagined that he had at last found thesecret of obtaining an interval of felicity. But as he was roving inthis careless assembly with equal carelessness, he overheard one of hiscourtiers in a close arbour murmuring alone: "What merit has Seged aboveus, that we should thus fear and obey him, a man, whom, whatever he mayhave formerly performed, his luxury now shows to have the same weaknesswith ourselves." This charge affected him the more, as it was uttered byone whom he had always observed among the most abject of his flatterers.At first his indignation prompted him to severity; but reflecting, thatwhat was spoken without intention to be heard, was to be considered asonly thought, and was perhaps but the sudden burst of casual andtemporary vexation, he invented some decent pretence to send him away,that his retreat might not be tainted with the breath of envy, and,after the struggle of deliberation was past, and all desire of revengeutterly suppressed, passed the evening not only with tranquillity, buttriumph, though none but himself was conscious of the victory.

The remembrance of his clemency cheered the beginning of the seventhday, and nothing happened to disturb the pleasure of Seged, till,looking on the tree that shaded him, he recollected, that, under a treeof the same kind he had passed the night after his defeat in the kingdomof Goiama. The reflection on his loss, his dishonour, and the miserieswhich his subjects suffered from the invader, filled him with sadness.At last he shook off the weight of sorrow, and began to solace himselfwith his usual pleasures, when his tranquillity was again disturbed byjealousies which the late contest for the prizes had produced, andwhich, having in vain tried to pacify them by persuasion, he was forcedto silence by command.

On the eighth morning Seged was awakened early by an unusual hurry inthe apartments, and inquiring the cause, was told that the princessBalkis was seized with sickness. He rose, and calling the physicians,found that they had little hope of her recovery. Here was an end ofjollity: all his thoughts were now upon his daughter, whose eyes heclosed on the tenth day.

Such were the days which Seged of Ethiopia had appropriated to a shortrespiration from the fatigues of war and the cares of government. Thisnarrative he has bequeathed to future generations, that no man hereaftermay presume to say, "This day shall be a day of happiness."

No. 206. SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1752.

—Propositi nondum pudet, atque eadem est mens,
Ut bona summa putes, alienâ vivere quadrâ. JUV. Sat. v. 1.

But harden'd by affronts, and still the same,
Lost to all sense of honour and of fame,
Thou yet canst love to haunt the great man's board,
And think no supper good but with a lord. BOWLES.

When Diogenes was once asked, what kind of wine he liked best? heanswered, "That which is drunk at the cost of others."

Though the character of Diogenes has never excited any general zeal ofimitation, there are many who resemble him in his taste of wine; manywho are frugal, though not abstemious; whose appetites, though toopowerful for reason, are kept under restraint by avarice; and to whomall delicacies lose their flavour, when they cannot be obtained but attheir own expense.

Nothing produces more singularity of manners and inconstancy of life,than the conflict of opposite vices in the same mind. He that uniformlypursues any purpose, whether good or bad, has a settled principle ofaction; and as he may always find associates who are travelling the sameway, is countenanced by example, and sheltered in the multitude; but aman, actuated at once by different desires, must move in a directionpeculiar to himself, and suffer that reproach which we are naturallyinclined to bestow on those who deviate from the rest of the world, evenwithout inquiring whether they are worse or better.

Yet this conflict of desires sometimes produces wonderful efforts. Toriot in far-fetched dishes, or surfeit with unexhausted variety, and yetpractise the most rigid economy, is surely an art which may justly drawthe eyes of mankind upon them whose industry or judgment has enabledthem to attain it. To him, indeed, who is content to break open thechests, or mortgage the manours, of his ancestors, that he may hire theministers of excess at the highest price, gluttony is an easy science;yet we often hear the votaries of luxury boasting of the elegance whichthey owe to the taste of others, relating with rapture the succession ofdishes with which their cooks and caterers supply them; and expectingtheir share of praise with the discoverers of arts and the civilizers ofnations. But to shorten the way to convivial happiness, by eatingwithout cost, is a secret hitherto in few hands, but which certainlydeserves the curiosity of those whose principal enjoyment is theirdinner, and who see the sun rise with no other hope than that they shallfill their bellies before it sets.

Of them that have within my knowledge attempted this scheme ofhappiness, the greater part have been immediately obliged to desist; andsome, whom their first attempts flattered with success, were reduced bydegrees to a few tables, from which they were at last chased to make wayfor others; and having long habituated themselves to superfluous plenty,growled away their latter years in discontented competence.

None enter the regions of luxury with higher expectations than men ofwit, who imagine, that they shall never want a welcome to that companywhose ideas they can enlarge, or whose imaginations they can elevate,and believe themselves able to pay for their wine with the mirth whichit qualifies them to produce. Full of this opinion, they crowd withlittle invitation, wherever the smell of a feast allures them, but areseldom encouraged to repeat their visits, being dreaded by the pert asrivals, and hated by the dull as disturbers of the company.

No man has been so happy in gaining and keeping the privilege of livingat luxurious houses as Gulosulus, who, after thirty years of continualrevelry, has now established, by uncontroverted prescription, his claimto partake of every entertainment, and whose presence they who aspire tothe praise of a sumptuous table are careful to procure on a day ofimportance, by sending the invitation a fortnight before.

Gulosulus entered the world without any eminent degree of merit; but wascareful to frequent houses where persons of rank resorted. By beingoften seen, he became in time known; and, from sitting in the same room,was suffered to mix in idle conversation, or assisted to fill up avacant hour, when better amusem*nt was not readily to be had. From thecoffee-house he was sometimes taken away to dinner; and as no manrefuses the acquaintance of him whom he sees admitted to familiarity byothers of equal dignity, when he had been met at a few tables, he withless difficulty found the way to more, till at last he was regularlyexpected to appear wherever preparations are made for a feast, withinthe circuit of his acquaintance.

When he was thus by accident initiated in luxury, he felt in himself noinclination to retire from a life of so much pleasure, and thereforevery seriously considered how he might continue it. Great qualities, oruncommon accomplishments, he did not find necessary; for he had alreadyseen that merit rather enforces respect than attracts fondness; and ashe thought no folly greater than that of losing a dinner for any othergratification, he often congratulated himself, that he had none of thatdisgusting excellence which impresses awe upon greatness, and condemnsits possessors to the society of those who are wise or brave, andindigent as themselves.

Gulosulus, having never allotted much of his time to books ormeditation, had no opinion in philosophy or politicks, and was not indanger of injuring his interest by dogmatical positions or violentcontradiction. If a dispute arose, he took care to listen with earnestattention; and, when either speaker grew vehement and loud, turnedtowards him with eager quickness, and uttered a short phrase ofadmiration, as if surprised by such cogency of argument as he had neverknown before. By this silent concession, he generally preserved ineither controvertist such a conviction of his own superiority, asinclined him rather to pity than irritate his adversary, and preventedthose outrages which are sometimes produced by the rage of defeat, orpetulance of triumph.

Gulosulus was never embarrassed but when he was required to declare hissentiments before he had been able to discover to which side the masterof the house inclined, for it was his invariable rule to adopt thenotions of those that invited him.

It will sometimes happen that the insolence of wealth breaks intocontemptuousness, or the turbulence of wine requires a vent; andGulosulus seldom fails of being singled out on such emergencies, as oneon whom any experiment of ribaldry may be safely tried. Sometimes hislordship finds himself inclined to exhibit a specimen of raillery forthe diversion of his guests, and Gulosulus always supplies him with asubject of merriment. But he has learned to consider rudeness andindignities as familiarities that entitle him to greater freedom: hecomforts himself, that those who treat and insult him pay for theirlaughter, and that he keeps his money while they enjoy their jest.

His chief policy consists in selecting some dish from every course, andrecommending it to the company, with an air so decisive, that no oneventures to contradict him. By this practice he acquires at a feast akind of dictatorial authority; his taste becomes the standard of picklesand seasoning, and he is venerated by the professors of epicurism, asthe only man who understands the niceties of cookery.

Whenever a new sauce is imported, or any innovation made in the culinarysystem, he procures the earliest intelligence, and the most authentickreceipt; and, by communicating his knowledge under proper injunctions ofsecrecy, gains a right of tasting his own dish whenever it is prepared,that he may tell whether his directions have been fully understood.

By this method of life Gulosulus has so impressed on his imagination thedignity of feasting, that he has no other topick of talk, or subject ofmeditation. His calendar is a bill of fare; he measures the year bysuccessive dainties. The only common-places of his memory are his meals;and if you ask him at what time an event happened, he considers whetherhe heard it after a dinner of turbot or venison. He knows, indeed, thatthose who value themselves upon sense, learning, or piety, speak of himwith contempt; but he considers them as wretches, envious or ignorant,who do not know his happiness, or wish to supplant him; and declares tohis friends, that he is fully satisfied with his own conduct, since hehas fed every day on twenty dishes, and yet doubled his estate.

No. 207. TUESDAY, MARCH 10, 1752.

Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne
Peccet ad extremum ridendus.— HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 8.

The voice of reason cries with winning force,
Loose from the rapid car your aged horse,
Lest, in the race derided, left behind,
He drag his jaded limbs, and burst his wind. FRANCIS.

Such is the emptiness of human enjoyment, that we are always impatientof the present. Attainment is followed by neglect, and possession bydisgust; and the malicious remark of the Greek epigrammatist on marriagemay be applied to every other course of life, that its two days ofhappiness are the first and the last.

Few moments are more pleasing than those in which the mind is concertingmeasures for a new undertaking. From the first hint that wakens thefancy, till the hour of actual execution, all is improvement andprogress, triumph and felicity. Every hour brings additions to theoriginal scheme, suggests some new expedient to secure success, ordiscovers consequential advantages not hitherto foreseen. Whilepreparations are made, and materials accumulated, day glides after daythrough elysian prospects, and the heart dances to the song of hope.

Such is the pleasure of projecting, that many content themselves with asuccession of visionary schemes, and wear out their allotted time in thecalm amusem*nt of contriving what they never attempt or hope to execute.

Others, not able to feast their imagination with pure ideas, advancesomewhat nearer to the grossness of action, with great diligence collectwhatever is requisite to their design, and, after a thousand researchesand consultations, are snatched away by death, as they stand inprocinctu, waiting for a proper opportunity to begin.

If there were no other end of life, than to find some adequate solacefor every day, I know not whether any condition could be preferred tothat of the man who involves himself in his own thoughts, and neversuffers experience to show him the vanity of speculation; for no soonerare notions reduced to practice, than tranquillity and confidenceforsake the breast; every day brings its task, and often withoutbringing abilities to perform it: difficulties embarrass, uncertaintyperplexes, opposition retards, censure exasperates, or neglectdepresses. We proceed because we have begun; we complete our design,that the labour already spent may not be vain; but as expectationgradually dies away, the gay smile of alacrity disappears, we arecompelled to implore severer powers, and trust the event to patience andconstancy.

When once our labour has begun, the comfort that enables us to endure itis the prospect of its end; for though in every long work there are somejoyous intervals of self-applause, when the attention is recreated byunexpected facility, and the imagination soothed by incidentalexcellencies; yet the toil with which performance struggles after idea,is so irksome and disgusting, and so frequent is the necessity ofresting below that perfection which we imagined within our reach, thatseldom any man obtains more from his endeavours than a painfulconviction of his defects, and a continual resuscitation of desireswhich he feels himself unable to gratify.

So certainly is weariness the concomitant of our undertakings, thatevery man, in whatever he is engaged, consoles himself with the hope ofchange; if he has made his way by assiduity to publick employment, hetalks among his friends of the delight of retreat; if by the necessityof solitary application he is secluded from the world, he listens with abeating heart to distant noises, longs to mingle with living beings, andresolves to take hereafter his fill of diversions, or display hisabilities on the universal theatre, and enjoy the pleasure ofdistinction and applause.

Every desire, however innocent, grows dangerous, as by long indulgenceit becomes ascendant in the mind. When we have been much accustomed toconsider any thing as capable of giving happiness, it is not easy torestrain our ardour, or to forbear some precipitation in our advances,and irregularity in our pursuits. He that has cultivated the tree,watched the swelling bud and opening blossom, and pleased himself withcomputing how much every sun and shower add to its growth, scarcelystays till the fruit has obtained its maturity, but defeats his owncares by eagerness to reward them. When we have diligently laboured forany purpose, we are willing to believe that we have attained it, and,because we have already done much, too suddenly conclude that no more isto be done.

All attraction is increased by the approach of the attracting body. Wenever find ourselves so desirous to finish as in the latter part of ourwork, or so impatient of delay, as when we know that delay cannot belong. This unseasonable importunity of discontent may be partly imputedto languor and weariness, which must always oppress those more whosetoil has been longer continued; but the greater part usually proceedsfrom frequent contemplation of that ease which is now considered aswithin reach, and which, when it has once flattered our hopes, we cannotsuffer to be withheld.

In some of the noblest compositions of wit, the conclusion falls belowthe vigour and spirit of the first books; and as a genius is not to bedegraded by the imputation of human failings, the cause of thisdeclension is commonly sought in the structure of the work, andplausible reasons are given why, in the defective part, less ornamentwas necessary, or less could be admitted. But, perhaps, the author wouldhave confessed, that his fancy was tired, and his perseverance broken;that he knew his design to be unfinished, but that, when he saw the endso near, he could no longer refuse to be at rest.

Against the instillations of this frigid opiate, the heart should besecured by all the considerations which once concurred to kindle theardour of enterprise. Whatever motive first incited action, has stillgreater force to stimulate perseverance; since he that might have lainstill at first in blameless obscurity, cannot afterwards desist but withinfamy and reproach. He, whom a doubtful promise of distant good couldencourage to set difficulties at defiance, ought not to remit hisvigour, when he has almost obtained his recompense. To faint or loiter,when only the last efforts are required, is to steer the ship throughtempests, and abandon it to the winds in sight of land; it is to breakthe ground and scatter the seed, and at last to neglect the harvest.

The masters of rhetorick direct, that the most forcible arguments beproduced in the latter part of an oration, lest they should be effacedor perplexed by supervenient images. This precept may be justly extendedto the series of life: nothing is ended with honour, which does notconclude better than it began. It is not sufficient to maintain thefirst vigour; for excellence loses its effect upon the mind by custom,as light after a time ceases to dazzle. Admiration must be continued bythat novelty which first produced it, and how much soever is given,there must always be reason to imagine that more remains.

We not only are most sensible of the last impressions, but such is theunwillingness of mankind to admit transcendant merit, that, though it bedifficult to obliterate the reproach of miscarriages by any subsequentachievement, however illustrious, yet the reputation raised by a longtrain of success may be finally ruined by a single failure; for weaknessor errour will be always remembered by that malice and envy which itgratifies.

For the prevention of that disgrace, which lassitude and negligence maybring at last upon the greatest performances, it is necessary toproportion carefully our labour to our strength. If the design comprisesmany parts, equally essential, and, therefore, not to be separated, theonly time for caution is before we engage; the powers of the mind mustbe then impartially estimated, and it must be remembered that, not tocomplete the plan, is not to have begun it; and that nothing is donewhile any thing is omitted.

But, if the task consists in the repetition of single acts, no one ofwhich derives its efficacy from the rest, it may be attempted with lessscruple, because there is always opportunity to retreat with honour. Thedanger is only, lest we expect from the world the indulgence with whichmost are disposed to treat themselves; and in the hour of listlessnessimagine, that the diligence of one day will atone for the idleness ofanother, and that applause begun by approbation will be continued byhabit.

He that is himself weary will soon weary the publick. Let him thereforelay down his employment, whatever it be, who can no longer exert hisformer activity or attention; let him not endeavour to struggle withcensure, or obstinately infest the stage till a general hiss commandshim to depart.

No. 208. SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1752.

[Greek: Aerakleitos ego ti me o kato helket amousoi,
Ouch hymin eponoun, tois de m' episgamenoi;
Eis emoi anthropos trismurioi; oi d' anarithmoi
Oudeis; taut audo kai para Persephonae] DIOG. LAERT.

Begone, ye blockheads, Heracl*tus cries,
And leave my labours to the learn'd and wise;
By wit, by knowledge, studious to be read,
I scorn the multitude, alive and dead.

Time, which puts an end to all human pleasures and sorrows, haslikewise concluded the labours of the Rambler. Having supported, for twoyears, the anxious employment of a periodical writer, and multiplied myessays to upwards of two hundred, I have now determined to desist.

The reasons of this resolution it is of little importance to declare,since justification is unnecessary when no objection is made. I am farfrom supposing, that the cessation of my performances will raise anyinquiry, for I have never been much a favourite of the publick, nor canboast that, in the progress of my undertaking, I have been animated bythe rewards of the liberal, the caresses of the great, or the praises ofthe eminent.

But I have no design to gratify pride by submission, or malice bylamentation; nor think it reasonable to complain of neglect from thosewhose regard I never solicited. If I have not been distinguished by thedistributors of literary honours, I have seldom descended to the arts bywhich favour is obtained. I have seen the meteors of fashions rise andfall, without any attempt to add a moment to their duration. I havenever complied with temporary curiosity, nor enabled my readers todiscuss the topick of the day; I have rarely exemplified my assertionsby living characters; in my papers, no man could look for censures ofhis enemies, or praises of himself; and they only were expected toperuse them, whose passions left them leisure for abstracted truth, andwhom virtue could please by its naked dignity.

To some, however, I am indebted for encouragement, and to others forassistance. The number of my friends was never great, but they have beensuch as would not suffer me to think that I was writing in vain, and Idid not feel much dejection from the want of popularity.

My obligations having not been frequent, my acknowledgments may be soondespatched. I can restore to all my correspondents their productions,with little diminution of the bulk of my volumes, though not without theloss of some pieces to which particular honours have been paid.

The parts from which I claim no other praise than that of having giventhem an opportunity of appearing, are the four billets in the tenthpaper, the second letter in the fifteenth, the thirtieth, theforty-fourth, the ninety-seventh, and the hundredth papers, and thesecond letter in the hundred and seventh.

Having thus deprived myself of many excuses which candour might haveadmitted for the inequality of my compositions, being no longer able toallege the necessity of gratifying correspondents, the importunity withwhich publication was solicited, or obstinacy with which correction wasrejected, I must remain accountable for all my faults, and submit,without subterfuge, to the censures of criticism, which, however, Ishall not endeavour to soften by a formal deprecation, or to overbear bythe influence of a patron. The supplications of an author never yetreprieved him a moment from oblivion; and, though greatness hassometimes sheltered guilt, it can afford no protection to ignorance ordulness. Having hitherto attempted only the propagation of truth, I willnot at last violate it by the confession of terrours which I do notfeel; having laboured to maintain the dignity of virtue, I will not nowdegrade it by the meanness of dedication.

The seeming vanity with which I have sometimes spoken of myself, wouldperhaps require an apology, were it not extenuated by the example ofthose who have published essays before me, and by the privilege whichevery nameless writer has been hitherto allowed. "A mask," saysCastiglione, "confers a right of acting and speaking with lessrestraint, even when the wearer happens to be known." He that isdiscovered without his own consent, may claim some indulgence, andcannot be rigorously called to justify those sallies or frolicks whichhis disguise must prove him desirous to conceal.

But I have been cautious lest this offence should be frequently orgrossly committed; for, as one of the philosophers directs us to livewith a friend, as with one that is some time to become an enemy, I havealways thought it the duty of an anonymous author to write, as if heexpected to be hereafter known.

I am willing to flatter myself with hopes, that, by collecting thesepapers, I am not preparing, for my future life, either shame orrepentance. That all are happily imagined, or accurately polished, thatthe same sentiments have not sometimes recurred, or the same expressionsbeen too frequently repeated, I have not confidence in my abilitiessufficient to warrant. He that condemns himself to compose on a statedday, will often bring to his task an attention dissipated, a memoryembarrassed, an imagination overwhelmed, a mind distracted withanxieties, a body languishing with disease: he will labour on a barrentopick, till it is too late to change it; or, in the ardour ofinvention, diffuse his thoughts into wild exuberance, which the pressinghour of publication cannot suffer judgment to examine or reduce.

Whatever shall be the final sentence of mankind, I have at leastendeavoured to deserve their kindness. I have laboured to refine ourlanguage to grammatical purity, and to clear it from colloquialbarbarisms, licentious idioms, and irregular combinations. Something,perhaps, I have added to the elegance of its construction, and somethingto the harmony of its cadence. When common words were less pleasing tothe ear, or less distinct in their signification, I have familiarizedthe terms of philosophy, by applying them to popular ideas, but haverarely admitted any words not authorized by former writers; for Ibelieve that whoever knows the English tongue in its present extent,will be able to express his thoughts without further help from othernations.

As it has been my principal design to inculcate wisdom or piety, I haveallotted few papers to the idle sports of imagination. Some, perhaps,may be found, of which the highest excellence is harmless merriment; butscarcely any man is so steadily serious as not to complain, that theseverity of dictatorial instruction has been too seldom relieved, andthat he is driven by the sternness of the Rambler's philosophy to morecheerful and airy companions.

Next to the excursions of fancy are the disquisitions of criticism,which, in my opinion, is only to be ranked among the subordinate andinstrumental arts. Arbitrary decision and general exclamation I havecarefully avoided, by asserting nothing without a reason, andestablishing all my principles of judgment on unalterable and evidenttruth.

In the pictures of life I have never been so studious of novelty orsurprise, as to depart wholly from all resemblance; a fault whichwriters deservedly celebrated frequently commit, that they may raise, asthe occasion requires, either mirth or abhorrence. Some enlargement maybe allowed to declamation, and some exaggeration to burlesque; but asthey deviate farther from reality, they become less useful, becausetheir lessons will fail of application. The mind of the reader iscarried away from the contemplation of his own manners; he finds inhimself no likeness to the phantom before him; and though he laughs orrages, is not reformed.

The essays professedly serious, if I have been able to execute my ownintentions, will be found exactly conformable to the precepts ofChristianity, without any accommodation to the licentiousness and levityof the present age. I therefore look back on this part of my work withpleasure, which no blame or praise of man shall diminish or augment. Ishall never envy the honours which wit and learning obtain in any othercause, if I can be numbered among the writers who have given ardour tovirtue, and confidence to truth.

[Greek: Auton ek makaron autaxios eiae amoibae.]

Celestial pow'rs! that piety regard,
From you my labours wait their last reward.

END OF VOL. III.