{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_577/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_577","id":"gutenberg_577","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/577","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Essays"],"text":"Ver.04.29.93*END*\n\n\n\n\nScanned by Charles Keller with\nOmniPage Professional OCR software\ndonated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226.\nContact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com>\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON\nIN SIXTEEN VOLUMES\nVOLUME IV\n\n\nTHE RAMBLER\n\nBY SAMUEL JOHNSON\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nNo.\n171 Misella's description of the life of a prostitute.\n172 The effect of sudden riches upon the manners.\n173 Unreasonable fears of pedantry.\n174 The mischiefs of unbounded raillery.  History of Dicaculus\n175 The majority are wicked.\n176 Directions to authors attacked by criticks.  The various\n    degrees of critical perspicacity.\n177 An account of a club of antiquaries.\n178 Many advantages not to be enjoyed together.\n179 The awkward merriment of a student.\n180 The study of life not to be neglected for the sake of books.\n181 The history of an adventurer in lotteries.\n182 The history of Leviculus, the fortune-hunter.\n183 The influence of envy and interest compared.\n184 The subject of essays often suggested by chance.\n    Chance equally prevalent in other affairs\n185 The prohibition of revenge justifiable by reason.  The\n    meanness of regulating our conduct by the opinions of men\n186 Anningait and Ajut; a Greenland history\n187 The history of Anningait and Ajut concluded\n188 Favour often gained with little assistance from understanding.\n189 The mischiefs of falsehood.  The character of Turpicula.\n190 The history of Abouzaid, the son of Morad.\n191 The busy life of a young lady.\n192 Love unsuccessful without riches.\n193 The author's art of praising himself.\n194 A young nobleman's progress in politeness..\n195 A young nobleman's introduction to the knowledge of the town.\n196 Human opinions mutable.  The hopes of youth fallacious.\n197 The history of a legacy-hunter.\n198 The legacy-hunter's history concluded.\n199 The virtues of Rabbi Abraham's magnet.\n200 Asper's complaint of the insolence of Prospero\n    Unpoliteness not always the effect of pride.\n201 The importance of punctuality.\n202 The different acceptations of poverty.  Cynicks and Monks not poor.\n203 The pleasures of life to be sought in prospects of futurity.\n    Future fame uncertain.\n204 The history of ten days of Seged, emperour of Ethiopia.\n205 The history of Seged concluded.\n206 The art of living at the cost of others.\n207 The folly of continuing too long upon the stage.\n208 The Rambler's reception.  His design.\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURER\n\nNO.\n34 Folly of extravagance.  The story of Misargyrus.\n39 On sleep.\n41 Sequel of the story of Misargyrus.\n45 The difficulty of forming confederacies.\n50 On lying.\n53 Misargyrus' account of his companions in the Fleet.\n58 Presumption of modern criticism censured.\n   Ancient poetry necessarily obscure.  Examples from Horace.\n62 Misargyrus' account of his companions concluded.\n67 On the trades of Londo.\n69 Idle hope.\n74 Apology for neglecting officious advice.\n81 Incitement to enterprise and emulation.\n   Some account of the admirable Crichton.\n84 Folly of false pretences to importance.  A journey in a stage coach.\n85 Study, composition and converse equally necessary\n   to intellectual accomplishment.\n92 Criticism on the Pastorals of Virgil.\n95 Apology for apparent plagiarism.  Sources of literary variety.\n99 Projectors injudiciously censured and applauded.\n102 Infelicities of retirement to men of business.\n107 Different opinions equally plausible.\n108 On the uncertainty of human things.\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON\nIN SIXTEEN VOLUMES\nVOLUME IV\n\n\nTHE RAMBLER\n\nBY SAMUEL JOHNSON\n\n\n\n\n\nNo. 171. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1751\n\n Toeet coeli convexa tueri.    VIRG. AEn. iv. 451.\n Dark is the sun, and loathsome is the day.\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nMISELLA now sits down to continue her\nnarrative.  I am convinced that nothing would\nmore powerfully preserve youth from irregularity,\nor guard inexperience from seduction, than a just\ndescription of the condition into which the wanton\nplunges herself; and therefore hope that my letter\nmay be a sufficient antidote to my example.\n\nAfter the distraction, hesitation, and delays which\nthe timidity of guilt naturally produces, I was\nremoved to lodgings in a distant part of the town,\nunder one of the characters commonly assumed upon\nsuch occasions.  Here being by my circumstances\ncondemned to solitude, I passed most of my hours\nin bitterness and anguish.  The conversation of the\npeople with whom I was placed was not at all capable\nof engaging my attention, or dispossessing the\nreigning ideas.  The books which I carried to my\nretreat were such as heightened my abhorrence of\nmyself; for I was not so far abandoned as to sink\nvoluntarily into corruption, or endeavour to conceal\nfrom my own mind the enormity of my crime.\n\nMy relation remitted none of his fondness, but\nvisited me so often, that I was sometimes afraid\nlest his assiduity should expose him to suspicion.\nWhenever he came he found me weeping, and was\ntherefore less delightfully entertained than he\nexpected.  After frequent expostulations upon the\nunreasonableness of my sorrow, and innumerable\nprotestations of everlasting regard, he at last found\nthat I was more affected with the loss of my\ninnocence, than the danger of my fame, and that he\nmight not be disturbed by my remorse, began to\nlull my conscience with the opiates of irreligion.\nHis arguments were such as my course of life has\nsince exposed me often to the necessity of hearing,\nvulgar, empty, and fallacious; yet they at first\nconfounded me by their novelty, filled me with doubt\nand perplexity, and interrupted that peace which I\nbegan to feel from the sincerity of my repentance,\nwithout substituting any other support.  I listened\na while to his impious gabble, but its influence was\nsoon overpowered by natural reason and early education,\nand the convictions which this new attempt\ngave me of his baseness completed my abhorrence.\nI have heard of barbarians, who, when tempests\ndrive ships upon their coast, decoy them to the rocks\nthat they may plunder their lading, and have always\nthought that wretches, thus merciless in their\ndepredations, ought to be destroyed by a general\ninsurrection of all social beings; yet how light is this\nguilt to the crime of him, who, in the agitations of\nremorse, cuts away the anchor of piety, and, when\nhe has drawn aside credulity from the paths of\nvirtue, hides the light of heaven which would direct\nher to return.  I had hitherto considered him as a man\nequally betrayed with myself by the concurrence of\nappetite and opportunity; but I now saw with horrour\nthat he was contriving to perpetuate his gratification,\nand was desirous to fit me to his purpose,\nby complete and radical corruption.\n\nTo escape, however, was not yet in my power.  I\ncould support the expenses of my condition only\nby the continuance of his favour.  He provided all\nthat was necessary, and in a few weeks congratulated\nme upon my escape from the danger which\nwe had both expected with so much anxiety.  I\nthen began to remind him of his promise to restore\nme with my fame uninjured to the world.  He promised\nme in general terms, that nothing should be\nwanting which his power could add to my happiness,\nbut forbore to release me from my confinement.\nI knew how much my reception in the world\ndepended upon my speedy return, and was therefore\noutrageously impatient of his delays, which I\nnow perceived to be only artifices of lewdness.  He\ntold me at last, with an appearance of sorrow, that\nall hopes of restoration to my former state were for\never precluded; that chance had discovered my\nsecret, and malice divulged it; and that nothing\nnow remained, but to seek a retreat more private,\nwhere curiosity or hatred could never find us.\n\nThe rage, anguish, and resentment, which I felt\nat this account are not to be expressed.  I was in so\nmuch dread of reproach and infamy, which he represented\nas pursuing me with full cry, that I yielded\nmyself implicitly to his disposal and was removed,\nwith a thousand studied precautions, through by-\nways and dark passages to another house, where I\nharassed him with perpetual solicitations for a small\nannuity that might enable me to live in the country\nin obscurity and innocence.\n\nThis demand he at first evaded with ardent\nprofessions, but in time appeared offended at my\nimportunity and distrust; and having one day\nendeavoured to sooth me with uncommon expressions\nof tenderness, when he found my discontent\nimmoveable, left me with some inarticulate murmurs\nof anger.  I was pleased that he was at last roused\nto sensibility, and expecting that at his next visit\nhe would comply with my request, lived with great\ntranquillity upon the money in my hands, and was\nso much pleased with this pause of persecution, that\nI did not reflect how much his absence had exceeded\nthe usual intervals, till I was alarmed with\nthe danger of wanting subsistence.  I then suddenly\ncontracted my expenses, but was unwilling to\nsupplicate for assistance.  Necessity, however, soon\novercame my modesty or my pride, and I applied to\nhim by a letter, but had no answer.  I writ in terms\nmore pressing, but without effect.  I then sent an\nagent to inquire after him, who informed me, that\nhe had quitted his house, and was gone with his\nfamily to reside for some time on his estate in\nIreland.\n\nHowever shocked at this abrupt departure, I was\nyet unwilling to believe that he could wholly abandon\nme, and therefore, by the sale of my clothes, I\nsupported myself, expecting that every post would\nbring me relief.  Thus I passed seven months\nbetween hope and dejection, in a gradual approach to\npoverty and distress, emaciated with discontent, and\nbewildered with uncertainty.  At last my landlady,\nafter many hints of the necessity of a new lover,\ntook the opportunity of my absence to search my\nboxes, and missing some of my apparel, seized the\nremainder for rent, and led me to the door.\n\nTo remonstrate against legal cruelty, was vain; to\nsupplicate obdurate brutality, was hopeless.  I went\naway I knew not whither, and wandered about without\nany settled purpose, unacquainted with the usual\nexpedients of misery, unqualified for laborious\noffices, afraid to meet an eye that had seen me\nbefore, and hopeless of relief from those who were\nstrangers to my former condition.  Night came on\nin the midst of my distraction, and I still continued\nto wander till the menaces of the watch obliged me\nto shelter myself in a covered passage.\n\nNext day, I procured a lodging in the backward\ngarret of a mean house, and employed my landlady\nto inquire for a service.  My applications were\ngenerally rejected for want of a character.  At length\nI was received at a draper's, but when it was known\nto my mistress that I had only one gown, and that\nof silk, she was of opinion that I looked like a thief,\nand without warning hurried me away.  I then tried\nto support myself by my needle; and, by my landlady's\nrecommendation obtained a little work from\na shop, and for three weeks lived without repining;\nbut when my punctuality had gained me so much\nreputation, that I was trusted to make up a head of\nsome value, one of my fellow-lodgers stole the lace,\nand I was obliged to fly from a prosecution.\n\nThus driven again into the streets, I lived upon\nthe least that could support me, and at night\naccommodated myself under pent-houses as well as I\ncould.  At length I became absolutely pennyless,\nand having strolled all day without sustenance, was,\nat the close of evening, accosted by an elderly man,\nwith an invitation to a tavern.  I refused him with\nhesitation; he seized me by the hand, and drew me\ninto a neigbouring house, where, when he saw my\nface pale with hunger, and my eyes swelling with\ntears, he spurned me from him, and bade me cant\nand whine in some other place; he for his part would\ntake care of his pockets.\n\nI still continued to stand in the way, having\nscarcely strength to walk further, when another soon\naddressed me in the same manner.  When he saw\nthe same tokens of calamity, he considered that I\nmight be obtained at a cheap rate, and therefore\nquickly made overtures, which I no longer had\nfirmness to reject.  By this man I was maintained four\nmonths in penurious wickedness, and then abandoned\nto my former condition, from which I was\ndelivered by another keeper.\n\nIn this abject state I have now passed four years,\nthe drudge of extortion and the sport of drunkenness;\nsometimes the property of one man, and\nsometimes the common prey of accidental lewdness;\nat one time tricked up for sale by the mistress of a\nbrothel, at another begging in the streets to be\nrelieved from hunger by wickedness; without any\nhope in the day but of finding some whom folly or\nexcess may expose to my allurements, and without\nany reflections at night, but such as guilt and terrour\nimpress upon me.\n\nIf those who pass their days in plenty and\nsecurity, could visit for an hour the dismal receptacles\nto which the prostitute retires from her nocturnal\nexcursions, and see the wretches that lie crowded\ntogether, mad with intemperance, ghastly with\nfamine, nauseous with filth, and noisome with disease;\nit would not be easy for any degree of abhorrence\nto harden them against compassion, or to\nrepress the desire which they must immediately feel\nto rescue such numbers of human beings from a state\nso dreadful.\n\nIt is said, that in France they annually evacuate\ntheir streets, and ship their prostitutes and vagabonds\nto their colonies.  If the women that infest this city\nhad the same opportunity of escaping from their\nmiseries, I believe very little force would be\nnecessary; for who among them can dread any change?\nMany of us indeed are wholly unqualified for any\nbut the most servile employments, and those perhaps\nwould require the care of a magistrate to hinder\nthem from following the same practices in another\ncountry; but others are only precluded by infamy\nfrom reformation, and would gladly be delivered on\nany terms from the necessity of guilt, and the\ntyranny of chance.  No place but a populous city,\ncan afford opportunities for open prostitution; and\nwhere the eye of justice can attend to individuals,\nthose who cannot be made good may be restrained\nfrom mischief.  For my part, I should exult at the\nprivilege of banishment, and think myself happy in\nany region that should restore me once again to\nhonesty and peace.\n\nI am, Sir, &c.\n\nMISELLA.\n\n\n\nNo. 172. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1751\n\n Saepe rogare soles, qualis sim, Prisce, futurus,\n     Si fiam locuples, simque repente potens.\n Quemquam poss putas mores narrare futuros?\n     Dic mihi, si tu leo, qualis eris?\n\nMART. Lib. xii. Ep. 93.\n\n\n Priseus, you've often ask'd me how I'd live,\n Should fate at once both wealth and honour give.\n What soul his future conduct can foresee?\n Tell me what sort of lion you would be.  F. LEWIS.\n\nNOTHING has been longer observed, than that\na change of fortune causes a change of manners;\nand that it is difficult to conjecture from the\nconduct of him whom we see in a low condition,\nhow he would act, if wealth and power were put\ninto his hands.  But it is generally agreed, that few\nmen are made better by affluence or exaltation;\nand that the powers of the mind, when they are\nunbound and expanded by the sunshine of felicity,\nmore frequently luxuriate into follies, than blossom\ninto goodness.\n\nMany observations have concurred to establish\nthis opinion, and it is not likely soon to become\nobsolete, for want of new occasions to revive it.  The\ngreater part of mankind are corrupt in every condition,\nand differ in high and in low stations, only\nas they have more or fewer opportunities of gratifying\ntheir desires, or as they are more or less\nrestrained by human censures.  Many vitiate their\nprinciples in the acquisition of riches; and who can\nwonder that what is gained by fraud and extortion\nis enjoyed with tyranny and excess?\n\nYet I am willing to believe that the depravation\nof the mind by external advantages, though certainly\nnot uncommon, yet approaches not so nearly\nto universality, as some have asserted in the\nbitterness of resentness, or heat of declamation.\n\nWhoever rises above those who once pleased\nthemselves with equality, will have many malevolent\ngazers at his eminence.  To gain sooner than\nothers that which all pursue with the same ardour,\nand to which all imagine themselves entitled, will\nfor ever be a crime.  When those who started with\nus in the race of life, leave us so far behind, that we\nhave little hope to overtake them, we revenge our\ndisappointment by remarks on the arts of supplantation\nby which they gained the advantage, or on\nthe folly and arrogance with which they possess it.\nOf them, whose rise we could not hinder, we solace\nourselves by prognosticating the fall.\n\nIt is impossible for human purity not to betray\nto an eye, thus sharpened by malignity, some stains\nwhich lay concealed and unregarded, while none\nthought it their interest to discover them; nor can\nthe most circumspect attention, or steady rectitude,\nescape blame from censors, who have no inclination\nto approve.  Riches therefore, perhaps, do not so\noften produce crimes as incite accusers.\n\nThe common charge against those who rise above\ntheir original condition, is that of pride.  It is\ncertain that success naturally confirms us in a\nfavourable opinion of our own abilities.  Scarce any man\nis willing to allot to accident, friendship, and a\nthousand causes, which concur in every event without\nhuman contrivance or interposition, the part\nwhich they may justly claim in his advancement.\nWe rate ourselves by our fortune rather than our\nvirtues, and exorbitant claims are quickly produced\nby imaginary merit.  But captiousness and jealousy\nare likewise easily offended, and to him who\nstudiously looks for an affront, every mode of behaviour\nwill supply it; freedom will be rudeness, and reserve\nsullenness; mirth will be negligence, and seriousness\nformality; when he is received with ceremony, distance\nand respect are inculcated; if he is treated\nwith familiarity, he concludes himself insulted by\ncondescensions.\n\nIt must however be confessed, that as all sudden\nchanges are dangerous, a quick transition from\npoverty to abundance can seldom be made with safety.\nHe that has long lived within sight of pleasures\nwhich he could not reach, will need more than\ncommon moderation, not to lose his reason in unbounded\nriot, when they are first put into his power.\n\nEvery possession is endeared by novelty; every\ngratification is exaggerated by desire.  It is difficult\nnot to estimate what is lately gained above its real\nvalue; it is impossible not to annex greater happiness\nto that condition from which we are unwillingly\nexcluded, than nature has qualified us to\nobtain.  For this reason, the remote inheritor of an\nunexpected fortune, may be generally distinguished\nfrom those who are enriched in the common course\nof lineal descent, by his greater haste to enjoy his\nwealth, by the finery of his dress, the pomp of\nhis equipage, the splendour of his furniture, and the\nluxury of his table.\n\nA thousand things which familiarity discovers to\nbe of little value, have power for a time to seize\nthe imagination.  A Virginian king, when the Europeans\nhad fixed a lock on his door, was so delighted\nto find his subjects admitted or excluded with such\nfacility, that it was from morning to evening his\nwhole employment to turn the key.  We, among\nwhom locks and keys have been longer in use, are\ninclined to laugh at this American amusement; yet\nI doubt whether this paper will have a single reader\nthat may not apply the story to himself, and\nrecollect some hours of his life in which he has been\nequally overpowered by the transitory charms of\ntrifling novelty.\n\nSome indulgence is due to him whom a happy\ngale of fortune has suddenly transported into new\nregions, where unaccustomed lustre dazzles his eyes,\nand untasted delicacies solicit his appetite.  Let him\nnot be considered as lost in hopeless degeneracy,\nthough he for a while forgets the regard due to\nothers, to indulge the contemplation of himself,\nand in the extravagance of his first raptures\nexpects that his eye should regulate the motions of\nall that approach him, and his opinion be received\nas decisive and oraculous.  His intoxication will give\nway to time; the madness of joy will fume\nimperceptibly away; the sense of his insufficiency will\nsoon return; he will remember that the co-operation\nof others is necessary to his happiness,\nand learn to conciliate their regard by reciprocal\nbeneficence.\n\nThere is, at least, one consideration which ought\nto alleviate our censures of the powerful and rich.\nTo imagine them chargeable with all the guilt and\nfolly of their own actions, is to be very little\nacquainted with the world.\n\n De l'absolu pouvoir vous ignorez l'yvresse,\n Et du lache flateur la voix enchanteresse.\n\n Thou hast not known the giddy whirls of fate,\n Nor servile flatteries which enchant the great.  MISS A. W.\n\n\nHe that can do much good or harm, will not find\nmany whom ambition or cowardice will suffer to\nbe sincere.  While we live upon the level with the\nrest of mankind, we are reminded of our duty by\nthe admonitions of friends and reproaches of\nenemies; but men who stand in the highest ranks of\nsociety, seldom hear of their faults; if by any\naccident an opprobrious clamour reaches their ears,\nflattery is always at hand to pour in her opiates, to\nquiet conviction, and obtund remorse.\n\nFavour is seldom gained but by conformity in\nvice.  Virtue can stand without assistance, and\nconsiders herself as very little obliged by countenance\nand approbation: but vice, spiritless and timorous,\nseeks the shelter of crowds, and support of\nconfederacy.  The sycophant, therefore, neglects the good\nqualities of his patron, and employs all his art on\nhis weaknesses and follies, regales his reigning vanity,\nor stimulates his prevalent desires.\n\nVirtue is sufficiently difficult with any\ncircumstances, but the difficulty is increased when reproof\nand advice are frighted away.  In common life, reason\nand conscience have only the appetites and\npassions to encounter; but in higher stations, they\nmust oppose artifice and adulation.  He, therefore,\nthat yields to such temptations, cannot give those\nwho look upon his miscarriage much reason for\nexultation, since few can justly presume that from the\nsame snare they should have been able to escape.\n\n\n\nNo. 173. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 1751\n\n Quo virtus, quo ferat error.  HOR. De Ar. Poet. 308.\n\n Now say, where virtue stops, and vice begins?\n\nAS any action or posture, long continued, will\ndistort and disfigure the limbs; so the mind\nlikewise is crippled and contracted by perpetual\napplication to the same set of ideas.  It is easy to guess\nthe trade of an artizan by his knees, his fingers, or\nhis shoulders: and there are few among men of\nthe more liberal professions, whose minds do not\ncarry the brand of their calling, or whose conversation\ndoes not quickly discover to what class of the\ncommunity they belong.\n\nThese peculiarities have been of great use, in the\ngeneral hostility which every part of mankind exercises\nagainst the rest, to furnish insults and sarcasms.\nEvery art has its dialect, uncouth and ungrateful to\nall whom custom has not reconciled to its sound, and\nwhich therefore becomes ridiculous by a slight\nmisapplication, or unnecessary repetition.\n\nThe general reproach with which ignorance\nrevenges the superciliousness of learning, is that of\npedantry; a censure which every man incurs, who\nhas at any time the misfortune to talk to those who\ncannot understand him, and by which the modest\nand timorous are sometimes frighted from the display\nof their acquisitions, and the exertion of their\npowers.\n\nThe name of a pedant is so formidable to young\nmen when they first sally from their colleges, and\nis so liberally scattered by those who mean to boast\ntheir elegance of education, easiness of manners,\nand knowledge of the world, that it seems to require\nparticular consideration; since, perhaps, if it were\nonce understood, many a heart might be freed from\npainful apprehensions, and many a tongue delivered\nfrom restraint.\n\nPedantry is the unseasonable ostentation of\nlearning.  It may be discovered either in the choice of a\nsubject, or in the manner of treating it.  He is\nundoubtedly guilty of pedantry, who, when he has\nmade himself master of some abstruse and uncultivated\npart of knowledge, obtrudes his remarks and\ndiscoveries upon those whom he believes unable to\njudge of his proficiency, and from whom, as he\ncannot fear contradiction, he cannot properly expect\napplause.\n\nTo this error the student is sometimes betrayed\nby the natural recurrence of the mind to its common\nemployment, by the pleasure which every man receives\nfrom the recollection of pleasing images, and\nthe desire of dwelling upon topicks, on which he\nknows himself able to speak with justness.  But\nbecause we are seldom so far prejudiced in favour of\neach other, as to search out for palliations, this failure\nof politeness is imputed always to vanity; and the\nharmless collegiate, who, perhaps, intended\nentertainment and instruction, or at worst only spoke\nwithout sufficient reflection upon the character of\nhis hearers, is censured as arrogant or overbearing,\nand eager to extend his renown, in contempt of the\nconvenience of society and the laws of conversation.\n\nAll discourse of which others cannot partake, is\nnot only an irksome usurpation of the time devoted\nto pleasure and entertainment, but what never fails\nto excite very keen resentment, an insolent assertion\nof superiority, and a triumph over less enlightened\nunderstandings.  The pedant is, therefore, not only\nheard with weariness, but malignity; and those who\nconceive themselves insulted by his knowledge,\nnever fail to tell with acrimony how injudiciously\nit was exerted.\n\nTo avoid this dangerous imputation, scholars\nsometimes divest themselves with too much haste\nof their academical formality, and in their\nendeavours to accommodate their notions and their style\nto common conceptions, talk rather of any thing\nthan of that which they understand, and sink into\ninsipidity of sentiment and meanness of expression.\n\nThere prevails among men of letters an opinion,\nthat all appearance of science is particularly hateful\nto women; and that therefore, whoever desires to\nbe well received in female assemblies, must qualify\nhimself by a total rejection of all that is serious,\nrational, or important; must consider argument or\ncriticism, as perpetually interdicted; and devote all\nhis attention to trifles, and all his eloquence to\ncompliment.\n\nStudents often form their notions of the present\ngeneration from the writings of the past, and are\nnot very early informed of those changes which the\ngradual diffusion of knowledge, or the sudden\ncaprice of fashion, produces in the world.  Whatever\nmight be the state of female literature in the last\ncentury, there is now no longer any danger lest the\nscholar should want an adequate audience at the\ntea-table; and whoever thinks it necessary to\nregulate his conversation by antiquated rules, will be\nrather despised for his futility than caressed for his\npoliteness.\n\nTo talk intentionally in a manner above the\ncomprehension of those whom we address, is unquestionable\npedantry; but surely complaisance requires,\nthat no man should, without proof, conclude his\ncompany incapable of following him to the highest\nelevation of his fancy, or the utmost extent of his\nknowledge.  It is always safer to err in favour of\nothers than of ourselves, and therefore we seldom\nhazard much by endeavouring to excel.\n\nIt ought at least to be the care of learning, when\nshe quits her exaltation, to descend with dignity.\nNothing is more despicable than the airiness and\njocularity of a man bred to severe science, and\nsolitary meditation.  To trifle agreeably is a secret\nwhich schools cannot impart; that gay negligence\nand vivacious levity, which charm down resistance\nwhenever they appear, are never attainable by him\nwho, having spent his first years among the dust\nof libraries, enters late into the gay world with an\nunpliant attention and established habits.\n\nIt is observed in the panegyrick on Fabricus the\nmechanist, that, though forced by publick employments\ninto mingled conversation, he never lost the\nmodesty and seriousness of the convent, nor drew\nridicule upon himself by an affected imitation of\nfashionable life.  To the same praise every man\ndevoted to learning ought to aspire.  If he attempts\nthe softer arts of pleasing, and endeavours to learn\nthe graceful bow and the familiar embrace, the\ninsinuating accent and the general smile, he will\nlose the respect due to the character of learning,\nwithout arriving at the envied honour of doing any\nthing with elegance and facility.\n\nTheophrastus was discovered not to be a native\nof Athens, by so strict an adherence to the Attick\ndialect, as shewed that he had learned it not by\ncustom, but by rule.  A man not early formed to habitual\nelegance, betrays, in like manner, the effects of his\neducation, by an unnecessary anxiety of behaviour.\nIt is as possible to become pedantick, by fear of\npedantry, as to be troublesome by ill-timed civility.\nThere is no kind of impertinence more justly\ncensurable than his who is always labouring to level\nthoughts to intellects higher than his own; who\napologizes for every word which his own narrowness\nof converse inclines him to think unusual;\nkeeps the exuberance of his faculties under visible\nrestraint; is solicitous to anticipate inquiries by\nneedless explanations; and endeavours to shade his\nown abilities, lest weak eyes should be dazzled with\ntheir lustre.\n\n\n\nNo. 174. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1751\n\n Faenum habet vn cornu, longe fuge; dummodo risum\n Excutiat sibi, non hic cuiquam parcet amico.\n\nHOR. Lib. i. Sat. iv. 34.\n\n\n Yonder he drives--avoid that furious beast:\n If he may have his jest, he never cares\n At whose expense; nor friend nor patron spares.  FRANCIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nMR. RAMBLER,\n\nTHE laws of social benevolence require, that\nevery man should endeavour to assist others\nby his experience.  He that has at last escaped into\nport from the fluctuations of chances and the gusts\nof opposition, ought to make some improvements\nin the chart of life, by marking the rocks on which\nhe has been dashed, and the shallows where he has\nbeen stranded.\n\nThe errour into which I was betrayed, when\ncustom first gave me up to my own direction, is very\nfrequently incident to the quick, the sprightly, the\nfearless, and the gay; to all whose ardour hurries\nthem into precipitate execution of their designs,\nand imprudent declaration of their opinions; who\nseldom count the cost of pleasure, or examine the\ndistant consequences of any practice that flatters\nthem with immediate gratification.\n\nI came forth into the crowded world with the\nusual juvenile ambition, and desired nothing\nbeyond the title of a wit.  Money I considered as\nbelow my care; for I saw such multitudes grow rich\nwithout understanding, that I could not forbear to\nlook on wealth as an acquisition easy to industry\ndirected by genius, and therefore threw it aside as\na secondary convenience, to be procured when my\nprincipal wish should be satisfied, and the claim to\nintellectual excellence universally acknowledged.\n\nWith this view I regulated my behaviour in\npublick, and exercised my meditations in solitude.  My\nlife was divided between the care of providing\ntopicks for the entertainment of my company, and\nthat of collecting company worthy to be entertained;\nfor I soon found, that wit, like every other\npower, has its boundaries; that its success depends\nupon the aptitude of others to receive impressions;\nand that as some bodies, indissoluble by heat, can\nset the furnace and crucible at defiance, there are\nminds upon which the rays of fancy may be pointed\nwithout effect, and which no fire of sentiment can\nagitate or exalt.\n\nIt was, however, not long before I fitted myself\nwith a set of companions who knew how to laugh,\nand to whom no other recommendation was necessary\nthan the power of striking out a jest.  Among\nthose I fixed my residence, and for a time enjoyed\nthe felicity of disturbing the neighbours every night\nwith the obstreperous applause which my sallies\nforced from the audience.  The reputation of our club\nevery day increased, and as my flights and remarks\nwere circulated by my admirers, every day brought\nnew solicitations for admission into our society.\n\nTo support this perpetual fund of merriment, I\nfrequented every place of concourse, cultivated the\nacquaintance of all the fashionable race, and passed\nthe day in a continual succession of visits, in which\nI collected a treasure of pleasantry for the expenses\nof the evening.  Whatever errour of conduct I could\ndiscover, whatever peculiarity of manner I could\nobserve, whatever weakness was betrayed by confidence,\nwhatever lapse was suffered by neglect, all\nwas drawn together for the diversion of my wild\ncompanions, who when they had been taught the\nart of ridicule, never failed to signalize themselves\nby a zealous imitation, and filled the town on\nthe ensuing day with scandal and vexation, with\nmerriment and shame.\n\nI can scarcely believe, when I recollect my own\npractice, that I could have been so far deluded with\npetty praise, as to divulge the secrets of trust, and\nto expose the levities of frankness; to waylay the\nwalks of the cautious, and surprise the security of\nthe thoughtless.  Yet it is certain, that for many\nyears I heard nothing but with design to tell it, and\nsaw nothing with any other curiosity than after some\nfailure that might furnish out a jest.\n\nMy heart, indeed, acquits me of deliberate\nmalignity, or interested insidiousness.  I had no other\npurpose than to heighten the pleasure of laughter by\ncommunication, nor ever raised any pecuniary\nadvantage from the calamities of others.  I led weakness\nand negligence into difficulties, only that I might\ndivert myself with their perplexities and distresses;\nand violated every law of friendship, with no other\nhope than that of gaining the reputation of smartness\nand waggery.\n\nI would not be understood to charge myself with\nany crimes of the atrocious or destructive kind.  I\nnever betrayed an heir to gamesters, or a girl to\ndebauchees; never intercepted the kindness of a\npatron, or sported away the reputation of innocence.\nMy delight was only in petty mischief, and momentary\nvexations, and my acuteness was employed not\nupon fraud and oppression, which it had been\nmeritorious to detect, but upon harmless ignorance or\nabsurdity, prejudice or mistake.\n\nThis inquiry I pursued with so much diligence\nand sagacity, that I was able to relate, of every man\nwhom I knew, some blunder or miscarriage; to\nbetray the most circumspect of my friends into follies,\nby a judicious flattery of his predominant passion;\nor expose him to contempt, by placing him in\ncircumstances which put his prejudices into action,\nbrought to view his natural defects, or drew the\nattention of the company on his airs of affectation.\n\nThe power had been possessed in vain if it had\nnever been exerted; and it was not my custom to\nlet any arts of jocularity remain unemployed.  My\nimpatience of applause brought me always early to\nthe place of entertainment; and I seldom failed to\nlay a scheme with the small knot that first gathered\nround me, by which some of those whom we expected\nmight be made subservient to our sport.\nEvery man has some favourite topick of conversation,\non which, by a feigned seriousness of attention,\nhe may be drawn to expatiate without end.  Every\nman has some habitual contortion of body, or\nestablished mode of expression, which never fails to raise\nmirth if it be pointed out to notice.  By premonitions\nof these particularities I secured our pleasantry.  Our\ncompanion entered with his usual gaiety, and began\nto partake of our noisy cheerfulness, when the\nconversation was imperceptibly diverted to a subject\nwhich pressed upon his tender part, and extorted\nthe expected shrug, the customary exclamation, or\nthe predicted remark.  A general clamour of joy\nthen burst from all that were admitted to the\nstratagem.  Our mirth was often increased by the triumph\nof him that occasioned it; for as we do not hastily\nform conclusions against ourselves, seldom any one\nsuspected, that he had exhilarated us otherwise than\nby wit.\n\nYou will hear, I believe, with very little surprise,\nthat by this conduct I had in a short time united\nmankind against me, and that every tongue was\ndiligent in prevention or revenge.  I soon perceived\nmyself regarded with malevolence or distrust, but\nwondered what had been discovered in me either\nterrible or hateful.  I had invaded no man's property;\nI had rivalled no man's claims: nor had ever engaged\nin any of those attempts which provoke the jealousy\nof ambition or the rage of faction.  I had lived but\nto laugh, and make others laugh; and believed that\nI was loved by all who caressed, and favoured by\nall who applauded me.  I never imagined, that he\nwho, in the mirth of a nocturnal revel, concurred in\nridiculing his friend, would consider, in a cooler\nhour, that the same trick might be played against\nhimself; or that even where there is no sense of\ndanger, the natural pride of human nature rises\nagainst him, who, by general censures, lays claim to\ngeneral superiority.\n\nI was convinced, by a total desertion, of the\nimpropriety of my conduct; every man avoided, and\ncautioned others to avoid me.  Wherever I came, I\nfound silence and dejection, coldness and terrour.\nNo one would venture to speak, lest he should lay\nhimself open to unfavourable representations; the\ncompany, however numerous, dropped off at my\nentrance upon various pretences; and, if I retired\nto avoid the shame of being left, I heard confidence\nand mirth revive at my departure.\n\nIf those whom I had thus offended could have\ncontented themselves with repaying one insult for\nanother, and kept up the war only by a reciprocation\nof sarcasms, they might have perhaps vexed,\nbut would never have much hurt me; for no man\nheartily hates him at whom he can laugh.  But these\nwounds which they give me as they fly, are without\ncure; this alarm which they spread by their solicitude\nto escape me, excludes me from all friendship\nand from all pleasure.  I am condemned to pass a\nlong interval of my life in solitude, as a man\nsuspected of infection is refused admission into cities;\nand must linger in obscurity, till my conduct shall\nconvince the world, that I may be approached\nwithout hazard.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nDICACULUS.\n\n\n\nNo. 175. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1751\n\n Rari quippe boni, numerus vix est totidem quot\n Thebarum portoe, vel divitis ostia Nili.  JUV. Sat. xiii. 26.\n\n Good men are scarce, the just are thinly sown:\n They thrive but ill, nor can they last when grown.\n And should we count them, and our store compile,\n Yet Thebes more gates could shew, more mouths the Nile.\n\nCREECH.\n\n\nNONE of the axioms of wisdom which recommend\nthe ancient sages to veneration, seem to\nhave required less extent of knowledge or\nperspicacity of penetration, than the remarks of Bias,\nthat <gr> oi pleones cacoioe, \"The majority are wicked.\"\n\nThe depravity of mankind is so easily\ndiscoverable, that nothing but the desert or the cell can\nexclude it from notice.  The knowledge of crimes\nintrudes uncalled and undesired.  They whom their\nabstraction from common occurrences hinders from\nseeing iniquity, will quickly have their attention\nawakened by feeling it.  Even he who ventures not\ninto the world, may learn its corruption in his closet.\nFor what are treatises of morality, but persuasives\nto the practice of duties, for which no arguments\nwould be necessary, but that we are continually\ntempted to violate or neglect them ?  What are all\nthe records of history, but narratives of successive\nvillanies, of treasons and usurpations, massacres\nand wars?\n\nBut, perhaps, the excellence of aphorisms\nconsists not so much in the expression of some rare\nand abstruse sentiment, as in the comprehension of\nsome obvious and useful truths in a few words.  We\nfrequently fall into errour and folly, not because\nthe true principles of action are not known, but\nbecause, for a time, they are not remembered;\nand he may therefore be justly numbered among\nthe benefactors of mankind, who contracts the great\nrules of life into short sentences, that may be easily\nimpressed on the memory, and taught by frequent\nrecollection to recur habitually to the mind.\n\nHowever those who have passed through half the\nlife of man, may now wonder that any should require\nto be cautioned against corruption, they will\nfind that they have themselves purchased their\nconviction by many disappointments and vexations\nwhich an earlier knowledge would have spared them;\nand may see, on every side, some entangling themselves\nin perplexities, and some sinking into ruin,\nby ignorance or neglect of the maxim of Bias.\n\nEvery day sends out, in quest of pleasure and\ndistinction, some heir fondled in ignorance, and\nflattered into pride.  He comes forth with all the\nconfidence of a spirit unacquainted with superiors, and\nall the benevolence of a mind not yet irritated by\nopposition, alarmed by fraud, or embittered by\ncruelty.  He loves all, because he imagines himself\nthe universal favourite.  Every exchange of salutation\nproduces new acquaintance, and every acquaintance\nkindles into friendship.\n\nEvery season brings a new flight of beauties into\nthe world, who have hitherto heard only of their own\ncharms, and imagine that the heart feels no passion\nbut that of love.  They are soon surrounded by\nadmirers whom they credit, because they tell them\nonly what is heard with delight.  Whoever gazes\nupon them is a lover; and whoever forces a sigh, is\npining in despair.\n\nHe surely is a useful monitor, who inculcates to\nthese thoughtless strangers, that the MAJORITY ARE\nWICKED; who informs them, that the train which\nwealth and beauty draw after them, is lured only\nby the scent of prey; and that, perhaps, among all\nthose who crowd about them with professions and\nflatteries, there is not one who does not hope for\nsome opportunity to devour or betray them, to glut\nhimself by their destruction, or to share their spoils\nwith a stronger savage.\n\nVirtue presented singly to the imagination or the\nreason, is so well recommended by its own graces,\nand so strongly supported by arguments, that a\ngood man wonders how any can be bad; and they\nwho are ignorant of the force of passion and interest,\nwho never observed the arts of seduction, the\ncontagion of example, the gradual descent from one\ncrime to another, or the insensible depravation\nof the principles by loose conversation, naturally\nexpect to find integrity in every bosom, and\nveracity on every tongue.\n\nIt is, indeed, impossible not to hear from those\nwho have lived longer, of wrongs and falsehoods,\nof violence and circumvention; but such narratives\nare commonly regarded by the young, the heady,\nand the confident, as nothing more than the murmurs\nof peevishness, or the dreams of dotage; and,\nnotwithstanding all the documents of hoary wisdom,\nwe commonly plunge into the world fearless and\ncredulous, without any foresight of danger, or\napprehension of deceit.\n\nI have remarked, in a former paper, that credulity\nis the common failing of unexperienced virtue; and\nthat he who is spontaneously suspicious, may be\njustly charged with radical corruption; for, if he has\nnot known the prevalence of dishonesty by information,\nnor had time to observe it with his own eyes,\nwhence can he take his measures of judgment but\nfrom himself?\n\nThey who best deserve to escape the snares of\nartifice, are most likely to be entangled.  He that\nendeavours to live for the good of others, must\nalways be exposed to the arts of them who live only\nfor themselves, unless he is taught by timely\nprecepts the caution required in common transactions,\nand shewn at a distance the pitfalls of treachery.\n\nTo youth, therefore, it should be carefully\ninculcated, that, to enter the road of life without caution\nor reserve, in expectation of general fidelity and\njustice, is to launch on the wide ocean without the\ninstruments of steerage, and to hope that every wind\nwill be prosperous, and that every coast will afford\na harbour.\n\nTo enumerate the various motives to deceit and\ninjury, would be to count all the desires that prevail\namong the sons of men; since there is no ambition\nhowever petty, no wish however absurd, that\nby indulgence will not be enabled to overpower the\ninfluence of virtue.  Many there are, who openly and\nalmost professedly regulate all their conduct by their\nlove of money; who have no other reason for action\nor forbearance, for compliance or refusal, than that\nthey hope to gain more by one than by the other.\nThese are indeed the meanest and cruellest of human\nbeings, a race with whom, as with some pestiferous\nanimals, the whole creation seems to be at war; but\nwho, however detested or scorned, long continue to\nadd heap to heap, and when they have reduced one\nto beggary, are still permitted to fasten on another.\n\nOthers, yet less rationally wicked, pass their lives\nin mischief, because they cannot bear the sight of\nsuccess, and mark out every man for hatred, whose\nfame or fortune they believe increasing.\n\nMany who have not advanced to these degrees\nof guilt are yet wholly unqualified for friendship,\nand unable to maintain any constant or regular\ncourse of kindness.  Happiness may be destroyed\nnot only by union with the man who is apparently\nthe slave of interest, but with whom a wild opinion\nof the dignity of perseverance, in whatever cause,\ndisposes to pursue every injury with unwearied and\nperpetual resentment; with him whose vanity inclines\nhim to consider every man as a rival in every\npretension; with him whose airy negligence puts\nhis friend's affairs or secrets in continual hazard,\nand who thinks his forgetfulness of others excused\nby his inattention to himself; and with him whose\ninconstancy ranges without any settled rule of\nchoice through varieties of friendship, and who\nadopts and dismisses favourites by the sudden\nimpulse of caprice.\n\nThus numerous are the dangers to which the\nconverse of mankind exposes us, and which can be\navoided only by prudent distrust.  He therefore that,\nremembering this salutary maxim, learns early to\nwithhold his fondness from fair appearances, will\nhave reason to pay some honours to Bias of Priene,\nwho enabled him to become wise without the cost\nof experience.\n\n\n\nNo. 176. SATURDAY. NOVEMBER 23, 1751\n\n --------Naso suspendis adunco.\n\nHOR. Lib. i. Sat. vi. 5.\n\n\n On me you turn the nose.--------\n\nTHERE are many vexatious accidents and uneasy\nsituations which raise little compassion for\nthe sufferer, and which no man but those whom\nthey immediately distress can regard with\nseriousness.  Petty mischiefs, that have no influence on\nfuturity, nor extend their effects to the rest of life,\nare always seen with a kind of malicious pleasure.\nA mistake or embarrassment, which for the present\nmoment fills the face with blushes, and the mind\nwith confusion, will have no other effect upon those\nwho observe it, than that of convulsing them with\nirresistible laughter.  Some circumstances of misery\nare so powerfully ridiculous, that neither kindness\nnor duty can withstand them; they bear down love,\ninterest, and reverence, and force the friend, the\ndependent, or the child, to give way to instantaneous\nmotions of merriment.\n\nAmong the principal of comick calamities, may\nbe reckoned the pain which an author, not yet\nhardened into insensibility, feels at the onset of a\nfurious critick, whose age, rank, or fortune, gives him\nconfidence to speak without reserve; who heaps\none objection upon another, and obtrudes his remarks,\nand enforces his corrections, without tenderness or awe.\n\nThe author, full of the importance of his work,\nand anxious for the justification of every syllable,\nstarts and kindles at the slightest attack; the\ncritick, eager to establish his superiority, triumphing\nin every discovery of failure, and zealous to\nimpress the cogency of his arguments, pursues him\nfrom line to line without cessation or remorse.  The\ncritick, who hazards little, proceeds with vehemence,\nimpetuosity, and fearlessness; the author, whose\nquiet and fame, and life and immortality, are\ninvolved in the controversy, tries every art of\nsubterfuge and defence; maintains modestly what he\nresolves never to yield, and yields unwillingly what\ncannot be maintained.  The critick's purpose is to\nconquer, the author only hopes to escape; the critick\ntherefore knits his brow, and raises his voice,\nand rejoices whenever he perceives any tokens of\npain excited by the pressure of his assertions, or the\npoint of his sarcasms.  The author, whose endeavour\nis at once to mollify and elude his persecutor,\ncomposes his features and softens his accent, breaks the\nforce of assault by retreat, and rather steps aside\nthan flies or advances.\n\nAs it very seldom happens that the rage of\nextemporary criticism inflicts fatal or lasting wounds,\nI know not that the laws of benevolence entitle\nthis distress to much sympathy.  The diversion of\nbaiting an author has the sanction of all ages and\nnations, and is more lawful than the sport of teasing\nother animals, because, for the most part, he\ncomes voluntarily to the stake, furnished, as he\nimagines, by the patron powers of literature, with\nresistless weapons, and impenetrable armour, with\nthe mail of the boar of Erymanth, and the paws of\nthe lion of Nemea.\n\nBut the works of genius are sometimes produced\nby other motives than vanity; and he whom necessity\nor duty enforces to write, is not always so well\nsatisfied with himself, as not to be discouraged by\ncensorious impudence.  It may therefore be necessary\nto consider, how they whom publication lays open\nto the insults of such as their obscurity secures\nagainst reprisals, may extricate themselves from\nunexpected encounters.\n\nVida, a man of considerable skill in the politicks\nof literature, directs his pupil wholly to abandon\nhis defence, and even when he can irrefragably refute\nall objections, to suffer tamely the exultations\nof his antagonist.\n\nThis rule may perhaps be just, when advice is\nasked, and severity solicited, because no man tells\nhis opinion so freely as when he imagines it received\nwith implicit veneration; and criticks ought never\nto be consulted, but while errours may yet be rectified\nor insipidity suppressed.  But when the book\nhas once been dismissed into the world, and can be\nno more retouched, I know not whether a very different\nconduct should not be prescribed, and whether\nfirmness and spirit may not sometimes be of use to\noverpower arrogance and repel brutality.  Softness,\ndiffidence, and moderation, will often be mistaken\nfor imbecility and dejection; they lure cowardice\nto the attack by the hopes of easy victory, and it\nwill soon be found that he whom every man thinks\nhe can conquer, shall never be at peace.\n\nThe animadversions of criticks are commonly\nsuch as may easily provoke the sedatest writer to\nsome quickness of resentment and asperity of reply.\nA man, who by long consideration has familiarized\na subject to his own mind, carefully surveyed the\nseries of his thoughts, and planned all the parts of\nhis composition into a regular dependance on each\nother, will often start at the sinistrous interpretations\nor absurd remarks of haste and ignorance, and\nwonder by what infatuation they have been led\naway from the obvious sense, and upon what peculiar\nprinciples of judgment they decide against him.\n\nThe eye of the intellect, like that of the body, is\nnot equally perfect in all, nor equally adapted in\nany to all objects; the end of criticism is to supply\nits defects; rules are the instruments of mental\nvision, which may indeed assist our faculties when\nproperly used, but produce confusion and obscurity\nby unskilful application.\n\nSome seem always to read with the microscope\nof criticism, and employ their whole attention upon\nminute elegance, or faults scarcely visible to\ncommon observation.  The dissonance of a syllable, the\nrecurrence of the same sound, the repetition of a\nparticle, the smallest deviation from propriety, the\nslightest defect in construction or arrangement,\nswell before their eyes into enormities.  As they\ndiscern with great exactness, they comprehend but\na narrow compass, and know nothing of the justness\nof the design, the general spirit of the performance,\nthe artifice of connection, or the harmony of the\nparts; they never conceive how small a proportion\nthat which they are busy in contemplating bears to\nthe whole, or how the petty inaccuracies, with which\nthey are offended, are absorbed and lost in general\nexcellence.\n\nOthers are furnished by criticism with a telescope.\nThey see with great clearness whatever is too remote\nto be discovered by the rest of mankind, but are\ntotally blind to all that lies immediately before them.\nThey discover in every passage some secret meaning,\nsome remote allusion, some artful allegory,\nor some occult imitation, which no other reader\never suspected; but they have no perception of the\ncogency of arguments, the force of pathetick sentiments,\nthe various colours of diction, or the flowery\nembellishments of fancy; of all that engages the\nattention of others they are totally insensible, while\nthey pry into worlds of conjecture, and amuse themselves\nwith phantoms in the clouds.\n\nIn criticism, as in every other art, we fail\nsometimes by our weakness, but more frequently by our\nfault.  We are sometimes bewildered by ignorance,\nand sometimes by prejudice, but we seldom deviate\nfar from the right, but when we deliver ourselves\nup to the direction of vanity.\n\n\n\nNo. 177. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1751\n\n Turpe est difficiles habere nugas.\n\nMART. Lib. ii. Ep. lxxxvi. 9.\n\n\n Those things which now seem frivolous and slight,\n Will be of serious consequence to you,\n When they have made you once ridiculous.  ROSCOMMON.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nWHEN I was, at the usual time, about to enter\nupon the profession to which my friends had\ndestined me, being summoned, by the death of\nmy father, into the country, I found myself master\nof an unexpected sum of money, and of an estate,\nwhich, though not large, was, in my opinion,\nsufficient to support me in a condition far preferable\nto the fatigue, dependance, and uncertainty of any\ngainful occupation.  I therefore resolved to devote\nthe rest of my life wholly to curiosity, and without\nany confinement of my excursions, or termination of\nmy views, to wander over the boundless regions of\ngeneral knowledge.\n\nThis scheme of life seemed pregnant with\ninexhaustible variety, and therefore I could not forbear\nto congratulate myself upon the wisdom of my\nchoice.  I furnished a large room with all\nconveniencies for study; collected books of every kind;\nquitted every science at the first perception of disgust;\nreturned to it again as soon as my former ardour\nhappened to revive; and having no rival to\ndepress me by comparison, nor any critick to alarm\nme with objections, I spent day after day in profound\ntranquillity, with only so much complaisance\nin my own improvements, as served to excite and\nanimate my application.\n\nThus I lived for some years with complete\nacquiescence in my own plan of conduct, rising early\nto read, and dividing the latter part of the day\nbetween economy, exercise, and reflection.  But, in\ntime, I began to find my mind contracted and\nstiffened by solitude.  My ease and elegance were\nsensibly impaired; I was no longer able to accommodate\nmyself with readiness to the accidental current\nof conversation; my notions grew particular\nand paradoxical, and my phraseology formal and\nunfashionable; I spoke, on common occasions, the\nlanguage of books.  My quickness of apprehension,\nand celerity of reply, had entirely deserted me;\nwhen I delivered my opinion, or detailed my knowledge,\nI was bewildered by an unseasonable interrogatory,\ndisconcerted by any slight opposition, and\noverwhelmed and lost in dejection, when the smallest\nadvantage was gained against me in dispute.  I\nbecame decisive and dogmatical, impatient of\ncontradiction, perpetually jealous of my character,\ninsolent to such as acknowledged my superiority, and\nsullen and malignant to all who refused to receive\nmy dictates.\nThis I soon discovered to be one of those\nintellectual diseases which a wise man should make haste\nto cure.  I therefore resolved for a time to shut my\nbooks, and learn again the art of conversation; to\ndefecate and clear my mind by brisker motions, and\nstronger impulses; and to unite myself once more\nto the living generation.\n\nFor this purpose I hasted to London, and\nentreated one of my academical acquaintances to\nintroduce me into some of the little societies of\nliterature which are formed in taverns and coffee-\nhouses.  He was pleased with an opportunity of\nshewing me to his friends, and soon obtained me\nadmission among a select company of curious men,\nwho met once a week to exhilarate their studies,\nand compare their acquisitions.\n\nThe eldest and most venerable of this society was\nHirsutus, who, after the first civilities of my\nreception, found means to introduce the mention of his\nfavourite studies, by a severe censure of those who\nwant the due regard for their native country.  He\ninformed me, that he had early withdrawn his\nattention from foreign trifles, and that since he began\nto addict his mind to serious and manly studies, he\nhad very carefully amassed all the English books\nthat were printed in the black character.  This search\nhe had pursued so diligently, that he was able to\nshew the deficiencies of the best catalogues.  He had\nlong since completed his Caxton, had three sheets\nof Treveris unknown to the antiquaries, and wanted\nto a perfect Pynson but two volumes, of which one\nwas promised him as a legacy by its present possessor,\nand the other he was resolved to buy, at whatever\nprice, when Quisquilius's library should be sold.\nHirsutus had no other reason for the valuing or\nslighting a book, than that it was printed in the\nRoman or the Gothic letter, nor any ideas but such\nas his favourite volumes had supplied; when he was\nserious he expatiated on the narratives \"of Johan\nde Trevisa,\" and when he was merry, regaled us\nwith a quotation from the \"Shippe of Foles.\"\n\nWhile I was listening to this hoary student,\nFerratus entered in a hurry, and informed us with\nthe abruptness of ecstasy, that his set of halfpence\nwas now complete; he had just received in a handful\nof change, the piece that he had so long been\nseeking, and could now defy mankind to outgo his\ncollection of English copper.\n\nChartophylax then observed how fatally human\nsagacity was sometimes baffled, and how often the\nmost valuable discoveries are made by chance.  He\nhad employed himself and his emissaries seven years\nat great expense to perfect his series of Gazettes,\nbut had long wanted a single paper, which, when\nhe despaired of obtaining it, was sent him wrapped\nround a parcel of tobacco.\n\nCantilenus turned all his thoughts upon old\nballads, for he considered them as the genuine records\nof the national taste.  He offered to shew me a copy\nof \"The Children in the Wood,\" which he firmly\nbelieved to be of the first edition, and, by the help\nof which, the text might be freed from several\ncorruptions, if this age of barbarity had any claim to\nsuch favours from him.\n\nMany were admitted into this society as inferior\nmembers, because they had collected old prints and\nneglected pamphlets, or possessed some fragment\nof antiquity, as the seal of an ancient corporation, the\ncharter of a religious house, the genealogy of a family\nextinct, or a letter written in the reign of Elizabeth.\n\nEvery one of these virtuosos looked on all his\nassociates as wretches of depraved taste and narrow\nnotions.  Their conversation was, therefore, fretful\nand waspish, their behaviour brutal, their merriment\nbluntly sarcastick, and their seriousness gloomy and\nsuspicious.  They were totally ignorant of all that\npasses, or has lately passed, in the world; unable to\ndiscuss any question of religious, political, or military\nknowledge; equally strangers to science and politer\nlearning, and without any wish to improve their\nminds, or any other pleasure than that of displaying\nrarities, of which they would not suffer others to\nmake the proper use.\n\nHirsutus graciously informed me, that the number\nof their society was limited, but that I might\nsometimes attend as an auditor.  I was pleased to\nfind myself in no danger of an honour, which I could\nnot have willingly accepted, nor gracefully refused,\nand left them without any intention of returning;\nfor I soon found that the suppression of those\nhabits with which I was vitiated, required association\nwith men very different from this solemn race.\n\nI am, Sir, &c.\n\nVIVACULUS.\n\n\nIt is natural to feel grief or indignation when\nany thing necessary or useful is wantonly wasted,\nor negligently destroyed; and therefore my\ncorrespondent cannot be blamed for looking with\nuneasiness on the waste of life.  Leisure and curiosity\nmight soon make great advances in useful knowledge,\nwere they not diverted by minute emulation\nand laborious trifles.  It may, however, somewhat\nmollify his anger to reflect, that perhaps none of the\nassembly which he describes, was capable of any\nnobler employment, and that he who does his best,\nhowever little, is always to be distinguished from\nhim who does nothing.  Whatever busies the mind\nwithout corrupting it, has at least this use, that it\nrescues the day from idleness, and he that is never\nidle will not often be vicious.\n\n\n\nNo. 178. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1751\n\n Pars sanitatis velle sanari fuit.  SENECA.\n\n To yield to remedies is half the cure.\n\nPYTHAGORAS is reported to have required\nfrom those whom he instructed in philosophy a\nprobationary silence of five years.  Whether this\nprohibition of speech extended to all the parts of\nthis time, as seems generally to be supposed, or\nwas to be observed only in the school or in the\npresence of their master, as is more probable, it was\nsufficient to discover the pupil's disposition; to try\nwhether he was willing to pay the price of learning,\nor whether he was one of those whose ardour was\nrather violent than lasting, and who expected to\ngrow wise on other terms than those of patience\nand obedience.\n\nMany of the blessings universally desired, are\nvery frequently wanted, because most men, when\nthey should labour, content themselves to complain,\nand rather linger in a state in which they\ncannot be at rest, than improve their condition by\nvigour and resolution.\n\nProvidence has fixed the limits of human\nenjoyment by immoveable boundaries, and has set\ndifferent gratifications at such a distance from each other,\nthat no art or power can bring them together.  This\ngreat law it is the business of every rational being\nto understand, that life may not pass away in an\nattempt to make contradictions consistent, to combine\nopposite qualities, and to unite things which\nthe nature of their being must always keep asunder.\n\nOf two objects tempting at a distance on\ncontrary sides, it is impossible to approach one but by\nreceding from the other; by long deliberation and\ndilatory projects, they may be both lost, but can\nnever be both gained.  It is, therefore, necessary to\ncompare them, and, when we have determined the\npreference, to withdraw our eyes and our thoughts\nat once from that which reason directs us to reject.\nThis is more necessary, if that which we are forsaking\nhas the power of delighting the senses, or firing\nthe fancy.  He that once turns aside to the\nallurements of unlawful pleasure, can have no security\nthat he shall ever regain the paths of virtue.\n\nThe philosophick goddess of Boethius, having\nrelated the story of Orpheus, who, when he had\nrecovered his wife from the dominions of death, lost\nher again by looking back upon her in the confines\nof light, concludes with a very elegant and forcible\napplication.  \"Whoever you are that endeavour to\nelevate your minds to the illuminations of Heaven,\nconsider yourselves as represented in this fable; for\nhe that is once so far overcome as to turn back his\neyes towards the infernal caverns, loses at the first\nsight all that influence which attracted him on high:\"\n\n Vos haec fabula respicit,\n Quicunque in superum diem\n Mentem ducere quaeritis.\n Nam qui Tartareum in specus\n Victus lumina flexerit,\n Quidquid praecipuum trahit,\n Perdit, dum videt inferos.\n\n\nIt may be observed, in general, that the future is\npurchased by the present.  It is not possible to secure\ninstant or permanent happiness but by the forbearance\nof some immediate gratification.  This is\nso evidently true with regard to the whole of our\nexistence, that all the precepts of theology have no\nother tendency than to enforce a life of faith; a life\nregulated not by our senses but our belief; a life in\nwhich pleasures are to be refused for fear of\ninvisible punishments, and calamities sometimes to be\nsought, and always endured, in hope of rewards\nthat shall be obtained in another state.\n\nEven if we take into our view only that particle\nof our duration which is terminated by the grave,\nit will be found that we cannot enjoy one part of\nlife beyond the common limitations of pleasure,\nbut by anticipating some of the satisfaction which\nshould exhilarate the following years.  The heat of\nyouth may spread happiness into wild luxuriance,\nbut the radical vigour requisite to make it perennial\nis exhausted, and all that can be hoped afterwards\nis languor and sterility.\n\nThe reigning errour of mankind is, that we are\nnot content with the conditions on which the goods\nof life are granted.  No man is insensible of the\nvalue of knowledge, the advantages of health, or\nthe convenience of plenty, but every day shews us\nthose on whom the conviction is without effect.\n\nKnowledge is praised and desired by multitudes\nwhom her charms could never rouse from the couch\nof sloth; whom the faintest invitation of pleasure\ndraws away from their studies; to whom any other\nmethod of wearing out the day is more eligible than\nthe use of books, and who are more easily engaged\nby any conversation, than such as may rectify their\nnotions or enlarge their comprehension.\n\nEvery man that has felt pain, knows how little\nall other comforts can gladden him to whom health\nis denied.  Yet who is there does not sometimes\nhazard it for the enjoyment of an hour?  All\nassemblies of jollity, all places of public entertainment,\nexhibit examples of strength wasting in riot, and\nbeauty withering in irregularity; nor is it easy to\nenter a house in which part of the family is not\ngroaning in repentance of past intemperance, and\npart admitting disease by negligence, or soliciting\nit by luxury.\n\nThere is no pleasure which men of every age and\nsect have more generally agreed to mention with\ncontempt, than the gratifications of the palate; an\nentertainment so far removed from intellectual\nhappiness, that scarcely the most shameless of the\nsensual herd have dared to defend it: yet even to\nthis, the lowest of our delights, to this, though\nneither quick nor lasting, is health with all its\nactivity and sprightliness daily sacrificed; and for this\nare half the miseries endured which urge impatience\nto call on death.\n\nThe whole world is put in motion by the wish\nfor the riches and the dread of poverty.  Who, then,\nwould not imagine that such conduct as will inevitably\ndestroy what all are thus labouring to acquire,\nmust generally be avoided?  That he who spends\nmore than he receives, must in time become\nindigent, cannot be doubted; but, how evident soever\nthis consequence may appear, the spendthrift moves\nin the whirl of pleasure with too much rapidity to\nkeep it before his eyes, and, in the intoxication of\ngaiety, grows every day poorer without any such\nsense of approaching ruin as is sufficient to wake\nhim into caution.\n\nMany complaints are made of the misery of life;\nand indeed it must be confessed that we are subject\nto calamities by which the good and bad, the\ndiligent and slothful, the vigilant and heedless, are\nequally afflicted.  But surely, though some\nindulgence may be allowed to groans extorted by\ninevitable misery, no man has a right to repine at evils\nwhich, against warning, against experience, he\ndeliberately and leisurely brings upon his own\nhead; or to consider himself as debarred from\nhappiness by such obstacles as resolution may break\nor dexterity may put aside.\n\nGreat numbers who quarrel with their condition,\nhave wanted not the power but the will to obtain a\nbetter state.  They have never contemplated the\ndifference between good and evil sufficiently to\nquicken aversion, or invigorate desire; they have\nindulged a drowsy thoughtlessness or giddy levity;\nhave committed the balance of choice to the\nmanagement of caprice; and when they have long\naccustomed themselves to receive all that chance\noffered them, without examination, lament at last\nthat they find themselves deceived.\n\n\n\nNo. 179. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1751\n\n Perpetuo risu pulmonem agitare solebat.  JUV. Sat. x. 33.\n\n Democritus would feed his spleen, and shake\n His sides and shoulders till he felt them ake.  DRYDEN.\n\n\nEVERY man, says Tully, has two characters;\none which he partakes with all mankind, and\nby which he is distinguished from brute animals;\nanother which discriminates him from the rest of\nhis own species, and impresses on him a manner and\ntemper peculiar to himself; this particular character,\nif it be not repugnant to the laws of general\nhumanity, it is always his business to cultivate and\npreserve.\n\nEvery hour furnishes some confirmation of Tully's\nprecept.  It seldom happens, that an assembly of\npleasure is so happily selected, but that some one\nfinds admission, with whom the rest are deservedly\noffended; and it will appear, on a close inspection,\nthat scarce any man becomes eminently disagreeable,\nbut by a departure from his real character, and\nan attempt at something for which nature or\neducation have left him unqualified.\n\nIgnorance or dulness have indeed no power of\naffording delight, but they never give disgust except\nwhen they assume the dignity of knowledge, or ape\nthe sprightliness of wit.  Awkwardness and inelegance\nhave none of those attractions by which ease\nand politeness take possession of the heart; but\nridicule and censure seldom rise against them,\nunless they appear associated with that confidence\nwhich belongs only to long acquaintance with the\nmodes of life, and to consciousness of unfailing\npropriety of behaviour.  Deformity itself is regarded\nwith tenderness rather than aversion, when it does\nnot attempt to deceive the sight by dress and\ndecoration, and to seize upon fictitious claims the\nprerogatives of beauty.\n\nHe that stands to contemplate the crowds that\nfill the streets of a populous city, will see many\npassengers whose air and motion it will be difficult\nto behold without contempt and laughter; but if he\nexamines what are the appearances that thus\npowerfully excite his risibility, he will find among them\nneither poverty nor disease, nor any involuntary or\npainful defect.  The disposition to derision and insult\nis awakened by the softness of foppery, the swell\nof insolence, the liveliness of levity, or the solemnity\nof grandeur; by the sprightly trip, the stately stalk,\nthe formal strut, the lofty mien; by gestures\nintended to catch the eye, and by looks elaborately\nformed as evidences of importance.\n\nIt has, I think, been sometimes urged in favour\nof affectation, that it is only a mistake of the means\nto a good end, and that the intention with which it\nis practised is always to please.  If all attempts to\ninnovate the constitutional or habitual character\nhave really proceeded from public spirit and love of\nothers, the world has hitherto been sufficiently\nungrateful, since no return but scorn has yet been\nmade to the most difficult of all enterprises, a\ncontest with nature; nor has any pity been shown to\nthe fatigues of labour which never succeeded, and\nthe uneasiness of disguise by which nothing was\nconcealed.\n\nIt seems therefore to be determined by the\ngeneral suffrage of mankind, that he who decks\nhimself in adscititious qualities rather purposes to\ncommand applause than impart pleasure: and he is\ntherefore treated as a man who, by an unreasonable\nambition, usurps the place in society to which he\nhas no right.  Praise is seldom paid with willingness\neven to incontestable merit, and it can be no wonder\nthat he who calls for it without desert is repulsed\nwith universal indignation.\n\nAffectation naturally counterfeits those\nexcellencies which are placed at the greatest distance from\npossibility of attainment.  We are conscious of our\nown defects, and eagerly endeavour to supply them\nby artificial excellence; nor would such efforts be\nwholly without excuse, were they not often excited\nby ornamental trifles, which he, that thus anxiously\nstruggles for the reputation of possessing them,\nwould not have been known to want, had not his\nindustry quickened observation.\n\nGelasimus passed the first part of his life in\nacademical privacy and rural retirement, without any\nother conversation than that of scholars, grave,\nstudious, and abstracted as himself.  He cultivated\nthe mathematical sciences with indefatigable diligence,\ndiscovered many useful theorems, discussed\nwith great accuracy the resistance of fluids, and,\nthough his priority was not generally acknowledged,\nwas the first who fully explained all the properties\nof the catenarian curve.\n\nLearning, when it rises to eminence, will be\nobserved in time, whatever mists may happen to\nsurround it.  Gelasimus, in his forty-ninth year, was\ndistinguished by those who have the rewards of\nknowledge in their hands, and called out to display\nhis acquisitions for the honour of his country, and\nadd dignity by his presence to philosophical\nassemblies.  As he did not suspect his unfitness for\ncommon affairs, he felt no reluctance to obey the\ninvitation, and what he did not feel he had yet too\nmuch honesty to feign.  He entered into the world\nas a larger and more populous college, where his\nperformances would be more publick, and his\nrenown further extended; and imagined that he should\nfind his reputation universally prevalent, and the\ninfluence of learning every where the same.\n\nHis merit introduced him to splendid tables and\nelegant acquaintance; but he did not find himself\nalways qualified to join in the conversation.  He was\ndistressed by civilities, which he knew not how to\nrepay, and entangled in many ceremonial perplexities,\nfrom which his books and diagrams could not\nextricate him.  He was sometimes unluckily\nengaged in disputes with ladies, with whom algebraick\naxioms had no great weight, and saw many whose\nfavour and esteem he could not but desire, to whom\nhe was very little recommended by his theories of\nthe tides, or his approximations to the quadrature\nof the circle.\n\nGelasimus did not want penetration to discover,\nthat no charm was more generally irresistible than\nthat of easy facetiousness and flowing hilarity.  He\nsaw that diversion was more frequently welcome\nthan improvement; that authority and seriousness\nwere rather feared than loved; and that the grave\nscholar was a kind of imperious ally, hastily\ndismissed when his assistance was no longer necessary.\nHe came to a sudden resolution of throwing off\nthose cumbrous ornaments of learning which\nhindered his reception, and commenced a man of wit\nand jocularity.  Utterly unacquainted with every\ntopick of merriment, ignorant of the modes and\nfollies, the vices and virtues of mankind, and\nunfurnished with any ideas but such as Pappas and\nArchimedes had given him, he began to silence all inquiries\nwith a jest instead of a solution, extended his face\nwith a grin, which he mistook for a smile, and in the\nplace of scientifick discourse, retailed in a new\nlanguage, formed between the college and the tavern,\nthe intelligence of the newspaper.\n\nLaughter, he knew, was a token of alacrity; and,\ntherefore, whatever he said or heard, he was careful\nnot to fail in that great duty of a wit.  If he asked\nor told the hour of the day, if he complained of\nheat or cold, stirred the fire, or filled a glass,\nremoved his chair, or snuffed a candle, he always found\nsome occasion to laugh.  The jest was indeed a secret\nto all but himself; but habitual confidence in his\nown discernment hindered him from suspecting any\nweakness or mistake.  He wondered that his wit was\nso little understood, but expected that his audience\nwould comprehend it by degrees, and persisted all\nhis life to shew by gross buffoonery, how little the\nstrongest faculties can perform beyond the limits of\ntheir own province.\n\nNo. 180. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7. 1751\n\n <gr> Ta<u?>t' eidwoes isqi, mathn d' 'Epicouron eason\n <gr> Ho<u?> tooe cen<ooen zhte<i?>n, caioe tines ai monades.\nAUTOMEDON.\n\n On life, on morals, be thy thoughts employ'd;\n Leave to the schools their atoms and their void.\n\nIT is somewhere related by Le Clerc, that a wealthy\ntrader of good understanding, having the common\nambition to breed his son a scholar, carried him to\nan university, resolving to use his own judgment\nin the choice of a tutor.  He had been taught, by\nwhatever intelligence, the nearest way to the heart\nof an academick, and at his arrival entertained all\nwho came about him with such profusion, that the\nprofessors were lured by the smell of his table from\ntheir books, and flocked round him with all the\ncringes of awkward complaisance.  This eagerness\nanswered the merchant's purpose: he glutted them\nwith delicacies, and softened them with caresses,\ntill he prevailed upon one after another to open his\nbosom, and make a discovery of his competitions,\njealousies, and resentments.  Having thus learned\neach man's character, partly from himself, and partly\nfrom his acquaintances, he resolved to find some\nother education for his son, and went away convinced,\nthat a scholastick life has no other tendency\nthan to vitiate the morals and contract the\nunderstanding: nor would he afterwards hear with patience\nthe praises of the ancient authors, being persuaded\nthat scholars of all ages must have been the same,\nand that Xenophon and Cicero were professors of\nsome former university, and therefore mean and\nselfish, ignorant and servile, like those whom he had\nlately visited and forsaken.\n\nEnvy, curiosity, and a sense of the imperfection\nof our present state, incline us to estimate the\nadvantages which are in the possession of others above\ntheir real value.  Every one must have remarked,\nwhat powers and prerogatives the vulgar imagine\nto be conferred by learning.  A man of science is\nexpected to excel the unlettered and unenlightened\neven on occasions where literature is of no use,\nand among weak minds, loses part of his reverence,\nby discovering no superiority in those parts\nof life, in which all are unavoidably equal; as\nwhen a monarch makes a progress to the remoter\nprovinces, the rustics are said sometimes to\nwonder that they find him of the same size with\nthemselves.\n\nThese demands of prejudice and folly can never be\nsatisfied; and therefore many of the imputations\nwhich learning suffers from disappointed ignorance,\nare without reproach.  But there are some failures,\nto which men of study are peculiarly exposed.  Every\ncondition has its disadvantages.  The circle of\nknowledge is too wide for the most active and diligent\nintellect, and while science is pursued, other\naccomplishments are neglected; as a small garrison must\nleave one part of an extensive fortress naked, when\nan alarm calls them to another.\nThe learned, however, might generally support\ntheir dignity with more success, if they suffered not\nthemselves to be misled by the desire of superfluous\nattainments.  Raphael, in return to Adam's inquiries\ninto the courses of the stars, and the revolutions of\nheaven, counsels him to withdraw his mind from\nidle speculations, and employ his faculties upon\nnearer and more interesting objects, the survey\nof his own life, the subjection of his passions, the\nknowledge of duties which must daily be performed,\nand the detection of dangers which must daily be\nincurred.\n\nThis angelick counsel every man of letters should\nalways have before him.  He that devotes himself\nto retired study naturally sinks from omission to\nforgetfulness of social duties; he must be therefore\nsometimes awakened and recalled to the general\ncondition of mankind.\n\nI am far from any intention to limit curiosity, or\nconfine the labours of learning to arts of immediate\nand necessary use.  It is only from the various\nessays of experimental industry, and the vague\nexcursions of minds sent out upon discovery, that\nany advancement of knowledge can be expected;\nand, though many must be disappointed in their\nlabours, yet they are not to be charged with having\nspent their time in vain; their example contributed\nto inspire emulation, and their miscarriages taught\nothers the way to success.\n\nBut the distant hope of being one day useful or\neminent, ought not to mislead us too far from that\nstudy which is equally requisite to the great and\nmean, to the celebrated and obscure; the art of\nmoderating the desires, of repressing the appetites,\nand of conciliating or retaining the favour of\nmankind.\n\nNo man can imagine the course of his own life,\nor the conduct of the world around him, unworthy\nhis attention; yet, among the sons of learning,\nmany seem to have thought of every thing rather\nthan of themselves, and to have observed every\nthing but what passes before their eyes: many who\ntoil through the intricacy of complicated systems,\nare insuperably embarrassed with the least perplexity\nin common affairs; many who compare the\nactions, and ascertain the characters of ancient\nheroes, let their own days glide away without\nexamination, and suffer vicious habits to encroach upon\ntheir minds without resistance or detection,\n\nThe most frequent reproach of the scholastick race\nis the want of fortitude, not martial but philosophick.\nMen bred in shades and silence, taught to immure\nthemselves at sunset, and accustomed to no\nother weapon than syllogism, may be allowed to\nfeel terrour at personal danger, and to be\ndisconcerted by tumult and alarm.  But why should he\nwhose life is spent in contemplation, and whose\nbusiness is only to discover truth, be unable to\nrectify the fallacies of imagination, or contend\nsuccessfully against prejudice and passion?  To what\nend has he read and meditated, if he gives up his\nunderstanding to false appearances, and suffers\nhimself to be enslaved by fear of evils to which\nonly folly or vanity can expose him, or elated\nby advantages to which, as they are equally\nconferred upon the good and the bad, no real dignity\nis annexed.\n\nSuch, however, is the state of the world, that the\nmost obsequious of the slaves of pride, the most\nrapturous of the gazers upon wealth, the most\nofficious of the whisperers of greatness, are collected\nfrom seminaries appropriated to the study of wisdom\nand of virtue, where it was intended that\nappetite should learn to be content with little, and\nthat hope should aspire only to honours which no\nhuman power can give or take away[a].\n\n\n [a] \"Such are a sort of sacrilegious ministers in the temple of\nintellect.  They profane its shew-bread to pamper the palate, its\neverlasting lamp they use to light unholy fires within their\nbreast, and show them the way to the sensual chambers of sense\nand worldliness.\"  IRVING.\n\n\nThe student, when he comes forth into the world,\ninstead of congratulating himself upon his exemption\nfrom the errours of those whose opinions have\nbeen formed by accident or custom, and who live\nwithout any certain principles of conduct, is\ncommonly in haste to mingle with the multitude, and\nshew his sprightliness and ductility by an\nexpeditious compliance with fashions or vices.  The first\nsmile of a man, whose fortune gives him power to\nreward his dependants, commonly enchants him\nbeyond resistance; the glare of equipage, the sweets\nof luxury, the liberality of general promises, the\nsoftness of habitual affability, fill his imagination;\nand he soon ceases to have any other wish than to\nbe well received, or any measure of right and wrong\nbut the opinion of his patron.\n\nA man flattered and obeyed, learns to exact\ngrosser adulation, and enjoin lower submission.\nNeither our virtues nor vices are all our own.  If\nthere were no cowardice, there would be little\ninsolence; pride cannot rise to any great degree, but\nby the concurrence of blandishment or the sufferance\nof tameness.  The wretch who would shrink\nand crouch before one that should dart his eyes\nupon him with the spirit of natural equality, becomes\ncapricious and tyrannical when he sees himself\napproached with a downcast look, and hears the soft\naddress of awe and servility.  To those who are willing\nto purchase favour by cringes and compliance,\nis to be imputed the haughtiness that leaves nothing\nto be hoped by firmness and integrity.\n\nIf, instead of wandering after the meteors of\nphilosophy, which fill the world with splendour for\na while, and then sink and are forgotten, the\ncandidates of learning fixed their eyes upon the\npermanent lustre of moral and religious truth, they would\nfind a more certain direction to happiness.  A little\nplausibility of discourse, and acquaintance with\nunnecessary speculations, is dearly purchased, when\nit excludes those instructions which fortify the heart\nwith resolution, and exalt the spirit to independence.\n\n\n\nNo. 181. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1751\n\n ----Neu fluitem dubiae spe pendulus horae.\nHOR. Lib. i. Ep. xviii. 110.\n\n Nor let me float in fortune's ponv'r,\n Dependent on the future hour.  FRAXCIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nAS I have passed much of my life in disquiet and\nsuspense, and lost many opportunities of advantage\nby a passion which I have reason to believe\nprevalent in different degrees over a great part of\nmankind, I cannot but think myself well qualified\nto warn those who are yet uncaptivated, of the\ndanger which they incur by placing themselves\nwithin its influence.\n\nI served an apprenticeship to a linen-draper, with\nuncommon reputation for diligence and fidelity;\nand at the age of three-and-twenty opened a shop\nfor myself with a large stock, and such credit\namong all the merchants, who were acquainted with\nmy master, that I could command whatever was\nimported curious or valuable.  For five years I\nproceeded with success proportionate to close application\nand untainted integrity; was a daring bidder at every\nsale; always paid my notes before they were due,\nand advanced so fast in commercial reputation, that\nI was proverbially marked out as the model of young\ntraders, and every one expected that a few years\nwould make me an alderman.\n\nIn this course of even prosperity, I was one day\npersuaded to buy a ticket in the lottery.  The sum\nwas inconsiderable, part was to be repaid though\nfortune might fail to favour me, and therefore my\nestablished maxims of frugality did not restrain me\nfrom so trifling an experiment.  The ticket lay\nalmost forgotten till the time at which every man's\nfate was to be determined; nor did the affair even\nthen seem of any importance, till I discovered by\nthe publick papers that the numbers next to mine\nhad conferred the great prize.\n\nMy heart leaped at the thought of such an\napproach to sudden riches, which I considered myself,\nhowever contrarily to the laws of computation, as\nhaving missed by a single chance; and I could not\nforbear to revolve the consequences which such as\nbounteous allotment would have produced, if it had\nhappened to me.  This dream of felicity, by degrees,\ntook possession of my imagination.  The great delight\nof my solitary hours was to purchase an estate,\nand form plantations with money which once might\nhave been mine, and I never met my friends but I\nspoiled all their merriment by perpetual complaints\nof my ill luck.\n\nAt length another lottery was opened, and I had\nnow so heated my imagination with the prospect\nof a prize, that I should have pressed among the\nfirst purchasers, had not my ardour been withheld\nby deliberation upon the probability of success from\none ticket rather than another.  I hesitated long\nbetween even and odd; considered the square and\ncubick numbers through the lottery; examined all\nthose to which good luck had been hitherto annexed;\nand at last fixed upon one, which, by some\nsecret relation to the events of my life, I thought\npredestined to make me happy.  Delay in great\naffairs is often mischievous; the ticket was sold,\nand its possessor could not be found.\n\nI returned to my conjectures, and after many arts\nof prognostication, fixed upon another chance, but\nwith less confidence.  Never did captive, heir, or\nlover, feel so much vexation from the slow pace of\ntime, as I suffered between the purchase of my\nticket and the distribution of the prizes.  I solaced\nmy uneasiness as well as I could, by frequent\ncontemplation of approaching happiness; when the sun\nrose I knew it would set, and congratulated myself\nat night that I was so much nearer to my wishes.\nAt last the day came, my ticket appeared, and\nrewarded all my care and sagacity with a despicable\nprize of fifty pounds.\n\nMy friends, who honestly rejoiced upon my\nsuccess, were very coldly received; I hid myself a\nfortnight in the country, that my chagrin might\nfume away without observation, and then returning\nto my shop, began to listen after another lottery.\n\nWith the news of a lottery I was soon gratified,\nand having now found the vanity of conjecture,\nand inefficacy of computation, I resolved to take\nthe prize by violence, and therefore bought forty\ntickets, not omitting, however, to divide them\nbetween the even and odd numbers, that I might not\nmiss the lucky class.  Many conclusions did I form,\nand many experiments did I try, to determine from\nwhich of those tickets I might most reasonably\nexpect riches.  At last, being unable to satisfy myself\nby any modes of reasoning, I wrote the numbers\nupon dice, and allotted five hours every day to the\namusement of throwing them in a garret; and,\nexamining the event by an exact register, found, on\nthe evening before the lottery was drawn, that one\nof my numbers had been turned up five times more\nthan any of the rest in three hundred and thirty\nthousand throws.\n\nThis experiment was fallacious; the first day\npresented the hopeful ticket, a detestable blank.  The\nrest came out with different fortune, and in conclusion\nI lost thirty pounds by this great adventure.\n\nI had now wholly changed the cast of my behaviour\nand the conduct of my life.  The shop was for\nthe most part abandoned to my servants, and if I\nentered it, my thoughts were so engrossed by my\ntickets, that I scarcely heard or answered a\nquestion, but considered every customer as an intruder\nupon my meditations, whom I was in haste to\ndespatch.  I mistook the price of my goods,\ncommitted blunders in my bills, forgot to file my\nreceipts, and neglected to regulate my books.  My\nacquaintances by degrees began to fall away; but I\nperceived the decline of my business with little\nemotion, because whatever deficience there might\nbe in my gains, I expected the next lottery to\nsupply.\n\nMiscarriage naturally produces diffidence; I\nbegan now to seek assistance against ill luck, by an\nalliance with those that had been more successful.\nI inquired diligently at what office any prize had\nbeen sold, that I might purchase of a propitious\nvender; solicited those who had been fortunate in\nformer lotteries, to partake with me in my new\ntickets; and whenever I met with one that had in\nany event of his life been eminently prosperous, I\ninvited him to take a larger share.  I had, by this rule\nof conduct, so diffused my interest, that I had a\nfourth part of fifteen tickets, an eighth of forty, and\na sixteenth of ninety.\n\nI waited for the decision of my fate with my\nformer palpitations, and looked upon the business\nof my trade with the usual neglect.  The wheel at\nlast was turned, and its revolutions brought me a\nlong succession of sorrows and disappointments.  I\nindeed often partook of a small prize, and the loss\nof one day was generally balanced by the gain of\nthe next; but my desires yet remained unsatisfied,\nand when one of my chances had failed, all\nmy expectation was suspended on those which\nremained yet undetermined.  At last a prize of five\nthousand pounds was proclaimed; I caught fire at\nthe cry, and inquiring the number, found it to be\none of my own tickets, which I had divided among\nthose on whose luck I depended, and of which I\nhad retained only a sixteenth part.\n\nYou will easily judge with what detestation of\nhimself, a man thus intent upon gain reflected that\nhe had sold a prize which was once in his possession.\nIt was to no purpose, that I represented to\nmy mind the impossibility of recalling the past, or\nthe folly of condemning an act, which only its\nevent, an event which no human intelligence could\nforesee, proved to be wrong.  The prize which,\nthough put in my hands, had been suffered to slip\nfrom me, filled me with anguish, and knowing that\ncomplaint would only expose me to ridicule, I gave\nmyself up silently to grief, and lost by degrees my\nappetite and my rest.\n\nMy indisposition soon became visible; I was\nvisited by my friends, among them by Eumathes, a\nclergyman, whose piety and learning gave him such\nan ascendant over me, that I could not refuse to\nopen my heart.  There are, said he, few minds sufficiently\nfirm to be trusted in the hands of chance.\nWhoever finds himself inclined to anticipate futurity,\nand exalt possibility to certainty, should avoid\nevery kind of casual adventure, since his grief must\nbe always proportionate to his hope.  You have long\nwasted that time, which, by a proper application,\nwould have certainly, though moderately, increased\nyour fortune, in a laborious and anxious pursuit of\na species of gain, which no labour or anxiety, no art\nor expedient, can secure or promote.  You are now\nfretting away your life in repentance of an act,\nagainst which repentance can give no caution, but\nto avoid the occasion of committing it.  Rouse from\nthis lazy dream of fortuitous riches, which, if\nobtained, you could scarcely have enjoyed, because\nthey could confer no consciousness of desert; return\nto rational and manly industry, and consider the\nmere gift of luck as below the care of a wise man.\n\n\n\nNo. 182. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1751\n\n ----Dives qui fieri vult,\n Et cito vult fieri.----     JUV. Sat. xiv. 176.\n\n The lust of wealth can never bear delay.\n\nIT has been observed in a late paper, that we are\nunreasonably desirous to separate the goods of\nlife from those evils which Providence has\nconnected with them, and to catch advantages without\npaying the price at which they are offered us.  Every\nman wishes to be rich, but very few have the powers\nnecessary to raise a sudden fortune, either by\nnew discoveries, or by superiority of skill, in any\nnecessary employment; and among lower\nunderstandings, many want the firmness and industry\nrequisite to regular gain and gradual acquisitions.\n\nFrom the hope of enjoying affluence by methods\nmore compendious than those of labour, and more\ngenerally practicable than those of genius, proceeds\nthe common inclination to experiment and hazard,\nand that willingness to snatch all opportunities of\ngrowing rich by chance, which, when it has once\ntaken possession of the mind, is seldom driven out\neither by time or argument, but continues to waste\nlife in perpetual delusion, and generally ends in\nwretchedness and want.\n\nThe folly of untimely exultation and visionary\nprosperity, is by no means peculiar to the purchasers\nof tickets; there are multitudes whose life is\nnothing but a continual lottery; who are always\nwithin a few months of plenty and happiness, and\nhow often soever they are mocked with blanks,\nexpect a prize from the next adventure.\n\nAmong the most resolute and ardent of the\nvotaries of chance, may be numbered the mortals whose\nhope is to raise themselves by a wealthy match;\nwho lay out all their industry on the assiduities of\ncourtship, and sleep and wake with no other ideas\nthan of treats, compliments, guardians and rivals.\n\nOne of the most indefatigable of this class, is my\nold friend Leviculus, whom I have never known for\nthirty years without some matrimonial project of\nadvantage.  Leviculus was bred under a merchant,\nand by the graces of his person, the sprightliness of\nhis prattle, and the neatness of his dress, so much\nenamoured his master's second daughter, a girl of\nsixteen, that she declared her resolution to have no\nother husband.  Her father, after having chidden her\nfor undutifulness, consented to the match, not much\nto the satisfaction of Leviculus, who was sufficiently\nelated with his conquest to think himself entitled\nto a larger fortune.  He was, however, soon rid of\nhis perplexity, for his mistress died before their\nmarriage.\n\nHe was now so well satisfied with his own\naccomplishments, that he determined to commence\nfortune-hunter; and when his apprenticeship\nexpired, instead of beginning, as was expected, to\nwalk the Exchange with a face of importance, or\nassociating himself with those who were most\neminent for their knowledge of the stocks, he at once\nthrew off the solemnity of the counting-house,\nequipped himself with a modish wig, listened to\nwits in coffee-houses, passed his evenings behind the\nscenes in the theatres, learned the names of beauties\nof quality, hummed the last stanzas of fashionable\nsongs, talked with familiarity of high play, boasted\nof his achievements upon drawers and coachmen,\nwas often brought to his lodgings at midnight in a\nchair, told with negligence and jocularity of bilking\na tailor, and now and then let fly a shrewd jest at a\nsober citizen.\n\nThus furnished with irresistible artillery, he turned\nhis batteries upon the female world, and, in the first\nwarmth of self-approbation, proposed no less than\nthe possession of riches and beauty united.  He\ntherefore paid his civilities to Flavilla, the only\ndaughter of a wealthy shopkeeper, who not being\naccustomed to amorous blandishments, or respectful\naddresses, was delighted with the novelty of love,\nand easily suffered him to conduct her to the play,\nand to meet her where she visited.  Leviculus did\nnot doubt but her father, however offended by a\nclandestine marriage, would soon be reconciled by\nthe tears of his daughter, and the merit of his son-\nin-law, and was in haste to conclude the affair.  But\nthe lady liked better to be courted than married,\nand kept him three years in uncertainty and\nattendance.  At last she fell in love with a young ensign\nat a ball, and having danced with him all night,\nmarried him in the morning.\n\nLeviculus, to avoid the ridicule of his companions,\ntook a journey to a small estate in the country,\nwhere, after his usual inquiries concerning the\nnymphs in the neighbourhood, he found it proper\nto fall in love with Altilia, a maiden lady, twenty\nyears older than himself, for whose favour fifteen\nnephews and nieces were in perpetual contention.\nThey hovered round her with such jealous officiousness,\nas scarcely left a moment vacant for a lover.\nLeviculus, nevertheless, discovered his passion in a\nletter, and Altilia could not withstand the pleasure\nof hearing vows and sighs, and flatteries and\nprotestations.  She admitted his visits, enjoyed for five\nyears the happiness of keeping all her expectants in\nperpetual alarms, and amused herself with the various\nstratagems which were practised to disengage\nher affections.  Sometimes she was advised with\ngreat earnestness to travel for her health, and\nsometimes entreated to keep her brother's house.  Many\nstories were spread to the disadvantage of Leviculus,\nby which she commonly seemed affected for a\ntime, but took care soon afterwards to express her\nconviction of their falsehood.  But being at last\nsatiated with this ludicrous tyranny, she told her\nlover, when he pressed for the reward of his services,\nthat she was very sensible of his merit, but was\nresolved not to impoverish an ancient family.\n\nHe then returned to the town, and soon after his\narrival, became acquainted with Latronia, a lady\ndistinguished by the elegance of her equipage, and\nthe regularity of her conduct.  Her wealth was\nevident in her magnificence, and her prudence in her\neconomy, and therefore Leviculus, who had scarcely\nconfidence to solicit her favour, readily acquitted\nfortune of her former debts, when he found himself\ndistinguished by her with such marks of preference\nas a woman of modesty is allowed to give.  He now\ngrew bolder, and ventured to breathe out his\nimpatience before her.  She heard him without\nresentment, in time permitted him to hope for happiness,\nand at last fixed the nuptial day, without any\ndistrustful reserve of pin-money, or sordid stipulations\nfor jointure, and settlements.\n\nLeviculus was triumphing on the eve of marriage,\nwhen he heard on the stairs the voice of Latronia's\nmaid, whom frequent bribes had secured in his\nservice.  She soon burst into his room, and told him\nthat she could not suffer him to be longer deceived;\nthat her mistress was now spending the last payment\nof her fortune, and was only supported in her\nexpense by the credit of his estate.  Leviculus\nshuddered to see himself so near a precipice, and found\nthat he was indebted for his escape to the resentment\nof the maid, who having assisted Latronia to\ngain the conquest, quarrelled with her at last about\nthe plunder.\n\nLeviculus was now hopeless and disconsolate, till\none Sunday he saw a lady in the Mall, whom her\ndress declared a widow, and whom, by the jolting\nprance of her gait, and the broad resplendence of\nher countenance, he guessed to have lately buried\nsome prosperous citizen.  He followed her home, and\nfound her to be no less than the relict of Prune the\ngrocer, who, having no children, had bequeathed to\nher all his debts and dues, and his estates real and\npersonal.  No formality was necessary in addressing\nmadam Prune, and therefore Leviculus went next\nmorning without an introductor.  His declaration\nwas received with a loud laugh; she then collected\nher countenance, wondered at his impudence, asked\nif he knew to whom he was talking, then shewed\nhim the door, and again laughed to find him\nconfused.  Leviculus discovered that this coarseness was\nnothing more than the coquetry of Cornhill, and\nnext day returned to the attack.  He soon grew\nfamiliar to her dialect, and in a few weeks heard,\nwithout any emotion, hints of gay clothes with\nempty pockets; concurred in many sage remarks\non the regard due to people of property, and agreed\nwith her in detestation of the ladies at the other\nend of the town, who pinched their bellies to buy\nfine laces, and then pretended to laugh at the city.\n\nHe sometimes presumed to mention marriage;\nbut was always answered with a slap, a hoot, and a\nflounce.  At last he began to press her closer, and\nthought himself more favourably received; but going\none morning, with a resolution to trifle no\nlonger, he found her gone to church with a young\njourneyman from the neighbouring shop, of whom\nshe had become enamoured at her window.\n\nIn these, and a thousand intermediate\nadventures, has Leviculus spent his time, till he is now\ngrown grey with age, fatigue, and disappointment.\nHe begins at last to find that success is not to be\nexpected, and being unfit for any employment that\nmight improve his fortune, and unfurnished with\nany arts that might amuse his leisure, is condemned\nto wear out a tasteless life in narratives which few\nwill hear, and complaints which none will pity.\n\n\n\nNo. 183. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1751\n\n Nulla fides regni sociis, omnisque potestas\n Impatiens consortis erit.   LUCAN, Lib. i. 92.\n\n No faith of partnership dominion owns;\n Still discord hovers o'er divided thrones.\n\nTHE hostility perpetually exercised between\none man and another, is caused by the desire\nof many for that which only few can possess.\nEvery man would be rich, powerful, and famous;\nyet fame, power, and riches are only the names of\nrelative conditions, which imply the obscurity,\ndependance, and poverty of greater numbers.\n\nThis universal and incessant competition\nproduces injury and malice by two motives, interest\nand envy; the prospect of adding to our possessions\nwhat we can take from others, and the hope of\nalleviating the sense of our disparity by lessening\nothers, though we gain nothing to ourselves.\n\nOf these two malignant and destructive powers,\nit seems probable at the first view, that interest has\nthe strongest and most extensive influence.  It is\neasy to conceive that opportunities to seize what\nhas been long wanted, may excite desires almost\nirresistible; but surely the same eagerness cannot\nbe kindled by an accidental power of destroying\nthat which gives happiness to another.  It must be\nmore natural to rob for gain, than to ravage only\nfor mischief.\n\nYet I am inclined to believe, that the great law\nof mutual benevolence is oftener violated by envy\nthan by interest, and that most of the misery which\nthe defamation of blameless actions, or the obstruction\nof honest endeavours, brings upon the world,\nis inflicted by men that propose no advantage to\nthemselves but the satisfaction of poisoning the\nbanquet which they cannot taste, and blasting the\nharvest which they have no right to reap.\n\nInterest can diffuse itself but to a narrow\ncompass.  The number is never large of those who can\nhope to fill the posts of degraded power, catch the\nfragments of shattered fortune, or succeed to the\nhonours of depreciated beauty.  But the empire of\nenvy has no limits, as it requires to its influence\nvery little help from external circumstances.  Envy\nmay always be produced by idleness and pride, and\nin what place will they not be found?\n\nInterest requires some qualities not universally\nbestowed.  The ruin of another will produce no\nprofit to him who has not discernment to mark his\nadvantage, courage to seize, and activity to pursue\nit; but the cold malignity of envy may be exerted\nin a torpid and quiescent state, amidst the gloom\nof stupidity, in the coverts of cowardice.  He that\nfalls by the attacks of interest, is torn by hungry\ntigers; he may discover and resist his enemies.  He\nthat perishes in the ambushes of envy, is destroyed\nby unknown and invisible assailants, and dies like\na man suffocated by a poisonous vapour, without\nknowledge of his danger, or possibility of\ncontest.\n\nInterest is seldom pursued but at some hazard.\nHe that hopes to gain much, has commonly something\nto lose, and when he ventures to attack superiority,\nif he fails to conquer, is irrecoverably\ncrushed.  But envy may act without expense or\ndanger.  To spread suspicion, to invent calumnies,\nto propagate scandal, requires neither labour nor\ncourage.  It is easy for the author of a lie, however\nmalignant, to escape detection, and infamy needs\nvery little industry to assist its circulation.\n\nEnvy is almost the only vice which is practicable\nat all times, and in every place; the only passion\nwhich can never lie quiet for want of irritation: its\neffects therefore are every where discoverable, and\nits attempts always to be dreaded.\n\nIt is impossible to mention a name which any\nadvantageous distinction has made eminent, but\nsome latent animosity will burst out.  The wealthy\ntrader, however he may abstract himself from\npublick affairs, will never want those who hint, with\nShylock, that ships are but boards.  The beauty,\nadorned only with the unambitious graces of innocence\nand modesty, provokes, whenever she appears,\na thousand murmurs of detraction.  The genius,\neven when he endeavours only to entertain or\ninstruct, yet suffers persecution from innumerable\ncriticks, whose acrimony is excited merely by the\npain of seeing others pleased, and of hearing\napplauses which another enjoys.\n\nThe frequency of envy makes it so familiar, that\nit escapes our notice; nor do we often reflect upon\nits turpitude or malignity, till we happen to feel its\ninfluence.  When he that has given no provocation\nto malice, but by attempting to excel, finds himself\npursued by multitudes whom he never saw, with\nall the implacability of personal resentment; when\nhe perceives clamour and malice let loose upon him\nas a publick enemy, and incited by every stratagem\nof defamation; when he hears the misfortunes of\nhis family, or the follies of his youth, exposed to\nthe world; and every failure of conduct, or defect\nof nature, aggravated and ridiculed; he then learns\nto abhor those artifices at which he only laughed\nbefore, and discovers how much the happiness of\nlife would be advanced by the eradication of envy\nfrom the human heart.\n\nEnvy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind,\nand seldom yields to the culture of philosophy.  There\nare, however, considerations, which, if carefully\nimplanted and diligently propagated, might in time\noverpower and repress it, since no one can nurse it\nfor the sake of pleasure, as its effects are only shame,\nanguish, and perturbation.\n\nIt is above all other vices inconsistent with the\ncharacter of a social being, because it sacrifices truth\nand kindness to very weak temptations.  He that\nplunders a wealthy neighbour gains as much as he\ntakes away, and may improve his own condition in\nthe same proportion as he impairs another's; but he\nthat blasts a flourishing reputation, must be content\nwith a small dividend of additional fame, so small\nas can afford very little consolation to balance the\nguilt by which it is obtained.\n\nI have hitherto avoided that dangerous and\nempirical morality, which cures one vice by means of\nanother.  But envy is so base and detestable, so vile\nin its original, and so pernicious in its effects, that\nthe predominance of almost any other quality is to\nbe preferred.  It is one of those lawless enemies of\nsociety, against which poisoned arrows may honestly\nbe used.  Let it therefore be constantly remembered,\nthat whoever envies another, confesses his superiority,\nand let those be reformed by their pride who\nhave lost their virtue.\n\nIt is no slight aggravation of the injuries which\nenvy incites, that they are committed against those\nwho have given no intentional provocation; and that\nthe sufferer is often marked out for ruin, not because\nhe has failed in any duty, but because he has dared\nto do more than was required.\n\nAlmost every other crime is practised by the help\nof some quality which might have produced esteem\nor love, if it had been well employed; but envy is\nmere unmixed and genuine evil; it pursues a hateful\nend by despicable means, and desires not so much\nits own happiness as another's misery.  To avoid\ndepravity like this, it is not necessary that any one\nshould aspire to heroism or sanctity, but only that\nhe should resolve not to quit the rank which nature\nassigns him, and wish to maintain the dignity of a\nhuman being.\n\n\n\nNo. 184. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1751\n\n Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid\n Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris.\n\nJUV. Sat. x. 347.\n\n\n Intrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above;\n Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant\n What their unerring wisdom sees thee want.  DRYDEN.\n\nAS every scheme of life, so every form of writing,\nhas its advantages and inconveniences, though\nnot mingled in the same proportions.  The writer of\nessays escapes many embarrassments to which a\nlarge work would have exposed him; he seldom\nharasses his reason with long trains of consequences,\ndims his eyes with the perusal of antiquated volumes,\nor burthens his memory with great accumulations\nof preparatory knowledge.  A careless glance upon\na favourite author, or transient survey of the\nvarieties of life, is sufficient to supply the first hint\nor seminal idea, which, enlarged by the gradual\naccretion of matter stored in the mind, is by the\nwarmth of fancy easily expanded into flowers, and\nsometimes ripened into fruit.\n\nThe most frequent difficulty by which the authors\nof these petty compositions are distressed, arises\nfrom the perpetual demand of novelty and change.\nThe compiler of a system of science lays his invention\nat rest, and employs only his judgment, the\nfaculty exerted with least fatigue.  Even the relator\nof feigned adventures, when once the principal\ncharacters are established, and the great events\nregularly connected, finds incidents and episodes\ncrowding upon his mind; every change opens new\nviews, and the latter part of the story grows\nwithout labour out of the former.  But he that attempts\nto entertain his reader with unconnected pieces, finds\nthe irksomeness of his task rather increased than\nlessened by every production.  The day calls afresh\nupon him for a new topick, and he is again obliged\nto choose, without any principle to regulate his\nchoice.\n\nIt is indeed true, that there is seldom any\nnecessity of looking far, or inquiring long for a proper\nsubject.  Every diversity of art or nature, every\npublick blessing or calamity, every domestick pain or\ngratification, every sally of caprice, blunder of\nabsurdity, or stratagem of affectation, may supply\nmatter to him whose only rule is to avoid uniformity.\nBut it often happens, that the judgment is distracted\nwith boundless multiplicity, the imagination\nranges from one design to another, and the hours\npass imperceptibly away, till the composition can\nbe no longer delayed, and necessity enforces the use\nof those thoughts which then happen to be at hand.\nThe mind, rejoicing at deliverance on any terms from\nperplexity and suspense, applies herself vigorously\nto the work before her, collects embellishments and\nillustrations, and sometimes finishes, with great\nelegance and happiness, what in a state of ease and\nleisure she never had begun.\n\nIt is not commonly observed, how much, even of\nactions, considered as particularly subject to choice,\nis to be attributed to accident, or some cause out of\nour own power, by whatever name it be distinguished.\nTo close tedious deliberations with hasty\nresolves, and after long consultations with reason to\nrefer the question to caprice, is by no means peculiar\nto the essayist.  Let him that peruses this paper\nreview the series of his life, and inquire how he was\nplaced in his present condition.  He will find, that\nof the good or ill which he has experienced, a great\npart came unexpected, without any visible gradations\nof approach; that every event has been influenced\nby causes acting without his intervention;\nand that whenever he pretended to the prerogative\nof foresight, he was mortified with new conviction\nof the shortness of his views.\n\nThe busy, the ambitious, the inconstant, and the\nadventurous, may be said to throw themselves by\ndesign into the arms of fortune, and voluntarily to\nquit the power of governing themselves; they engage\nin a course of life in which little can be ascertained\nby previous measures; nor is it any wonder that\ntheir time is passed between elation and despondency,\nhope and disappointment.\n\nSome there are who appear to walk the road of\nlife with more circumspection, and make no step\ntill they think themselves secure from the hazard of a\nprecipice, when neither pleasure nor profit can tempt\nthem from the beaten path; who refuse to climb\nlest they should fall, or to run lest they should\nstumble, and move slowly forward without any\ncompliance with those passions by which the heady and\nvehement are seduced and betrayed.\n\nYet even the timorous prudence of this judicious\nclass is far from exempting them from the dominion\nof chance, a subtle and insidious power, who\nwill intrude upon privacy and embarrass caution.\nNo course of life is so prescribed and limited, but\nthat many actions must result from arbitrary\nelection.  Every one must form the general plan\nof his conduct by his own reflections; he must\nresolve whether he will endeavour at riches or at\ncontent; whether he will exercise private or publick\nvirtues; whether he will labour for the general benefit\nof mankind, or contract his beneficence to his\nfamily and dependants.\n\nThis question has long exercised the schools of\nphilosophy, but remains yet undecided; and what\nhope is there that a young man, unacquainted with\nthe arguments on either side, should determine his\nown destiny otherwise than by chance?\n\nWhen chance has given him a partner of his bed,\nwhom he prefers to all other women, without any\nproof of superior desert, chance must again direct\nhim in the education of his children; for, who was\never able to convince himself by arguments, that\nhe had chosen for his son that mode of instruction\nto which his understanding was best adapted, or\nby which he would most easily be made wise or\nvirtuous?\n\nWhoever shall inquire by what motives he was\ndetermined on these important occasions, will find\nthem such as his pride will scarcely suffer him to\nconfess; some sudden ardour of desire, some\nuncertain glimpse of advantage, some petty\ncompetition, some inaccurate conclusion, or some example\nimplicitly reverenced.  Such are often the first causes\nof our resolves; for it is necessary to act, but\nimpossible to know the consequences of action, or to\ndiscuss all the reasons which offer themselves on\nevery part to inquisitiveness and solicitude.\nSince life itself is uncertain, nothing which has\nlife for its basis can boast much stability.  Yet this\nis but a small part of our perplexity.  We set out on\na tempestuous sea in quest of some port, where we\nexpect to find rest, but where we are not sure of\nadmission, we are not only in danger of sinking in\nthe way, but of being misled by meteors mistaken\nfor stars, of being driven from our course by the\nchanges of the wind, and of losing it by unskilful\nsteerage; yet it sometimes happens, that cross winds\nblow us to a safer coast, that meteors draw us aside\nfrom whirlpools, and that negligence or errour\ncontributes to our escape from mischiefs to which a\ndirect course would have exposed us.  Of those that,\nby precipitate conclusions, involve themselves in\ncalamities without guilt, very few, however they\nmay reproach themselves, can be certain that other\nmeasures would have been more successful.\n\nIn this state of universal uncertainty, where a\nthousand dangers hover about us, and none can tell\nwhether the good that he pursues is not evil in\ndisguise, or whether the next step will lead him to\nsafety or destruction, nothing can afford any\nrational tranquillity, but the conviction that,\nhowever we amuse ourselves with unideal sounds,\nnothing in reality is governed by chance, but that\nthe universe is under the perpetual superintendance\nof Him who created it; that our being is in the\nhands of omnipotent Goodness, by whom what\nappears casual to us, is directed for ends ultimately\nkind and merciful; and that nothing can finally\nhurt him who debars not himself from the Divine\nfavour.\n\n\n\nNo. 185. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1751\n\n At vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa,\n Nempe hoc indocti.------------\n Chrysippus non dicet idem, nec mite Thaletis\n Ingenium, dulcique senex vicinus Hymetto,\n Qui partem adceptae saeva inter vincla Cicutoe\n Adcusatori nollet dare.----\n ----------------Quippe minuti\n Semper et infirmi est animi exiguique voluptas\n Ultio.                 JUV. Sat. xiii. 180.\n\n BUT O! REVENGE IS SWEET.\n Thus think the crowd; who, eager to engage,\n Take quickly fire, and kindle into rage.\n Not so mild Thales nor Chrysippus thought,\n Nor that good man, who drank the poisonous draught\n With mind serene; and could not wish to see\n His vile accuser drink as deep as he:\n Exalted Socrates! divinely brave!\n Injur'd he fell, and dying he forgave!\n Too noble for revenge; which still we find\n The weakest frailty of a feeble mind.  DRYDEN\n\nNO vicious dispositions of the mind more\nobstinately resist both the counsels of philosophy\nand the injunctions of religion, than those which\nare complicated with an opinion of dignity; and\nwhich we cannot dismiss without leaving in the\nhands of opposition some advantage iniquitously\nobtained, or suffering from our own prejudices some\nimputation of pusillanimity.\n\nFor this reason scarcely any law of our Redeemer\nis more openly transgressed, or more industriously\nevaded, than that by which he commands his followers\nto forgive injuries, and prohibits, under the\nsanction of eternal misery, the gratification of the\ndesire which every man feels to return pain upon\nhim that inflicts it.  Many who could have conquered\ntheir anger, are unable to combat pride, and pursue\noffences to extremity of vengeance, lest they should\nbe insulted by the triumph of an enemy.\n\nBut certainly no precept could better become\nhim, at whose birth PEACE was proclaimed TO THE EARTH.\nFor, what would so soon destroy all the order of\nsociety, and deform life with violence and ravage, as\na permission to every one to judge his own cause,\nand to apportion his own recompense for imagined\ninjuries?\n\nIt is difficult for a man of the strictest justice not\nto favour himself too much, in the calmest moments\nof solitary meditation.  Every one wishes for the\ndistinctions for which thousands are wishing at the\nsame time, in their own opinion, with better claims.\nHe that, when his reason operates in its full force,\ncan thus, by the mere prevalence of self-love,\nprefer himself to his fellow-beings, is very unlikely to\njudge equitably when his passions are agitated by\na sense of wrong, and his attention wholly engrossed\nby pain, interest, or danger.  Whoever arrogates to\nhimself the right of vengeance, shews how little he\nis qualified to decide his own claims, since he\ncertainly demands what he would think unfit to be\ngranted to another.\n\nNothing is more apparent than that, however\ninjured, or however provoked, some must at last be\ncontented to forgive.  For it can never be hoped,\nthat he who first commits an injury, will contentedly\nacquiesce in the penalty required: the same\nhaughtiness of contempt, or vehemence of desire,\nthat prompt the act of injustice, will more strongly\nincite its justification; and resentment can never so\nexactly balance the punishment with the fault, but\nthere will remain an overplus of vengeance which\neven he who condemns his first action will think\nhimself entitled to retaliate.  What then can ensue\nbut a continual exacerbation of hatred, an\nunextinguishable feud, an incessant reciprocation of\nmischief, a mutual vigilance to entrap, and eagerness to\ndestroy.\n\nSince then the imaginary right of vengeance must\nbe at last remitted, because it is impossible to live\nin perpetual hostility, and equally impossible that\nof two enemies, either should first think himself\nobliged by justice to submission, it is surely eligible\nto forgive early.  Every passion is more easily\nsubdued before it has been long accustomed to possession\nof the heart; every idea is obliterated with less\ndifficulty, as it has been more slightly impressed,\nand less frequently renewed.  He who has often\nbrooded over his wrongs, pleased himself with\nschemes of malignity, and glutted his pride with\nthe fancied supplications of humbled enmity, will\nnot easily open his bosom to amity and reconciliation,\nor indulge the gentle sentiments of benevolence and peace.\n\nIt is easiest to forgive, while there is yet little to\nbe forgiven.  A single injury may be soon dismissed\nfrom the memory; but a long succession of ill offices\nby degrees associates itself with every idea; a\nlong contest involves so many circumstances, that\nevery place and action will recall it to the mind,\nand fresh remembrance of vexation must still enkindle\nrage, and irritate revenge.\n\nA wise man will make haste to forgive, because\nhe knows the true value of time, and will not suffer\nit to pass away in unnecessary pain.  He that\nwillingly suffers the corrosions of inveterate hatred, and\ngives up his days and nights to the gloom of malice,\nand perturbations of stratagem, cannot surely be\nsaid to consult his ease.  Resentment is an union of\nsorrow with malignity, a combination of a passion\nwhich all endeavour to avoid, with a passion which\nall concur to detest.  The man who retires to\nmeditate mischief, and to exasperate his own rage; whose\nthoughts are employed only on means of distress\nand contrivances of ruin; whose mind never pauses\nfrom the remembrance of his own sufferings, but to\nindulge some hope of enjoying the calamities of\nanother, may justly be numbered among the most\nmiserable of human beings, among those who are\nguilty without reward, who have neither the gladness\nof prosperity, nor the calm of innocence.\n\nWhoever considers the weakness both of himself\nand others, will not long want persuasives to\nforgiveness.  We know not to what degree of malignity\nany injury is to be imputed; or how much its guilt,\nif we were to inspect the mind of him that committed\nit, would be extenuated by mistake, precipitance,\nor negligence; we cannot be certain how\nmuch more we feel than was intended to be inflicted,\nor how much we increase the mischief to ourselves\nby voluntary aggravations.  We may charge to design\nthe effects of accident; we may think the blow\nviolent only because we have made ourselves delicate\nand tender; we are on every side in danger of errour\nand of guilt; which we are certain to avoid only by\nspeedy forgiveness.\n\nFrom this pacifick and harmless temper, thus\npropitious to others and ourselves, to domestick\ntranquillity and to social happiness, no man is\nwithheld but by pride, by the fear of being insulted\nby his adversary, or despised by the world.\n\nIt may be laid down as an unfailing and universal\naxiom, that \"all pride is abject and mean.\"  It is\nalways an ignorant, lazy, or cowardly acquiescence\nin a false appearance of excellence, and proceeds\nnot from consciousness of our attainments, but\ninsensibility of our wants.\n\nNothing can be great which is not right.  Nothing\nwhich reason condemns can be suitable to the dignity\nof the human mind.  To be driven by external\nmotives from the path which our own heart approves,\nto give way to any thing but conviction, to\nsuffer the opinion of others to rule our choice, or\noverpower our resolves, is to submit tamely to the\nlowest and most ignominious slavery, and to resign\nthe right of directing our own lives.\n\nThe utmost excellence at which humanity can\narrive, is a constant and determinate pursuit of\nvirtue, without regard to present dangers or\nadvantage; a continual reference of every action to\nthe divine will; an habitual appeal to everlasting\njustice; and an unvaried elevation of the\nintellectual eye to the reward which perseverance only can\nobtain.  But that pride which many, who presume\nto boast of generous sentiments, allow to regulate\ntheir measures, has nothing nobler in view than the\napprobation of men, of beings whose superiority\nwe are under no obligation to acknowledge, and\nwho, when we have courted them with the utmost\nassiduity, can confer no valuable or permanent\nreward; of beings who ignorantly judge of what\nthey do not understand, or partially determine\nwhat they never have examined; and whose sentence\nis therefore of no weight till it has received\nthe ratification of our own conscience.\n\nHe that can descend to bribe suffrages like these,\nat the price of his innocence: he that can suffer the\ndelight of such acclamations to withhold his attention\nfrom the commands of the universal Sovereign,\nhas little reason to congratulate himself upon the\ngreatness of his mind; whenever he awakes to\nseriousness and reflection, he must become despicable\nin his own eyes, and shrink with shame from\nthe remembrance of his cowardice and folly.\n\nOf him that hopes to be forgiven, it is\nindispensably required that he forgive.  It is therefore\nsuperfluous to urge any other motive.  On this great\nduty eternity is suspended, and to him that refuses\nto practise it, the Throne of mercy is inaccessible,\nand the Saviour of the world has been born in vain.\n\n\n\nNo. 186. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28, 1751\n\n Pone me, pigris ubi nulla campis\n Arbor aestiva recreatur aura----\n Dulce ridentem Lagagen amabo\n\nDulce loquentem.   HOR. Lib. i. Ode xxii. 17.\n\n\n Place me where never summer breeze\n Unbinds the glebe, or warms the trees;\n Where ever lowering clouds appear,\n And angry Jove deforms th' inclement year:\n Love and the nymph shall charm my toils,\n The nymph, who sweetly speaks and sweetly smiles.\n\nFRANCIS.\n\n\nOF the happiness and misery of our present state,\npart arises from our sensations, and part from\nour opinions; part is distributed by nature, and part\nis in a great measure apportioned by ourselves.\nPositive pleasure we cannot always obtain, and positive\npain we often cannot remove.  No man can give\nto his own plantations the fragrance of the Indian\ngroves; nor will any precepts of philosophy enable\nhim to withdraw his attention from wounds or\ndiseases.  But the negative infelicity which proceeds,\nnot from the pressure of sufferings, but the absence\nof enjoyments, will always yield to the remedies\nof reason.\n\nOne of the great arts of escaping superfluous\nuneasiness, is to free our minds from the habit of\ncomparing our condition with that of others on whom\nthe blessings of life are more bountifully bestowed,\nor with imaginary states of delight and security,\nperhaps unattainable by mortals.  Few are placed in\na situation so gloomy and distressful, as not to see\nevery day beings yet more forlorn and miserable,\nfrom whom they may learn to rejoice in their own lot.\n\nNo inconvenience is less superable by art or\ndiligence than the inclemency of climates, and therefore\nnone affords more proper exercise for this philosophical\nabstraction.  A native of England, pinched\nwith the frosts of December, may lessen his affection\nfor his own country by suffering his imagination\nto wander in the vales of Asia, and sport among\nthe woods that are always green, and streams that\nalways murmur; but if he turns his thought towards\nthe polar regions, and considers the nations to whom\na great portion of the year is darkness, and who\nare condemned to pass weeks and months amidst\nmountains of snow, he will soon recover his\ntranquillity, and, while he stirs his fire, or throws his\ncloak about him, reflect how much he owes to Providence,\nthat he is not placed in Greenland or Siberia.\n\nThe barrenness of the earth and the severity of\nthe skies in these dreary countries, are such as\nmight be expected to confine the mind wholly to the\ncontemplation of necessity and distress, so that the\ncare of escaping death from cold and hunger, should\nleave no room for those passions which, in lands of\nplenty, influence conduct, or diversify characters;\nthe summer should be spent only in providing for\nthe winter, and the winter in longing for the summer.\n\nYet learned curiosity is known to have found its\nway into these abodes of poverty and gloom: Lapland\nand Iceland have their historians, their criticks,\nand their poets; and love, that extends his dominion\nwherever humanity can be found, perhaps exerts\nthe same power in the Greenlander's hut as in the\npalaces of eastern monarchs.\n\nIn one of the large caves to which the families of\nGreenland retire together, to pass the cold months,\nand which may be termed their villages or cities, a\nyouth and maid, who came from different parts of\nthe country, were so much distinguished for their\nbeauty, that they were called by the rest of the\ninhabitants Anningait and Ajut, from a supposed\nresemblance to their ancestors of the same names, who\nhad been transformed of old into the sun and moon.\n\nAnningait for some time heard the praises of Ajut\nwith little emotion, but at last, by frequent\ninterviews, became sensible of her charms, and first made\na discovery of his affection, by inviting her with her\nparents to a feast, where he placed before Ajut the\ntail of a whale.  Ajut seemed not much delighted by\nthis gallantry; yet, however, from that time was\nobserved rarely to appear, but in a vest made of\nthe skin of a white deer; she used frequently to\nrenew the black dye upon her hands and forehead,\nto adorn her sleeves with coral and shells, and to\nbraid her hair with great exactness.\n\nThe elegance of her dress, and the judicious\ndisposition of her ornaments, had such an effect upon\nAnningait, that he could no longer be restrained\nfrom a declaration of his love.  He therefore\ncomposed a poem in her praise, in which, among other\nheroick and tender sentiments, he protested, that\n\"she was beautiful as the vernal willow, and\nfragrant as the thyme upon the mountains; that her\nfingers were white as the teeth of the morse, and\nher smile grateful as the dissolution of the ice; that\nhe would pursue her, though she should pass the\nsnows of the midland cliffs, or seek shelter in the\ncaves of the eastern cannibals: that he would tear\nher from the embraces of the genius of the rocks,\nsnatch her from the paws of Amarock, and rescue\nher from the ravine of Hafgufa.\"  He concluded\nwith a wish, that \"whoever shall attempt to hinder\nhis union with Ajut, might be buried without his\nbow, and that, in the land of souls, his skull might\nserve for no other use than to catch the droppings\nof the starry lamps.\"\n\nThis ode being universally applauded, it was\nexpected that Ajut would soon yield to such fervour\nand accomplishments; but Ajut, with the natural\nhaughtiness of beauty, expected all the forms of\ncourtship; and before she would confess herself\nconquered, the sun returned, the ice broke, and the\nseason of labour called all to their employments.\n\nAnningait and Ajut for a time always went out\nin the same boat, and divided whatever was caught.\nAnningait, in the sight of his mistress, lost no\nopportunity of signalizing his courage: he attacked\nthe sea-horses on the ice; pursued the seals into the\nwater, and leaped upon the back of the whale, while\nhe was yet struggling with the remains of life.  Nor\nwas his diligence less to accumulate all that could\nbe necessary to make winter comfortable: he dried\nthe roe of fishes and the flesh of seals; he entrapped\ndeer and foxes, and dressed their skins to adorn his\nbride; he feasted her with eggs from the rocks, and\nstrewed her tent with flowers.\n\nIt happened that a tempest drove the fish to a\ndistant part of the coast, before Anningait had\ncompleted his store; he therefore entreated Ajut,\nthat she would at last grant him her hand, and\naccompany him to that part of the country whither\nhe was now summoned by necessity.  Ajut thought\nhim not yet entitled to such condescension, but\nproposed, as a trial of his constancy, that he should\nreturn at the end of summer to the cavern where\ntheir acquaintance commenced, and there expect\nthe reward of his assiduities.  \"O virgin, beautiful\nas the sun shining on the water, consider,\"\nsaid Anningait, \"what thou hast required.  How\neasily may my return be precluded by a sudden\nfrost or unexpected fogs! then must the night\nbe passed without my Ajut.  We live not, my fair,\nin those fabled countries, which lying strangers so\nwantonly describe; where the whole year is divided\ninto short days and nights; where the same\nhabitation serves for summer and winter; where they\nraise houses in rows above the ground, dwell\ntogether from year to year, with flocks of tame\nanimals grazing in the fields about them; can travel at\nany time from one place to another, through ways\ninclosed with trees, or over walls raised upon the\ninland waters; and direct their course through wide\ncountries by the sight of green hills or scattered\nbuildings.  Even in summer we have no means of\ncrossing the mountains, whose snows are never\ndissolved; nor can remove to any distant residence,\nbut in our boats coasting the bays.  Consider, Ajut,\na few summer-days, and a few winter-nights, and\nthe life of man is at an end.  Night is the time of\nease and festivity, of revels and gaiety; but what\nwill be the flaming lamp, the delicious seal, or the\nsoft oil, without the smile of Ajut?\"\n\nThe eloquence of Anningait was vain; the maid\ncontinued inexorable, and they parted with ardent\npromises to meet again before the night of winter.\n\n\n\nNo. 187. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 31, 1751\n\n Non illuwm nostri possunt mutare labores;\n Non si frigoribus mediis Hebrumque bibamus,\n Sithoniasque nives hyemis subeamus aquosae:----\n     Omnia vincit amor. VIRG. Ec. x. 64.\n\n Love alters not for us his hard decrees,\n Not though beneath the Thracian clime we freeze,\n Or the mild bliss of temperate skies forego,\n And in mid winter tread Sithonian snow:----\n Love conquers all.----\n\nDRYDEN.\n\n\nANNINGAIT, however discomposed by the\ndilatory coyness of Ajut, was yet resolved to\nomit no tokens of amorous respect; and therefore\npresented her at his departure with the skins of\nseven white fawns, of five swans and eleven seals,\nwith three marble lamps, ten vessels of seal oil, and\na large kettle of brass, which he had purchased from\na ship, at the price of half a whale, and two horns\nof sea-unicorns.\n\nAjut was so much affected by the fondness of\nher lover, or so much overpowered by his magnificence,\nthat she followed him to the sea-side; and,\nwhen she saw him enter the boat, wished aloud,\nthat he might return with plenty of skins and oil;\nthat neither the mermaids might snatch him into\nthe deeps, nor the spirits of the rocks confine him\nin their caverns.\n\nShe stood a while to gaze upon the departing\nvessel, and then returning to her hut, silent and\ndejected, laid aside, from that hour, her white deer\nskin, suffered her hair to spread unbraided on her\nshoulders, and forbore to mix in the dances of the\nmaidens.  She endeavoured to divert her thoughts,\nby continual application to feminine employments,\ngathered moss for the winter lamps, and dried\ngrass to line the boots of Anningait.  Of the skins\nwhich he had bestowed upon her, she made a fishing-\ncoat, a small boat, and tent, all of exquisite\nmanufacture; and while she was thus busied, solaced\nher labours with a song, in which she prayed, \"that\nher lover might have hands stronger than the paws\nof the bear, and feet swifter than the feet of reindeer;\nthat his dart might never err, and that his boat might\nnever leak; that he might never stumble on the ice,\nnor faint in the water; that the seal might rush on\nhis harpoon, and the wounded whale might dash\nthe waves in vain.\"\n\nThe large boats in which the Greenlanders\ntransport their families, are always rowed by women;\nfor a man will not debase himself by work, which\nrequires neither skill nor courage.  Anningait was\ntherefore exposed by idleness to the ravages of\npassion.  He went thrice to the stern of the boat, with\nan intent to leap into the water, and swim back to\nhis mistress; but, recollecting the misery which they\nmust endure in the winter, without oil for the lamp,\nor skins for the bed, he resolved to employ the\nweeks of absence in provision for a night of plenty\nand felicity.  He then composed his emotions as he\ncould, and expressed, in wild numbers and uncouth\nimages, his hopes, his sorrows, and his fears.  \"O\nlife!\" says he, \"frail and uncertain! where shall\nwretched man find thy resemblance, but in ice\nfloating on the ocean?  It towers on high, It sparkles\nfrom afar, while the storms drive and the waters\nbeat it, the sun melts it above, and the rocks shatter\nit below.  What art thou, deceitful pleasure! but a\nsudden blaze streaming from the north, which plays\na moment on the eye, mocks the traveller with the\nhopes of light, and then vanishes for ever?  What,\nlove, art thou but a whirlpool, which we approach\nwithout knowledge of our danger, drawn on by\nimperceptible degrees, till we have lost all power of\nresistance and escape?  Till I fixed my eyes on the\ngraces of Ajut, while I had not yet called her to\nthe banquet, I was careless as the sleeping morse,\nwas merry as the singers in the stars.  Why, Ajut,\ndid I gaze upon thy graces? why, my fair, did I call\nthee to the banquet?  Yet, be faithful, my love,\nremember Anningait, and meet my return with the\nsmile of virginity.  I will chase the deer, I will subdue\nthe whale, resistless as the frost of darkness, and un-\nwearied as the summer sun.  In a few weeks I shall\nreturn prosperous and wealthy; then shall the roe-\nfish and the porpoise feast thy kindred; the fox and\nhare shall cover thy couch; the tough hide of the\nseal shall shelter thee from cold; and the fat of the\nwhale illuminate thy dwelling.\"\n\nAnningait having with these sentiments consoled\nhis grief, and animated his industry, found that they\nhad now coasted the headland, and saw the whales\nspouting at a distance.  He therefore placed himself\nin his fishing-boat, called his associates to their\nseveral employments, plied his oar and harpoon with\nincredible courage and dexterity; and, by dividing\nhis time between the chace and fishery, suspended\nthe miseries of absence and suspicion.\n\nAjut, in the mean time, notwithstanding her\nneglected dress, happened, as she was drying some\nskins in the sun, to catch the eye of Norngsuk, on\nhis return from hunting.  Norngsuk was of birth\ntruly illustrious.  His mother had died in child-birth,\nand his father, the most expert fisher of Greenland,\nhad perished by too close pursuit of the whale.  His\ndignity was equalled by his riches; he was master\nof four men's and two women's boats, had ninety\ntubs of oil in his winter habitation, and five-and-\ntwenty seals buried in the snow against the season\nof darkness.  When he saw the beauty of Ajut, he\nimmediately threw over her the skin of a deer that\nhe had taken, and soon after presented her with a\nbranch of coral.  Ajut refused his gifts, and determined\nto admit no lover in the place of Anningait.\n\nNorngsuk, thus rejected, had recourse to stratagem.\nHe knew that Ajut would consult an Angekkok,\nor diviner, concerning the fate of her lover,\nand the felicity of her future life.  He therefore\napplied himself to the most celebrated Angekkok\nof that part of the country, and, by a present of\ntwo seals and a marble kettle, obtained a promise,\nthat when Ajut should consult him, he would declare\nthat her lover was in the land of souls.  Ajut,\nin a short time, brought him a coat made by herself,\nand inquired what events were to befall her,\nwith assurances of a much larger reward at the\nreturn of Anningait, if the prediction should flatter\nher desires.  The Angekkok knew the way to riches,\nand foretold that Anningait, having already caught\ntwo whales, would soon return home with a large\nboat laden with provisions.\n\nThis prognostication she was ordered to keep\nsecret; and Norngsuk depending upon his artifice,\nrenewed his addresses with greater confidence; but\nfinding his suit still unsuccessful, applied himself to\nher parents with gifts and promises.  The wealth of\nGreenland is too powerful for the virtue of a\nGreenlander; they forgot the merit and the presents of\nAnningait, and decreed Ajut to the embraces of\nNorngsuk.  She entreated; she remonstrated; she\nwept, and raved; but finding riches irresistible, fled\naway into the uplands, and lived in a cave upon\nsuch berries as she could gather, and the birds or\nhares which she had the fortune to ensnare, taking\ncare, at an hour when she was not likely to be\nfound, to view the sea every day, that her lover\nmight not miss her at his return.\n\nAt last she saw the great boat in which Anningait\nhad departed, stealing slow and heavy laden\nalong the coast.  She ran with all the impatience of\naffection to catch her lover in her arms, and relate\nher constancy and sufferings.  When the company\nreached the land, they informed her that Anningait,\nafter the fishery was ended, being unable to\nsupport the slow passage of the vessel of carriage,\nhad set out before them in his fishing-boat, and\nthey expected at their arrival to have found him\non shore.\n\nAjut, distracted at this intelligence, was about to\nfly into the hills, without knowing why, though\nshe was now in the hands of her parents, who forced\nher back to their own hut, and endeavoured to\ncomfort her; but when at last they retired to rest,\nAjut went down to the beach; where, finding a\nfishing-boat, she entered it without hesitation, and\ntelling those who wondered at her rashness, that\nshe was going in search of Anningait, rowed away\nwith great swiftness, and was seen no more.\n\nThe fate of these lovers gave occasion to various\nfictions and conjectures.  Some are of opinion, that\nthey were changed into stars; others imagine, that\nAnningait was seized in his passage by the genius\nof the rocks, and that Ajut was transformed into a\nmermaid, and still continues to seek her lover in\nthe deserts of the sea.  But the general persuasion\nis, that they are both in that part of the land of\nsouls where the sun never sets, where oil is always\nfresh, and provisions always warm.  The virgins\nsometimes throw a thimble and a needle into the\nbay, from which the hapless maid departed; and\nwhen a Greenlander would praise any couple for\nvirtuous affection, he declares that they love like\nAnningait and Ajut.\n\n\n\nNo. 188. SATURDAY, JANUARY 4, 1751\n\n ----Si te colo, Sexte, non amabo.\n\nMART. Lib. ii. Ep. iv. 33.\n\n\n The more I honour thee, the less I love.\n\nONE of the desires dictated by vanity is more\ngeneral, or less blamable, than that of being\ndistinguished for the arts of conversation.  Other\naccomplishments may be possessed without opportunity\nof exerting them, or wanted without danger\nthat the defect can often be remarked; but as no\nman can live, otherwise than in an hermitage,\nwithout hourly pleasure or vexation, from the fondness\nor neglect of those about him, the faculty of giving\npleasure is of continual use.  Few are more\nfrequently envied than those who have the power of\nforcing attention wherever they come, whose entrance\nis considered as a promise of felicity, and\nwhose departure is lamented, like the recess of the\nsun from northern climates, as a privation of all\nthat enlivens fancy, or inspirits gaiety.\n\nIt is apparent, that to excellence in this valuable\nart, some peculiar qualifications are necessary; for\nevery one's experience will inform him, that the\npleasure which men are able to give in conversation,\nholds no stated proportion to their knowledge\nor their virtue.  Many find their way to the tables\nand the parties of those who never consider them as\nof the least importance in any other place; we have\nall, at one time or other, been content to love those\nwhom we could not esteem, and been persuaded\nto try the dangerous experiment of admitting him\nfor a companion, whom we knew to be too ignorant\nfor a counsellor, and too treacherous for a friend.\n\nI question whether some abatement of character\nis not necessary to general acceptance.  Few spend\ntheir time with much satisfaction under the eye of\nuncontestable superiority; and therefore, among\nthose whose presence is courted at assemblies of\njollity, there are seldom found men eminently\ndistinguished for powers or acquisitions.  The wit whose\nvivacity condemns slower tongues to silence, the\nscholar whose knowledge allows no man to fancy\nthat he instructs him, the critick who suffers no\nfallacy to pass undetected, and the reasoner who\ncondemns the idle to thought, and the negligent\nto attention, are generally praised and feared,\nreverenced and avoided.\n\nHe that would please must rarely aim at such\nexcellence as depresses his hearers in their own\nopinion, or debars them from the hope of contributing\nreciprocally to the entertainment of the company.\nMerriment, extorted by sallies of imagination,\nsprightliness of remark, or quickness of reply, is too\noften what the Latins call, the Sardinian laughter,\na distortion of the face without gladness of heart.\n\nFor this reason, no style of conversation is more\nextensively acceptable than the narrative.  He who\nhas stored his memory with slight anecdotes, private\nincidents, and personal peculiarities, seldom\nfails to find his audience favourable.  Almost every\nman listens with eagerness to contemporary history;\nfor almost every man has some real or imaginary\nconnexion with a celebrated character, some desire\nto advance or oppose a rising name.  Vanity often\nco-operates with curiosity.  He that is a hearer in\none place, qualifies himself to become a speaker in\nanother; for though he cannot comprehend a series\nof argument, or transport the volatile spirit of wit\nwithout evaporation, he yet thinks himself able to\ntreasure up the various incidents of a story, and\nplease his hopes with the information which he shall\ngive to some inferior society.\n\nNarratives are for the most part heard without\nenvy, because they are not supposed to imply any\nintellectual qualities above the common rate.  To be\nacquainted with facts not yet echoed by plebeian\nmouths, may happen to one man as well as to\nanother; and to relate them when they are known,\nhas in appearance so little difficulty, that every one\nconcludes himself equal to the task.\n\nBut it is not easy, and in some situations of life\nnot possible, to accumulate such a stock of\nmaterials as may support the expense of continual\nnarration; and it frequently happens, that they who\nattempt this method of ingratiating themselves,\nplease only at the first interview; and, for want of\nnew supplies of intelligence, wear out their stories\nby continual repetition.\n\nThere would be, therefore, little hope of\nobtaining the praise of a good companion, were it not\nto be gained by more compendious methods; but\nsuch is the kindness of mankind to all, except\nthose who aspire to real merit and rational dignity,\nthat every understanding may find some way to\nexcite benevolence; and whoever is not envied may\nlearn the art of procuring love.  We are willing to be\npleased, but are not willing to admire: we favour the\nmirth or officiousness that solicits our regard, but\noppose the worth or spirit that enforces it.\n\nThe first place among those that please, because\nthey desire only to please, is due to the MERRY FELLOW,\nwhose laugh is loud, and whose voice is strong; who\nis ready to echo every jest with obstreperous approbation,\nand countenance every frolick with vociferations\nof applause.  It is not necessary to a merry\nfellow to have in himself any fund of jocularity, or\nforce of conception; it is sufficient that he always\nappears in the highest exaltation of gladness, for\nthe greater part of mankind are gay or serious by\ninfection, and follow without resistance the attraction\nof example.\n\nNext to the merry fellow is the GOOD-NATURED\nMAN, a being generally without benevolence, or any\nother virtue, than such as indolence and insensibility\nconfer.  The characteristick of a good-natured\nman is to bear a joke; to sit unmoved and unaffected\namidst noise and turbulence, profaneness and\nobscenity; to hear every tale without contradiction;\nto endure insult without reply; and to follow the\nstream of folly, whatever course it shall happen to\ntake.  The good-natured man is commonly the darling\nof the petty wits, with whom they exercise\nthemselves in the rudiments of raillery; for he never\ntakes advantage of failings, nor disconcerts a puny\nsatirist with unexpected sarcasms; but while the\nglass continues to circulate, contentedly bears the\nexpense of an uninterrupted laughter, and retires\nrejoicing at his own importance.\n\nThe MODEST MAN is a companion of a yet lower\nrank, whose only power of giving pleasure is not to\ninterrupt it.  The modest man satisfies himself with\npeaceful silence, which all his companions are candid\nenough to consider as proceeding not from inability\nto speak, but willingness to hear.\n\nMany, without being able to attain any general\ncharacter of excellence, have some single art of\nentertainment which serves them as a passport through\nthe world.  One I have known for fifteen years the\ndarling of a weekly club, because every night,\nprecisely at eleven, he begins his favourite song, and\nduring the vocal performance, by corresponding\nmotions of his hand, chalks out a giant upon the\nwall.  Another has endeared himself to a long\nsuccession of acquaintances by sitting among them\nwith his wig reversed; another by contriving to smut\nthe nose of any stranger who was to be initiated in\nthe club; another by purring like a cat, and then\npretending to be frighted; and another by yelping\nlike a hound, and calling to the drawers to drive out\nthe dog[b].\n\n\n [b] Mrs. Piozzi, in her Anecdotes, informs us, that the man who\nsung, and, by corresponding motions of his arm, chalked out a\ngiant on the wall, was one Richardson, an attorney: the ingenious\nimitator of a cat, was one Busby, a proctor in the Commons: and\nthe father of Dr. Salter, of the Charter-House, a friend of\nJohnson's, and a member of the Ivy-Lane Club, was the person who\nyelped like a hound, and perplexed the distracted waiters.--Mr.\nChalmers, in his preface to the Rambler observes, that the\nabove-quoted lively writer was the only authority for these\nassignments.  She is certainly far too hasty and negligent to be\nrelied on, when unsupported by other testimony.--See Preface.\n\n\nSuch are the arts by which cheerfulness is\npromoted, and sometimes friendship established; arts,\nwhich those who despise them should not rigorously\nblame, except when they are practised at the\nexpense of innocence; for it is always necessary to\nbe loved, but not always necessary to be reverenced.\n\n\n\nNo. 189. TUESDAY, JANUARY 7, 1752\n\n Quod tam grande Sophos clamat tibi turba togata;\n Non tu, Pomponi; caena diserta tua est.\n\nMART. Lib. vi. Ep. xlviii.\n\n\n Resounding plaudits though the crowd have rung\n Thy treat is eloquent, and not thy tongue.  F. Lewis.\n\nTHE world scarcely affords opportunities of\nmaking any observation more frequently, than on\nfalse claims to commendation.  Almost every man\nwastes part of his life in attempts to display qualities\nwhich he does not possess, and to gain applause\nwhich he cannot keep; so that scarcely can two persons\ncasually meet, but one is offended or diverted\nby the ostentation of the other,\n\nOf these pretenders it is fit to distinguish those\nwho endeavour to deceive from them who are deceived;\nthose who by designed impostures promote\ntheir interest, or gratify their pride, from them who\nmean only to force into regard their latent excellencies\nand neglected virtues; who believe themselves\nqualified to instruct or please, and therefore invite\nthe notice of mankind.\n\nThe artful and fraudulent usurpers of distinction\ndeserve greater severities than ridicule and contempt,\nsince they are seldom content with empty\npraise, but are instigated by passions more pernicious\nthan vanity.  They consider the reputation which\nthey endeavour to establish as necessary to the\naccomplishment of some subsequent design, and value\npraise only as it may conduce to the success of avarice\nor ambition.\n\nThe commercial world is very frequently put into\nconfusion by the bankruptcy of merchants, that\nassumed the splendour of wealth only to obtain the\nprivilege of trading with the stock of other men, and\nof contracting debts which nothing but lucky casualties\ncould enable them to pay; till after having\nsupported their appearance a while by tumultuous\nmagnifience of boundless traffick, they sink at once,\nand drag down into poverty those whom their equipages\nhad induced to trust them.\n\nAmong wretches that place their happiness in the\nfavour of the great, of beings whom only high titles\nor large estates set above themselves, nothing is\nmore common than to boast of confidence which they\ndo not enjoy; to sell promises which they know their\ninterest unable to perform; and to reimburse the\ntribute which they pay to an imperious master, from\nthe contributions of meaner dependants, whom they\ncan amuse with tales of their influence, and hopes\nof their solicitation.\n\nEven among some, too thoughtless and volatile\nfor avarice or ambition, may be found a species of\nfalsehood more detestable than the levee or exchange\ncan shew.  There are men that boast of debaucheries,\nof which they never had address to be guilty; ruin,\nby lewd tales, the characters of women to whom\nthey are scarcely known, or by whom they have\nbeen rejected; destroy in a drunken frolick the\nhappiness of families; blast the bloom of beauty, and\nintercept the reward of virtue.\n\nOther artifices of falsehood, though utterly\nunworthy of an ingenuous mind, are not yet to be\nranked with flagitious enormities, nor is it necessary\nto incite sanguinary justice against them, since they\nmay be adequately punished by detection and laughter.\nThe traveller who describes cities which he has\nnever seen; the squire, who, at his return from\nLondon, tells of his intimacy with nobles to whom he\nhas only bowed in the park or coffee-house; the\nauthor who entertains his admirers with stories of the\nassistance which he gives to wits of a higher rank;\nthe city dame who talks of her visits at great houses,\nwhere she happens to know the cook-maid, are\nsurely such harmless animals as truth herself may\nbe content to despise without desiring to hurt them.\n\nBut of the multitudes who struggle in vain for\ndistinction, and display their own merits only to\nfeel more acutely the sting of neglect, a great part\nare wholly innocent of deceit, and are betrayed, by\ninfatuation and credulity, to that scorn with which\nthe universal love of praise incites us all to drive\nfeeble competitors out of our way.\n\nFew men survey themselves with so much severity,\nas not to admit prejudices in their own favour,\nwhich an artful flatterer may gradually strengthen,\ntill wishes for a particular qualification are improved\nto hopes of attainment, and hopes of attainment to\nbelief of possession.  Such flatterers every one will\nfind, who has power to reward their assiduities.\nWherever there is wealth there will be dependance\nand expectation, and wherever there is dependance,\nthere will be an emulation of servility.\n\nMany of the follies which provoke general\ncensure, are the effects of such vanity as, however it\nmight have wantoned in the imagination, would\nscarcely have dared the publick eye, had it not been\nanimated and emboldened by flattery.  Whatever\ndifficulty there may be in the knowledge of\nourselves, scarcely any one fails to suspect his own\nimperfections, till he is elevated by others to\nconfidence.  We are almost all naturally modest and\ntimorous; but fear and shame are uneasy sensations,\nand whosoever helps to remove them is received\nwith kindness.\n\nTurpicula was the heiress of a large estate, and\nhaving lost her mother in infancy, was committed\nto a governess, whom misfortunes had reduced to\nsuppleness and humility.  The fondness of Turpicula's\nfather would not suffer him to trust her at a\npublick school, but he hired domestick teachers,\nand bestowed on her all the accomplishments that\nwealth could purchase.  But how many things are\nnecessary to happiness which money cannot obtain!\nThus secluded from all with whom she might converse\non terms of equality, she heard none of those\nintimations of her defects, which envy, petulance,\nor anger, produce among children, where they are\nnot afraid of telling what they think.\n\nTurpicula saw nothing but obsequiousness, and\nheard nothing but commendations.  None are so\nlittle acquainted with the heart, as not to know that\nwoman's first wish is to be handsome, and that\nconsequently the readiest method of obtaining her\nkindness is to praise her beauty.  Turpicula had a distorted\nshape and a dark complexion; yet, when the impudence\nof adulation had ventured to tell her of the\ncommanding dignity of her motion, and the soft\nenchantment of her smile, she was easily convinced,\nthat she was the delight or torment of every eye,\nand that all who gazed upon her felt the fire of\nenvy or love.  She therefore neglected the culture\nof an understanding which might have supplied the\ndefects of her form, and applied all her care to the\ndecoration of her person; for she considered that\nmore could judge of beauty than of wit, and was,\nlike the rest of human beings, in haste to be admired.\nThe desire of conquest naturally led her to\nthe lists in which beauty signalizes her power.  She\nglittered at court, fluttered in the park, and talked\naloud in the front box; but after a thousand experiments\nof her charms, was at last convinced that she\nhad been flattered, and that her glass was honester\nthan her maid.\n\n\n\nNo. 190. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1752\n\n Ploravere suis non respondere favorem\n Speratum meritis.----  HOR. Lib. ii. Ep. i. 9.\n\n Henry and Alfred----\n Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find\n Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind.    POPE.\n\nAMONG the emirs and visiers, the sons of valour\nand of wisdom, that stand at the corners\nof the Indian throne, to assist the counsels or\nconduct the wars of the posterity of Timur, the\nfirst place was long held by Morad the son of\nHanuth.  Morad, having signalized himself in many\nbattles and sieges, was rewarded with the government\nof a province, from which the fame of his\nwisdom and moderation was wafted to the pinnacles\nof Agra, by the prayers of those whom his\nadministration made happy.  The emperour called\nhim into his presence, and gave into his hand the\nkeys of riches, and the sabre of command.  The\nvoice of Morad was heard from the cliffs of Taurus\nto the Indian ocean, every tongue faltered in his\npresence, and every eye was cast down before him.\n\nMorad lived many years in prosperity; every\nday increased his wealth, and extended his influence.\nThe sages repeated his maxims, the captains\nof thousands waited his commands.  Competition\nwithdrew into the cavern of envy, and discontent\ntrembled at his own murmurs.  But human greatness\nis short and transitory, as the odour of incense\nin the fire.  The sun grew weary of gilding the\npalaces of Morad, the clouds of sorrow gathered\nround his head, and the tempest of hatred roared\nabout his dwelling.\n\nMorad saw ruin hastily approaching.  The first\nthat forsook him were his poets; their example was\nfollowed by all those whom he had rewarded for\ncontributing to his pleasures, and only a few, whose\nvirtue had entitled them to favour, were now to be seen\nin his hall or chambers.  He felt his danger, and\nprostrated himself at the foot of the throne.  His\naccusers were confident and loud, his friends stood\ncontented with frigid neutrality, and the voice of truth\nwas overborne by clamour.  He was divested of his\npower, deprived of his acquisitions, and condemned\nto pass the rest of his life on his hereditary estate.\n\nMorad had been so long accustomed to crowds and\nbusiness, supplicants and flattery, that he knew not\nhow to fill up his hours in solitude; he saw with\nregret the sun rise to force on his eye a new day for\nwhich he had no use; and envied the savage that\nwanders in the desert, because he has no time vacant\nfrom the calls of nature, but is always chasing his\nprey, or sleeping in his den.\n\nHis discontent in time vitiated his constitution,\nand a slow disease siezed upon him.  He refused\nphysick, neglected exercise, and lay down on his\ncouch peevish and restless, rather afraid to die than\ndesirous to live.  His domesticks, for a time,\nredoubled their assiduities; but finding that no\nofficiousness could soothe, nor exactness satisfy, they\nsoon gave way to negligence and sloth; and he that\nonce commanded nations, often languished in his\nchamber without an attendant.\n\nIn this melancholy state, he commanded\nmessengers to recall his eldest son Abouzaid from the\narmy.  Abouzaid was alarmed at the account of his\nfather's sickness, and hasted by long journeys to his\nplace of residence.  Morad was yet living, and felt\nhis strength return at the embraces of his son; then\ncommanding him to sit down at his bedside, \"Abouzaid,\"\nsays he, \"thy father has no more to hope or\nfear from the inhabitants of the earth; the cold hand\nof the angel of death is now upon him, and the\nvoracious grave is howling for his prey.  Hear,\ntherefore, the precepts of ancient experience, let not my\nlast instructions issue forth in vain.  Thou hast seen\nme happy and calamitous, thou hast beheld my\nexaltation and my fall.  My power is in the hands of\nmy enemies, my treasures have rewarded my accusers;\nbut my inheritance the clemency of the\nemperour has spared, and my wisdom his anger\ncould not take away.  Cast thine eyes around thee;\nwhatever thou beholdest will, in a few hours, be\nthine: apply thine ear to my dictates, and these\npossessions will promote thy happiness.  Aspire not to\npublic honours, enter not the palaces of kings; thy\nwealth will set thee above insult, let thy moderation\nkeep thee below envy.  Content thyself with private\ndignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends, let\nevery day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not\nthy heart to be at rest till thou art loved by all to\nwhom thou art known.  In the height of my power,\nI said to defamation, Who will hear thee? and\nto artifice, What canst thou perform?  But, my\nson, despise not thou the malice of the weakest,\nremember that venom supplies the want of strength,\nand that the lion may perish by the puncture of\nan asp.\"\n\nMorad expired in a few hours.  Abouzaid, after\nthe months of mourning, determined to regulate\nhis conduct by his father's precepts, and cultivate\nthe love of mankind by every art of kindness and\nendearment.  He wisely considered, that domestick\nhappiness was first to be secured, and that none\nhave so much power of doing good or hurt, as\nthose who are present in the hour of negligence,\nhear the bursts of thoughtless merriment, and\nobserve the starts of unguarded passion.  He therefore\naugmented the pay of all his attendants, and\nrequited every exertion of uncommon diligence by\nsupernumerary gratuities.  While he congratulated\nhimself upon the fidelity and affection of his family,\nhe was in the night alarmed with robbers, who, being\npursued and taken, declared that they had been\nadmitted by one of his servants; the servant\nimmediately confessed, that he unbarred the door,\nbecause another not more worthy of confidence was\nentrusted with the keys.\n\nAbouzaid was thus convinced that a dependant\ncould not easily be made a friend; and that while\nmany were soliciting for the first rank of favour,\nall those would be alienated whom he disappointed.\nHe therefore resolved to associate with a few equal\ncompanions selected from among the chief men of\nthe province.  With these he lived happily for a time,\ntill familiarity set them free from restraint, and\nevery man thought himself at liberty to indulge\nhis own caprice, and advance his own opinions.\nThey then disturbed each other with contrariety\nof inclinations, and difference of sentiments, and\nAbouzaid was necessitated to offend one party by\nconcurrence, or both by indifference.\n\nHe afterwards determined to avoid a close union\nwith beings so discordant in their nature, and to\ndiffuse himself in a larger circle.  He practised the\nsmile of universal courtesy, and invited all to his\ntable, but admitted none to his retirements.  Many\nwho had been rejected in his choice of friendship,\nnow refused to accept his acquaintance; and of\nthose whom plenty and magnificence drew to his\ntable, every one pressed forward toward intimacy,\nthought himself overlooked in the crowd, and\nmurmured because he was not distinguished above the\nrest.  By degrees all made advances, and all resented\nrepulse.  The table was then covered with delicacies\nin vain; the musick sounded in empty rooms; and\nAbouzaid was left to form in solitude some new\nscheme of pleasure or security.\n\nResolving now to try the force of gratitude, he\ninquired for men of science, whose merit was\nobscured by poverty.  His house was soon crowded\nwith poets, sculptors, painters, and designers, who\nwantoned in unexperienced plenty, and employed\ntheir powers in celebration of their patron.  But in\na short time they forgot the distress from which\nthey had been rescued, and began to consider their\ndeliverer as a wretch of narrow capacity, who was\ngrowing great by works which he could not perform,\nand whom they overpaid by condescending\nto accept his bounties.  Abouzaid heard their\nmurmurs and dismissed them, and from that hour\ncontinued blind to colours, and deaf to panegyrick.\n\nAs the sons of art departed, muttering threats\nof perpetual infamy, Abouzaid, who stood at the\ngate, called to him Hamet the poet.  \"Hamet,\"\nsaid he, \"thy ingratitude has put an end to my\nhopes and experiments:  I have now learned the\nvanity of those labours that wish to be rewarded\nby human benevolence; I shall henceforth do good,\nand avoid evil, without respect to the opinion of\nmen; and resolve to solicit only the approbation of\nthat Being whom alone we are sure to please by\nendeavouring to please him.\"\n\n\n\nNo. 191. TUESDAY, JANUARY 14, 1752\n\n Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper.\n\nHOR. Art. Poet. 163.\n\n\n The youth----\n Yielding like wax, th' impressive folly bears\n Rough to reproof, and slow to future cares. FRANCIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nDEAR MR. RAMBLER,\n\nI HAVE been four days confined to my chamber\nby a cold, which has already kept me from three\nplays, nine sales, five shows, and six card-tables,\nand put me seventeen visits behind-hand; and the\ndoctor tells my mamma, that, if I fret and cry, it\nwill settle in my head, and I shall not be fit to be\nseen these six weeks.  But, dear Mr. Rambler, how\ncan I help it?  At this very time Melissa is dancing\nwith the prettiest gentleman;--she will breakfast\nwith him to-morrow, and then run to two auctions,\nand hear compliments, and have presents; then she\nwill be drest, and visit, and get a ticket to the play;\nthen go to cards and win, and come home with two\nflambeaux before her chair.  Dear Mr. Rambler, who\ncan bear it?\n\nMy aunt has just brought me a bundle of your\npapers for my amusement.  She says you are a philosopher,\nand will teach me to moderate my desires, and\nlook upon the world with indifference.  But, dear sir,\nI do not wish nor intend to moderate my desires, nor\ncan I think it proper to look upon the world with\nindifference, till the world looks with indifference on\nme.  I have been forced, however, to sit this morning\na whole quarter of an hour with your paper before\nmy face; but just as my aunt came in, Phyllida\nhad brought me a letter from Mr. Trip, which I put\nwithin the leaves and read about ABSENCE and\nINCONSOLABLENESS, and ARDOUR, and IRRESISTIBLE PASSION, and\nETERNAL CONSTANCY, while my aunt imagined that I\nwas puzzling myself with your philosophy, and often\ncried out, when she saw me look confused, \"If there\nis any word that you do not understand, child.  I will\nexplain it.\"\n\nDear soul! how old people that think themselves\nwise may be imposed upon!  But it is fit that they\nshould take their turn, for I am sure, while they can\nkeep poor girls close in the nursery, they tyrannize\nover us in a very shameful manner, and fill our\nimaginations with tales of terrour, only to make us\nlive in quiet subjection, and fancy that we can never\nbe safe but by their protection.\n\nI have a mamma and two aunts, who have all been\nformerly celebrated for wit and beauty, and are still\ngenerally admired by those that value themselves\nupon their understanding, and love to talk of vice\nand virtue, nature and simplicity, and beauty and\npropriety; but if there was not some hope of meeting\nme, scarcely a creature would come near them\nthat wears a fashionable coat.  These ladies, Mr.\nRambler, have had me under their government fifteen\nyears and a half, and have all that time been\nendeavouring to deceive me by such representations\nof life as I now find not to be true; but I know not\nwhether I ought to impute them to ignorance or\nmalice, as it is possible the world may be much\nchanged since they mingled in general conversation.\n\nBeing desirous that I should love books, they told\nme, that nothing but knowledge could make me an\nagreeable companion to men of sense, or qualify me\nto distinguish the superficial glitter of vanity from\nthe solid merit of understanding; and that a habit\nof reading would enable me to fill up the vacuities\nof life without the help of silly or dangerous\namusements, and preserve me from the snares of idleness\nand the inroads of temptation.\n\nBut their principal intention was to make me\nafraid of men; in which they succeeded so well for\na time, that I durst not look in their faces, or be\nleft alone with them in a parlour; for they made me\nfancy, that no man ever spoke but to deceive, or\nlooked but to allure; that the girl who suffered him\nthat had once squeezed her hand, to approach her a\nsecond time, was on the brink of ruin; and that she\nwho answered a billet, without consulting her relations,\ngave love such power over her, that she would\ncertainly become either poor or infamous.\n\nFrom the time that my leading-strings were\ntaken off, I scarce heard any mention of my beauty\nbut from the milliner, the mantua-maker, and my\nown maid; for my mamma never said more, when\nshe heard me commended, but \"the girl is very\nwell,\" and then endeavoured to divert my attention\nby some inquiry after my needle, or my book.\n\nIt is now three months since I have been suffered\nto pay and receive visits, to dance at publick\nassemblies, to have a place kept for me in the boxes,\nand to play at lady Racker's rout; and you may\neasily imagine what I think of those who have so\nlong cheated me with false expectations, disturbed\nme with fictitious terrours, and concealed from me\nall that I have found to make the happiness of\nwoman.\n\nI am so far from perceiving the usefulness or\nnecessity of books, that if I had not dropped all\npretensions to learning, I should have lost Mr.\nTrip, whom I once frighted into another box, by\nretailing some of Dryden's remarks upon a tragedy;\nfor Mr. Trip declares, that he hates nothing like hard\nwords, and I am sure, there is not a better partner\nto be found; his very walk is a dance.  I have talked\nonce or twice among ladies about principles and\nideas, but they put their fans before their faces, and\ntold me I was too wise for them, who for their part\nnever pretended to read any thing but the play-bill,\nand then asked me the price of my best head.\n\nThose vacancies of time which are to be filled up\nwith books I have never yet obtained; for, consider,\nMr. Rambler, I go to bed late, and therefore cannot\nrise early; as soon as I am up, I dress for the gardens;\nthen walk in the park; then always go to some sale\nor show, or entertainment at the little theatre; then\nmust be dressed for dinner; then must pay my\nvisits; then walk in the park; then hurry to the\nplay; and from thence to the card-table.  This is the\ngeneral course of the day, when there happens nothing\nextraordinary; but sometimes I ramble into the\ncountry, and come back again to a ball; sometimes\nI am engaged for a whole day and part of the night.\nIf, at any time, I can gain an hour by not being at\nhome, I have so many things to do, so many orders\nto give to the milliner, so many alterations to make\nin my clothes, so many visitants' names to read over,\nso many invitations to accept or refuse, so many\ncards to write, and so many fashions to consider,\nthat I am lost in confusion, forced at last to let in\ncompany or step into my chair, and leave half my\naffairs to the direction of my maid.\n\nThis is the round of my day; and when shall I\neither stop my course, or so change it as to want a\nbook?  I suppose it cannot be imagined, that any\nof these diversions will soon be at an end.  There\nwill always be gardens, and a park, and auctions,\nand shows, and playhouses, and cards; visits will\nalways be paid, and clothes always be worn; and how\ncan I have time unemployed upon my hands?\n\nBut I am most at a loss to guess for what\npurpose they related such tragick stories of the cruelty,\nperfidy, and artifices of men, who, if they ever were\nso malicious and destructive, have certainly now\nreformed their manners.  I have not, since my entrance\ninto the world, found one who does not profess\nhimself devoted to my service, and ready to\nlive or die as I shall command him.  They are so far\nfrom intending to hurt me, that their only contention\nis, who shall be allowed most closely to attend,\nand most frequently to treat me; when different\nplaces of entertainment, or schemes of pleasure are\nmentioned, I can see the eye sparkle and the cheeks\nglow of him whose proposals obtain my approbation;\nhe then leads me of in triumph, adores my\ncondescension, and congratulates himself that he\nhas lived to the hour of felicity.  Are these, Mr.\nRambler, creatures to be feared?  Is it likely that\nan injury will be done me by those who can enjoy\nlife only while I favour them with my presence?\n\nAs little reason can I yet find to suspect them\nof stratagems and fraud.  When I play at cards, they\nnever take advantage of my mistakes, nor exact\nfrom me a rigorous observation of the game.  Even\nMr. Shuffle, a grave gentleman, who has daughters\nolder than myself, plays with me so negligently,\nthat I am sometimes inclined to believe he loses his\nmoney by design, and yet he is so fond of play, that\nhe says, he will one day take me to his house in the\ncountry, that we may try by ourselves who can conquer.\nI have not yet promised him; but when the\ntown grows a little empty, I shall think upon it,\nfor I want some trinkets, like Letitia's, to my watch.\nI do not doubt my luck, but must study some means\nof amusing my relations.\n\nFor all these distinctions I find myself indebted\nto that beauty which I was never suffered to hear\npraised, and of which, therefore, I did not before\nknow the full value.  The concealment was certainly\nan intentional fraud, for my aunts have eyes like\nother people, and I am every day told, that nothing\nbut blindness can escape the influence of my charms.\nTheir whole account of that world which they\npretend to know so well, has been only one fiction\nentangled with another; and though the modes of life\noblige me to continue some appearances of respect,\nI cannot think that they, who have been so clearly\ndetected in ignorance or imposture, have any right\nto the esteem, veneration, or obedience of,\n\nSir, Yours,\n\nBELLARIA.\n\n\n\nNo. 192. SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 1752\n\n <gr> Genos ouoedeoen eioes Erwta<.S>>\n <gr> Sofih, tropos pate<i?>tai<.S>>\n <gr> Monon arguron Blepousin>.\n <gr> 'Apoloito pr<w?>tos a<uoetooes\n <gr> \"O tooen arguron filhsas.\n <gr> Dtaoe to<u?>ton ouoec aoedelfooes,\n <gr> Dtaoe to<u?>ton ouoe toc<h?>es><.S>\n <gr> Polemoi, fonoi dioe auoeton.\n <gr> Tooe deoe Ce<i?>ton, ooellumesqa>\n <gr> Dtaoe touoeton oi filo<u?>ntes>.  ANACREON. <gr> ODAI,\nM<s>. 5.\n\n Vain the noblest birth would prove,\n Nor worth or wit avail in love;\n 'Tis gold alone succeeds--by gold\n The venal sex is bought and sold.\n Accurs'd be he who first of yore\n Discover'd the pernicious ore!\n This sets a brother's heart on fire,\n And arms the son against the sire;\n And what, alas! is worse than all,\n To this the lover owes his fall.  F. LEWIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER\n\nSIR,\n\nI AM the son of a gentleman, whose ancestors, for\nmany ages, held the first rank in the country;\ntill at last one of them, too desirous of popularity,\nset his house open, kept a table covered with continual\nprofusion, and distributed his beef and ale to\nsuch as chose rather to live upon the folly of others,\nthan their own labour, with such thoughtless liberality,\nthat he left a third part of his estate mortgaged.\nHis successor, a man of spirit, scorned to impair his\ndignity by parsimonious retrenchments, or to admit,\nby a sale of his lands, any participation of the rights\nof his manour; he therefore made another mortgage\nto pay the interest of the former, and pleased himself\nwith the reflection, that his son would have the\nhereditary estate without the diminution of an acre.\n\nNearly resembling this was the practice of my\nwise progenitors for many ages.  Every man boasted\nthe antiquity of his family, resolved to support the\ndignity of his birth, and lived in splendour and\nplenty at the expense of his heir, who, sometimes\nby a wealthy marriage, and sometimes by lucky\nlegacies, discharged part of the incumbrances, and\nthought himself entitled to contract new debts,\nand to leave to his children the same inheritance of\nembarrassment and distress.\n\nThus the estate perpetually decayed; the woods\nwere felled by one, the park ploughed by another,\nthe fishery let to farmers by a third; at last the old\nhall was pulled down to spare the cost of reparation,\nand part of the materials sold to build a small\nhouse with the rest.  We were now openly degraded\nfrom our original rank, and my father's brother was\nallowed with less reluctance to serve an apprenticeship,\nthough we never reconciled ourselves heartily\nto the sound of haberdasher, but always talked of\nwarehouses and a merchant, and when the wind\nhappened to blow loud, affected to pity the hazards\nof commerce, and to sympathize with the solicitude\nof my poor uncle, who had the true retailer's terrour\nof adventure, and never exposed himself or his\nproperty to any wider water than the Thames.\n\nIn time, however, by continual profit and small\nexpenses, he grew rich, and began to turn his thoughts\ntowards rank.  He hung the arms of the family over\nhis parlour-chimney; pointed at a chariot decorated\nonly with a cypher; became of opinion that money\ncould not make a gentleman; resented the petulance\nof upstarts; told stories of alderman Puff's\ngrandfather the porter; wondered that there was\nno better method for regulating precedence; wished\nfor some dress peculiar to men of fashion; and\nwhen his servant presented a letter, always inquired\nwhether it came from his brother the esquire.\n\nMy father was careful to send him game by every\ncarrier, which, though the conveyance often cost\nmore than the value, was well received, because it\ngave him an opportunity of calling his friends\ntogether, describing the beauty of his brother's seat,\nand lamenting his own folly, whom no remonstrances\ncould withhold from polluting his fingers\nwith a shop-book.\n\nThe little presents which we sent were always\nreturned with great munificence.  He was desirous\nof being the second founder of his family, and\ncould not bear that we should be any longer\noutshone by those whom we considered as climbers\nupon our ruins, and usurpers of our fortune.  He\nfurnished our house with all the elegance of\nfashionable expense, and was careful to conceal his\nbounties, lest the poverty of his family should be\nsuspected.\n\nAt length it happened that, by misconduct like\nour own, a large estate, which had been purchased\nfrom us, was again exposed to the best bidder.  My\nuncle, delighted with an opportunity of reinstating\nthe family in their possessions, came down with\ntreasures scarcely to be imagined in a place where\ncommerce has not made large sums familiar, and at\nonce drove all the competitors away, expedited the\nwritings, and took possession.  He now considered\nhimself as superior to trade, disposed of his stock,\nand as soon as he had settled his economy, began\nto shew his rural sovereignty, by breaking the\nhedges of his tenants in hunting, and seizing the\nguns or nets of those whose fortunes did not qualify\nthem for sportsmen.  He soon afterwards solicited\nthe office of sheriff, from which all his neighbours\nwere glad to be reprieved, but which he regarded\nas a resumption of ancestral claims, and a kind of\nrestoration to blood after the attainder of a trade.\n\nMy uncle, whose mind was so filled with this\nchange of his condition, that he found no want of\ndomestick entertainment, declared himself too old\nto marry, and resolved to let the newly-purchased\nestate fall into the regular channel of inheritance.\nI was therefore considered as heir apparent, and\ncourted with officiousness and caresses, by the\ngentlemen who had hitherto coldly allowed me that\nrank which they could not refuse, depressed me with\nstudied neglect, and irritated me with ambiguous\ninsults.\n\nI felt not much pleasure from the civilities for\nwhich I knew myself indebted to my uncle's industry,\ntill, by one of the invitations which every\nday now brought me, I was induced to spend a week\nwith Lucius, whose daughter Flavilla I had often\nseen and admired like others, without any thought\nof nearer approaches.  The inequality which had\nhitherto kept me at a distance being now levelled,\nI was received with every evidence of respect:  Lucius\ntold me the fortune which he intended for his favourite\ndaughter; many odd accidents obliged us to be\noften together without company, and I soon began\nto find that they were spreading for me the nets of\nmatrimony.\n\nFlavilla was all softness and complaisance.  I, who\nhad been excluded by a narrow fortune from much\nacquaintance with the world, and never been honoured\nbefore with the notice of so fine a lady, was\neasily enamoured.  Lucius either perceived my\npassion, or Flavilla betrayed it; care was taken, that\nour private meetings should be less frequent, and\nmy charmer confessed by her eyes how much pain\nshe suffered from our restraint.  I renewed my visit\nupon every pretence, but was not allowed one interview\nwithout witness; at last I declared my passion\nto Lucius, who received me as a lover worthy of his\ndaughter, and told me that nothing was wanting to\nhis consent, but that my uncle should settle his estate\nupon me.  I objected the indecency of encroaching\non his life, and the danger of provoking him by such\nan unseasonable demand.  Lucius seemed not to\nthink decency of much importance, but admitted\nthe danger of displeasing, and concluded that as he\nwas now old and sickly, we might without any in\nconvenience, wait for his death.\n\nWith this resolution I was better contented, as\nit procured me the company of Flavilla, in which\nthe days passed away amidst continual rapture; but\nin time I began to be ashamed of sitting idle, in\nexpectation of growing rich by the death of my\nbenefactor, and proposed to Lucius many schemes of\nraising my own fortune by such assistance as I knew\nmy uncle willing to give me.  Lucius, afraid lest I\nshould change my affection in absence, diverted me\nfrom my design by dissuasives to which my passions\neasily listened.  At last my uncle died, and considering\nhimself as neglected by me, from the time that\nFlavilla took possession of my heart, left his estate\nto my younger brother, who was always hovering\nabout his bed, and relating stories of my pranks\nand extravagance, my contempt of the commercial\ndialect, and my impatience to be selling stock.\n\nMy condition was soon known, and I was no longer\nadmitted by the father of Flavilla.  I repeated the\nprotestations of regard, which had been formerly\nreturned with so much ardour, in a letter which she\nreceived privately, but returned by her father's\nfootman.  Contempt has driven out my love, and I am\ncontent to have purchased, by the loss of fortune,\nan escape from a harpy, who has joined the artifices\nof age to the allurements of youth.  I am now going\nto pursue my former projects with a legacy which\nmy uncle bequeathed me, and if I succeed, shall expect\nto hear of the repentance of Flavilla.\n\nI am, Sir, Yours, &c.\n\nCONSTANTIUS.\n\n\nNo. 193. TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1752\n\n Laudis amore tumes? sunt certa piacula, quoe te\n Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libella.\n\nHON. Lib. i. Ep. i. 36.\n\n\n Or art thou vain? books yield a certain spell\n To stop thy tumour; you shall cease to swell\n When you have read them thrice, and studied well.\n\nCREECH.\n\n\nWHATEVER is universally desired, will be\nsought by industry and artifice, by merit and\ncrimes, by means good and bad, rational and absurd,\naccording to the prevalence of virtue or vice, of\nwisdom or folly.  Some will always mistake the\ndegree of their own desert, and some will desire that\nothers may mistake it.  The cunning will have\nrecourse to stratagem, and the powerful to violence,\nfor the attainment of their wishes; some will stoop\nto theft, and others venture upon plunder.\n\nPraise is so pleasing to the mind of man, that it\nis the original motive of almost all our actions.  The\ndesire of commendation, as of every thing else, is\nvaried indeed by innumerable differences of temper,\ncapacity, and knowledge; some have no higher wish\nthan for the applause of a club; some expect the\nacclamations of a county; and some have hoped to fill\nthe mouths of all ages and nations with their names.\nEvery man pants for the highest eminence within\nhis view; none, however mean, ever sinks below the\nhope of being distinguished by his fellow-beings,\nand very few have by magnanimity or piety been so\nraised above it, as to act wholly without regard to\ncensure or opinion.\n\nTo be praised, therefore, every man resolves;\nbut resolutions will not execute themselves.  That\nwhich all think too parsimoniously distributed to\ntheir own claims, they will not gratuitously squander\nupon others, and some expedient must be tried,\nby which praise may be gained before it can be\nenjoyed.\n\nAmong the innumerable bidders for praise, some\nare willing to purchase at the highest rate, and offer\nease and health, fortune and life.  Yet even of these\nonly a small part have gained what they so earnestly\ndesired; the student wastes away in meditation, and\nthe soldier perishes on the ramparts, but unless some\naccidental advantage co-operates with merit, neither\nperseverance nor adventure attracts attention, and\nlearning and bravery sink into the grave, without\nhonour or remembrance.\n\nBut ambition and vanity generally expect to be\ngratified on easier terms.  It has been long observed,\nthat what is procured by skill or labour to the first\npossessor, may be afterwards transferred for money;\nand that the man of wealth may partake all the\nacquisitions of courage without hazard, and all the\nproducts of industry without fatigue.  It was easily\ndiscovered, that riches would obtain praise among\nother conveniences, and that he whose pride was\nunluckily associated with laziness, ignorance, or\ncowardice, needed only to pay the hire of a panegyrist,\nand he might be regaled with periodical eulogies;\nmight determine, at leisure, what virtue or science\nhe would be pleased to appropriate, and be lulled in\nthe evening with soothing serenades, or waked in the\nmorning by sprightly gratulations.\n\nThe happiness which mortals receive from the\ncelebration of beneficence which never relieved,\neloquence which never persuaded, or elegance which\nnever pleased, ought not to be envied or disturbed,\nwhen they are known honestly to pay for their\nentertainment.  But there are unmerciful exactors of\nadulation, who withhold the wages of venality; retain\ntheir encomiast from year to year by general\npromises and ambiguous blandishments; and when\nhe has run through the whole compass of flattery,\ndismiss him with contempt, because his vein of fiction\nis exhausted.\n\nA continual feast of commendation is only to be\nobtained by merit or by wealth; many are therefore\nobliged to content themselves with single morsels,\nand recompense the infrequency of their enjoyment\nby excess and riot, whenever fortune sets the banquet\nbefore them.  Hunger is never delicate; they\nwho are seldom gorged to the full with praise, may\nbe safely fed with gross compliments; for the appetite\nmust be satisfied before it is disgusted.\n\nIt is easy to find the moment at which vanity is\neager for sustenance, and all that impudence or servility\ncan offer will be well received.  When any one\ncomplains of the want of what he is known to possess\nin an uncommon degree, he certainly waits with\nimpatience to be contradicted.  When the trader\npretends anxiety about the payment of his bills, or the\nbeauty remarks how frightfully she looks, then is\nthe lucky moment to talk of riches or of charms, of\nthe death of lovers, or the honour of a merchant.\n\nOthers there are yet more open and artless, who,\ninstead of suborning a flatterer, are content to supply\nhis place, and as some animals impregnate themselves,\nswell with the praises which they hear from\ntheir own tongues.  Recte is dicitur laudare sese, cui\nnemo alius contigit laudator.  \"It is right,\" says\nErasmus, \"that he, whom no one else will commend,\nshould bestow commendations on himself.\"  Of all\nthe sons of vanity, these are surely the happiest\nand greatest; for what is greatness or happiness but\nindependence on external influences, exemption\nfrom hope or fear, and the power of supplying every\nwant from the common stores of nature, which can\nneither be exhausted nor prohibited?  Such is the\nwise man of the stoicks; such is the divinity of the\nepicureans; and such is the flatterer of himself.\nEvery other enjoyment malice may destroy; every\nother panegyrick envy may withhold; but no human\npower can deprive the boaster of his own encomiums.\nInfamy may hiss, or contempt may growl,\nthe hirelings of the great may follow fortune, and\nthe votaries of truth may attend on virtue; but\nhis pleasures still remain the same; he can always\nlisten with rapture to himself, and leave those who\ndare not repose upon their own attestation, to\nbe elated or depressed by chance, and toil on in\nthe hopeless task of fixing caprice, and propitiating\nmalice.\n\nThis art of happiness has been long practised by\nperiodical writers, with little apparent violation of\ndecency.  When we think our excellencies overlooked\nby the world, or desire to recall the attention\nof the publick to some particular performance,\nwe sit down with great composure and write a letter\nto ourselves.  The correspondent, whose character\nwe assume, always addresses us with the deference\ndue to a superior intelligence; proposes his doubts\nwith a proper sense of his own inability; offers an\nobjection with trembling diffidence; and at last has\nno other pretensions to our notice than his profundity\nof respect, and sincerity of admiration, his\nsubmission to our dictates, and zeal for our success.\nTo such a reader, it is impossible to refuse regard,\nnor can it easily be imagined with how much alacrity\nwe snatch up the pen which indignation or despair\nhad condemned to inactivity, when we find such candour\nand judgment yet remaining in the world.\n\nA letter of this kind I had lately the honour of\nperusing, in which, though some of the periods were\nnegligently closed, and some expressions of familiarity\nwere used, which I thought might teach others\nto address me with too little reverence, I was so\nmuch delighted with the passages in which mention\nwas made of universal learning--unbounded genius--\nsoul of Homer, Pythagoras, and Plato--solidity\nof thought--accuracy of distinction--elegance\nof combination--vigour of fancy--strength of\nreason--and regularity of composition--that I\nhad once determined to lay it before the publick.\nThree times I sent it to the printer, and three times\nI fetched it back.  My modesty was on the point of\nyielding, when reflecting that I was about to waste\npanegyricks on myself, which might be more profitably\nreserved for my patron, I locked it up for a\nbetter hour, in compliance with the farmer's principle,\nwho never eats at home what he can carry to\nthe market.\n\n\n\nNo. 194. SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 1752\n\n Si damnosa senem juvat alea, ludit et heres\n Bullatus, parvoque eadem movet arma fritillo.\n\nJUV. Sat. xiv. 4.\n\n If gaming does an aged sire entice,\n Then my young master swiftly learns the vice,\n And shakes in hanging sleeves the little box and dice.\n\nJ. DRYDEN, jun.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nTHAT vanity which keeps every man important\nin his own eyes, inclines me to believe that\nneither you nor your readers have yet forgotten the\nname of Eumathes, who sent you a few months ago\nan account of his arrival at London, with a young\nnobleman his pupil.  I shall therefore continue my\nnarrative without preface or recapitulation.\n\nMy pupil, in a very short time, by his mother's\ncountenance and direction, accomplished himself\nwith all those qualifications which constitute puerile\npoliteness.  He became in a few days a perfect master\nof his hat, which with a careless nicety he could put\noff or on, without any need to adjust it by a second\nmotion.  This was not attained but by frequent\nconsultations with his dancing-master, and constant\npractice before the glass, for he had some rustick\nhabits to overcome; but, what will not time and\nindustry perform?  A fortnight more furnished him\nwith all the airs and forms of familiar and respectful\nsalutation, from the clap on the shoulder to the\nhumble bow; he practises the stare of strangeness,\nand the smile of condescension, the solemnity of\npromise, and the graciousness of encouragement, as\nif he had been nursed at a levee; and pronounces,\nwith no less propriety than his father, the\nmonosyllables of coldness, and sonorous periods of\nrespectful profession.\n\nHe immediately lost the reserve and timidity\nwhich solitude and study are apt to impress upon\nthe most courtly genius; was able to enter a crowded\nroom with airy civility; to meet the glances of a\nhundred eyes without perturbation; and address those\nwhom he never saw before with ease and confidence.\nIn less than a month his mother declared her satisfaction\nat his proficiency by a triumphant observation,\nthat she believed NOTHING WOULD MAKE HIM BLUSH.\n\nThe silence with which I was contented to hear\nmy pupil's praises, gave the lady reason to suspect\nme not much delighted with his acquisitions; but\nshe attributed my discontent to the diminution of\nmy influence, and my fears of losing the patronage\nof the family; and though she thinks favourably of\nmy learning and morals, she considers me as wholly\nunacquainted with the customs of the polite part\nof mankind; and therefore not qualified to form\nthe manners of a young nobleman, or communicate\nthe knowledge of the world.  This knowledge she\ncomprises in the rules of visiting, the history of the\npresent hour, an early intelligence of the change of\nfashions, an extensive acquaintance with the names\nand faces of persons of rank, and a frequent appearance\nin places of resort.\n\nAll this my pupil pursues with great application.\nHe is twice a day in the Mall, where he studies the\ndress of every man splendid enough to attract his\nnotice, and never comes home without some observation\nupon sleeves, button-holes, and embroidery.\nAt his return from the theatre, he can give an\naccount of the gallantries, glances, whispers, smiles,\nsighs, flirts, and blushes of every box, so much to\nhis mother's satisfaction, that when I attempted to\nresume my character, by inquiring his opinion of the\nsentiments and diction of the tragedy, she at once\nrepressed my criticism, by telling me, \"that she\nhoped he did not go to lose his time in attending\nto the creatures on the stage.\"\n\nBut his acuteness was most eminently signalized\nat the masquerade, where he discovered his acquaintance\nthrough their disguises, with such wonderful\nfacility, as has afforded the family an inexhaustible\ntopick of conversation.  Every new visitor is\ninformed how one was detected by his gait, and\nanother by the swinging of his arms, a third by the\ntoss of his head, and another by his favourite phrase;\nnor can you doubt but these performances receive\ntheir just applause, and a genius thus hastening to\nmaturity is promoted by every art of cultivation.\n\nSuch have been his endeavours, and such his\nassistances, that every trace of literature was soon\nobliterated.  He has changed his language with his dress,\nand instead of endeavouring at purity or propriety,\nhas no other care than to catch the reigning phrase\nand current exclamation, till, by copying whatever\nis peculiar in the talk of all those whose birth or\nfortune entitles them to imitation, he has collected every\nfashionable barbarism of the present winter, and\nspeaks a dialect not to be understood among those\nwho form their style by poring upon authors.\n\nTo this copiousness of ideas, and felicity of\nlanguage, he has joined such eagerness to lead the\nconversation, that he is celebrated among the ladies as\nthe prettiest gentleman that the age can boast of,\nexcept that some who love to talk themselves, think\nhim too forward, and others lament that, with so\nmuch wit and knowledge, he is not taller.\n\nHis mother listens to his observations with her\neyes sparkling and her heart beating, and can\nscarcely contain, in the most numerous assemblies,\nthe expectations which she has formed for his future\neminence.  Women, by whatever fate, always\njudge absurdly of the intellects of boys.  The vivacity\nand confidence which attract female admiration,\nare seldom produced in the early part of life,\nbut by ignorance at least, if not by stupidity; for\nthey proceed not from confidence of right, but\nfearlessness of wrong.  Whoever has a clear apprehension,\nmust have quick sensibility, and where he has\nno sufficient reason to trust his own judgment, will\nproceed with doubt and caution, because he perpetually\ndreads the disgrace of errour.  The pain of\nmiscarriage is naturally proportionate to the desire\nof excellence; and, therefore, till men are hardened\nby long familiarity with reproach, or have attained,\nby frequent struggles, the art of suppressing their\nemotions, diffidence is found the inseparable associate\nof understanding.\n\nBut so little distrust has my pupil of his own\nabilities, that he has for some time professed himself\na wit, and tortures his imagination on all occasions\nfor burlesque and jocularity.  How he supports\na character which, perhaps, no man ever assumed\nwithout repentance, may be easily conjectured.\nWit, you know, is the unexpected copulation of\nideas, the discovery of some occult relation between\nimages in appearance remote from each other; an\neffusion of wit, therefore, presupposes an accumulation\nof knowledge; a memory stored with notions,\nwhich the imagination may cull out to compose\nnew assemblages.  Whatever may be the native vigour\nof the mind, she can never form many combinations\nfrom few ideas, as many changes cannot be\nrung upon a few bells.  Accident may indeed\nsometimes produce a lucky parallel or a striking contrast;\nbut these gifts of chance are not frequent, and he\nthat has nothing of his own, and yet condemns\nhimself to needless expenses, must live upon loans or\ntheft.\n\nThe indulgence which his youth has hitherto\nobtained, and the respect which his rank secures, have\nhitherto supplied the want of intellectual qualifications;\nand he imagines that all admire who applaud,\nand that all who laugh are pleased.  He therefore\nreturns every day to the charge with increase of\ncourage, though not of strength, and practises all the\ntricks by which wit is counterfeited.  He lays trains\nfor a quibble; he contrives blunders for his footman;\nhe adapts old stories to present characters; he mistakes\nthe question, that he may return a smart answer;\nhe anticipates the argument, that he may\nplausibly object; when he has nothing to reply, he\nrepeats the last words of his antagonist, then says,\n\"your humble servant,\" and concludes with a laugh\nof triumph.\n\nThese mistakes I have honestly attempted to\ncorrect; but what can be expected from reason\nunsupported by fashion, splendour, or authority?  He\nhears me, indeed, or appears to hear me, but is soon\nrescued from the lecture by more pleasing avocations;\nand shows, diversions, and caresses, drive my\nprecepts from his remembrance.\n\nHe at last imagines himself qualified to enter the\nworld, and has met with adventures in his first sally,\nwhich I shall, by your paper, communicate to the\npublick.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nEUMATHES.\n\n\n\nNo. 195. TUESDAY, JANUARY 28, 1752\n\n     --------Nescit equo rudis\n Haerere ingenuus puer,\n     Venarique timet doctior,\n Seu Graeco jubeas trocho,\n     Seu malis vetita legibus alea.  HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xxiv. 54.\n\n Nor knows our youth, of noblest race,\n To mount the manag'd steed, or urge the chace;\n More skill'd in the mean arts of vice,\n The whirling troque, or law-forbidden dice. FRANCIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nFAVOURS of every kind are doubled when they\nare speedily conferred.  This is particularly true\nof the gratification of curiosity.  He that long delays\na story, and suffers his auditor to torment himself\nwith expectation, will seldom be able to recompense\nthe uneasiness, or equal the hope which he suffers\nto be raised.\n\nFor this reason, I have already sent you the\ncontinuation of my pupil's history, which, though it\ncontains no events very uncommon, may be of use\nto young men who are in too much haste to trust\ntheir own prudence, and quit the wing of protection\nbefore they are able to shift for themselves.\n\nWhen he first settled in London, he was so much\nbewildered in the enormous extent of the town, so\nconfounded by incessant noise, and crowds, and\nhurry, and so terrified by rural narratives of the arts\nof sharpers, the rudeness of the populace, malignity\nof porters, and treachery of coachmen, that he was\nafraid to go beyond the door without an attendant,\nand imagined his life in danger if he was obliged\nto pass the streets at night in any vehicle but his\nmother's chair.\n\nHe was therefore contented, for a time, that I\nshould accompany him in all his excursions.  But his\nfear abated as he grew more familiar with its objects;\nand the contempt to which his rusticity exposed him\nfrom such of his companions as had accidentally\nknown the town longer, obliged him to dissemble\nhis remaining terrours.\n\nHis desire of liberty made him now willing to\nspare me the trouble of observing his motions; but\nknowing how much his ignorance exposed him to\nmischief, I thought it cruel to abandon him to the\nfortune of the town.  We went together every day\nto a coffee-house, where he met wits, heirs, and fops,\nairy, ignorant, and thoughtless as himself, with\nwhom he had become acquainted at card-tables, and\nwhom he considered as the only beings to be envied\nor admired.  What were their topicks of conversation,\nI could never discover; for, so much was their\nvivacity repressed by my intrusive seriousness, that\nthey seldom proceeded beyond the exchange of nods\nand shrugs, an arch grin, or a broken hint, except\nwhen they could retire, while I was looking on the\npapers, to a corner of the room, where they seemed to\ndisburden their imaginations, and commonly vented\nthe superfluity of their sprightliness in a peal of\nlaughter.  When they had tittered themselves into\nnegligence, I could sometimes overhear a few syllables,\nsuch as--solemn rascal--academical airs--\nsmoke the tutor--company for gentlemen!--and\nother broken phrases, by which I did not suffer my\nquiet to be disturbed, for they never proceeded to\navowed indignities, but contented themselves to\nmurmur in secret, and, whenever I turned my eye\nupon them, shrunk into stillness.\n\nHe was, however, desirous of withdrawing from\nthe subjection which he could not venture to break,\nand made a secret appointment to assist his\ncompanions in the persecution of a play.  His footman\nprivately procured him a catcall, on which he\npractised in a back-garret for two hours in the afternoon.\nAt the proper time a chair was called; he pretended\nan engagement at lady Flutter's, and hastened to\nthe place where his critical associates had assembled.\nThey hurried away to the theatre, full of malignity\nand denunciations against a man whose name they\nhad never heard, and a performance which they\ncould not understand; for they were resolved to\njudge for themselves, and would not suffer the\ntown to be imposed upon by scribblers.  In the pit,\nthey exerted themselves with great spirit and vivacity;\ncalled out for the tunes of obscene songs, talked\nloudly at intervals of Shakespeare and Jonson,\nplayed on their catcalls a short prelude of terrour,\nclamoured vehemently for a prologue, and clapped\nwith great dexterity at the first entrance of the\nplayers.\n\nTwo scenes they heard without attempting\ninterruption; but, being no longer able to restrain their\nimpatience, they then began to exert themselves in\ngroans and hisses, and plied their catcalls with\nincessant diligence; so that they were soon considered by\nthe audience as disturbers of the house; and some\nwho sat near them, either provoked at the obstruction\nof their entertainment, or desirous to preserve\nthe author from the mortification of seeing his hopes\ndestroyed by children, snatched away their instruments\nof criticism, and, by the seasonable vibration\nof a stick, subdued them instantaneously to decency\nand silence.\n\nTo exhilarate themselves after this vexatious\ndefeat, they posted to a tavern, where they recovered\ntheir alacrity, and, after two hours of obstreperous\njollity, burst out big with enterprize, and panting\nfor some occasion to signalize their prowess.  They\nproceeded vigorously through two streets, and with\nvery little opposition dispersed a rabble of drunkards\nless daring than themselves, then rolled two watchmen\nin the kennel, and broke the windows of a tavern\nin which the fugitives took shelter.  At last it was\ndetermined to march up to a row of chairs, and\ndemolish them for standing on the pavement; the\nchairmen formed a line of battle, and blows were\nexchanged for a time with equal courage on both sides.\n\nAt last the assailants were overpowered, and the\nchairmen, when they knew their captives, brought\nthem home by force.\n\nThe young gentleman, next morning, hung his\nhead, and was so much ashamed of his outrages and\ndefeat, that perhaps he might have been checked in\nhis first follies, had not his mother, partly in pity of\nhis dejection, and partly in approbation of his spirit,\nrelieved him from his perplexity by paying the damages\nprivately, and discouraging all animadversion\nand reproof.\n\nThis indulgence could not wholly preserve him\nfrom the remembrance of his disgrace, nor at once\nrestore his confidence and elation.  He was for three\ndays silent, modest, and compliant, and thought\nhimself neither too wise for instruction, nor too\nmanly for restraint.  But his levity overcame this\nsalutary sorrow; he began to talk with his former\nraptures of masquerades, taverns, and frolicks;\nblustered when his wig was not combed with exactness;\nand threatened destruction to a tailor who had\nmistaken his directions about the pocket.\n\nI knew that he was now rising again above\ncontrol, and that his inflation of spirits would burst\nout into some mischievous absurdity.  I therefore\nwatched him with great attention; but one evening,\nhaving attended his mother at a visit, he withdrew\nhimself, unsuspected, while the company was engaged\nat cards.  His vivacity and officiousness were\nsoon missed, and his return impatiently expected;\nsupper was delayed, and conversation suspended;\nevery coach that rattled through the street was\nexpected to bring him, and every servant that entered\nthe room was examined concerning his departure.\nAt last the lady returned home, and was with great\ndifficulty preserved from fits by spirits and cordials.\nThe family was despatched a thousand ways without\nsuccess, and the house was filled with distraction,\ntill, as we were deliberating what further measures\nto take, he returned from a petty gaming-table,\nwith his coat torn and his head broken; without his\nsword, snuff-box, sleeve-buttons, and watch.\n\nOf this loss or robbery, he gave little account; but,\ninstead of sinking into his former shame, endeavoured\nto support himself by surliness and asperity.\n\n\"He was not the first that had played away a few\ntrifles, and of what use were birth and fortune if\nthey would not admit some sallies and expenses?\"\nHis mamma was so much provoked by the cost of\nthis prank, that she would neither palliate nor\nconceal it; and his father, after some threats of\nrustication which his fondness would not suffer him to\nexecute, reduce the allowance of his pocket, that\nhe might not be tempted by plenty to profusion.\nThis method would have succeeded in a place\nwhere there are no panders to folly and\nextravagance, but was now likely to have produced\npernicious consequences; for we have discovered a\ntreaty with a broker, whose daughter he seems\ndisposed to marry, on condition that he shall be supplied\nwith present money, for which he is to repay thrice\nthe value at the death of his father.\n\nThere was now no time to be lost.  A domestick\nconsultation was immediately held, and he was\ndoomed to pass two years in the country; but his\nmother, touched with his tears, declared, that she\nthought him too much of a man to be any longer\nconfined to his book, and he therefore begins his\ntravels to-morrow under a French governour.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nEUMATHES.\n\n\n\nNo. 196. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1752\n\n Multa ferunt anni venientes commoda secum,\n Multa recedentes adimunt.---- HOR. De Ar. Poet. 175.\n\n The blessings flowing in with life's full tide,\n Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide. FRANCIS.\n\nBAXTER, in the narrative of his own life, has\nenumerated several opinions, which, though he\nthought them evident and incontestable at his first\nentrance into the world, time and experience\ndisposed him to change.\n\nWhoever reviews the state of his own mind from\nthe dawn of manhood to its decline, and considers\nwhat he pursued or dreaded, slighted or esteemed,\nat different periods of his age, will have no reason\nto imagine such changes of sentiment peculiar to\nany station or character.  Every man, however careless\nand inattentive, has conviction forced upon\nhim; the lectures of time obtrude themselves upon\nthe most unwilling or dissipated auditor; and,\nby comparing our past with our present thoughts,\nwe perceive that we have changed our minds,\nthough perhaps we cannot discover when the\nalteration happened, or by what causes it was\nproduced.\n\nThis revolution of sentiments occasions a\nperpetual contest between the old and young.  They\nwho imagine themselves entitled to veneration by\nthe prerogative of longer life, are inclined to treat\nthe notions of those whose conduct they superintend\nwith superciliousness and contempt, for want of\nconsidering that the future and the past have different\nappearances; that the disproportion will always be\ngreat between expectation and enjoyment, between\nnew possession and satiety; that the truth of many\nmaxims of age gives too little pleasure to be allowed\ntill it is felt; and that the miseries of life would be\nincreased beyond all human power of endurance, if\nwe were to enter the world with the same opinions\nas we carry from it.\n\nWe naturally indulge those ideas that please us.\nHope will predominate in every mind, till it has\nbeen suppressed by frequent disappointments.  The\nyouth has not yet discovered how many evils are\ncontinually hovering about us, and when he is set\nfree from the shackles of discipline, looks abroad\ninto the world with rapture; he sees an elysian\nregion open before him, so variegated with beauty,\nand so stored with pleasure, that his care is rather\nto accumulate good, than to shun evil; he stands\ndistracted by different forms of delight, and has no\nother doubt, than which path to follow of those\nwhich all lead equally to the bowers of happiness.\n\nHe who has seen only the superficies of life\nbelieves everything to be what it appears, and rarely\nsuspects that external splendour conceals any latent\nsorrow or vexation.  He never imagines that there\nmay be greatness without safety, affluence without\ncontent, jollity without friendship, and solitude without\npeace.  He fancies himself permitted to cull the\nblessings of every condition, and to leave its\ninconveniences to the idle and the ignorant.  He is\ninclined to believe no man miserable but by his own\nfault, and seldom looks with much pity upon failings\nor miscarriages, because he thinks them willingly\nadmitted, or negligently incurred.\n\nIt is impossible, without pity and contempt, to\nhear a youth of generous sentiments and warm\nimagination, declaring, in the moment of openness and\nconfidence, his designs and expectations; because\nlong life is possible, he considers it as certain, and\ntherefore promises himself all the changes of happiness,\nand provides gratifications for every desire.\nHe is, for a time, to give himself wholly to frolick\nand diversion, to range the world in search of\npleasure, to delight every eye, to gain every heart, and\nto be celebrated equally for his pleasing levities and\nsolid attainments, his deep reflections and his sparkling\nrepartees.  He then elevates his views to nobler\nenjoyments, and finds all the scattered excellencies\nof the female world united in a woman, who prefers\nhis addresses to wealth and titles; he is afterwards\nto engage in business, to dissipate difficulty, and\noverpower opposition: to climb, by the mere force\nof merit, to fame and greatness; and reward all those\nwho countenanced his rise, or paid due regard to\nhis early excellence.  At last he will retire in peace\nand honour; contract his views to domestick pleasures;\nform the manners of children like himself;\nobserve how every year expands the beauty of his\ndaughters, and how his sons catch ardour from their\nfather's history; he will give laws to the neighbourhood;\ndictate axioms to posterity; and leave the\nworld an example of wisdom and happiness.\n\nWith hopes like these, he sallies jocund into life;\nto little purpose is he told, that the condition of\nhumanity admits no pure and unmingled happiness;\nthat the exuberant gaiety of youth ends in poverty\nor disease; that uncommon qualifications and\ncontrarieties of excellence, produce envy equally with\napplause; that whatever admiration and fondness\nmay promise him, he must marry a wife like the\nwives of others, with some virtues and some faults,\nand be as often disgusted by her vices, as delighted\nby her elegance; that if he adventures into the circle\nof action, he must expect to encounter men as\nartful, as daring, as resolute as himself; that of his\nchildren, some may be deformed, and others vicious;\nsome may disgrace him by their follies, some offend\nhim by their insolence, and some exhaust him by\ntheir profusion.  He hears all this with obstinate\nincredulity, and wonders by what malignity old age\nis influenced, that it cannot forbear to fill his ears\nwith predictions of misery.\n\nAmong other pleasing errours of young minds,\nis the opinion of their own importance.  He that has\nnot yet remarked, how little attention his contemporaries\ncan spare from their own affairs, conceives\nall eyes turned upon himself, and imagines every\none that approaches him to be an enemy or a\nfollower, an admirer or a spy.  He therefore considers\nhis fame as involved in the event of every action.\nMany of the virtues and vices of youth proceed\nfrom this quick sense of reputation.  This it is that\ngives firmness and constancy, fidelity, and disinterestedness,\nand it is this that kindles resentment for\nslight injuries, and dictates all the principles of\nsanguinary honour.\n\nBut as time brings him forward into the world,\nhe soon discovers that he only shares fame or reproach\nwith innumerable partners; that he is left\nunmarked in the obscurity of the crowd; and that\nwhat he does, whether good or bad, soon gives way\nto new objects of regard.  He then easily sets\nhimself free from the anxieties of reputation, and\nconsiders praise or censure as a transient breath, which,\nwhile he hears it, is passing away, without any\nlasting mischief or advantage.\n\nIn youth, it is common to measure right and\nwrong by the opinion of the world, and, in age, to\nact without any measure but interest, and to lose\nshame without substituting virtue.\n\nSuch is the condition of life, that something is\nalways wanting to happiness.  In youth, we have\nwarm hopes, which are soon blasted by rashness and\nnegligence, and great designs, which are defeated\nby inexperience.  In age, we have knowledge and\nprudence without spirit to exert, or motives to\nprompt them; we are able to plan schemes and\nregulate measures, but have not time remaining to\nbring them to completion.\n\n\n\nNo. 197. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1752\n\n Cujus vulturis hoc erit cadaver?    MART. Lib. vi. Ep. lxii. 4.\n\n Say, to what vulture's share this carcase falls?  F. LEWIS.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nI BELONG to an order of mankind, considerable\nat least for their number, to which your notice\nhas never been formally extended, though equally\nentitled to regard with those triflers, who have\nhitherto supplied you with topicks of amusement\nor instruction.  I am, Mr. Rambler, a legacy-hunter;\nand, as every man is willing to think well of the\ntribe in which his name is registered, you will\nforgive my vanity, if I remind you that the legacy-\nhunter, however degraded by an ill-compounded\nappellation in our barbarous language, was known, as\nI am told, in ancient Rome, by the sonorous titles\nof Captator and Haeredipeta.\n\nMy father was an attorney in the country, who\nmarried his master's daughter in hopes of a fortune\nwhich he did not obtain, having been, as he afterwards\ndiscovered, chosen by her only because she\nhad no better offer, and was afraid of service.  I was\nthe first offspring of a marriage, thus reciprocally\nfraudulent, and therefore could not be expected to\ninherit much dignity or generosity, and if I had\nthem not from nature, was not likely ever to attain\nthem; for, in the years which I spent at home, I\nnever heard any reason for action or forbearance, but\nthat we should gain money or lose it; nor was\ntaught any other style of commendation, than that\nMr. Sneaker is a warm man, Mr. Gripe has done\nhis business, and needs care for nobody.\n\nMy parents, though otherwise not great philosophers,\nknew the force of early education, and took\ncare that the blank of my understanding should be\nfilled with impressions of the value of money.  My\nmother used, upon all occasions, to inculcate some\nsalutary axioms, such as might incite me to KEEP\nWHAT I HAD, AND GET WHAT I COULD; she informed me\nthat we were in a world, where ALL MUST CATCH THAT\nCATCH CAN; and as I grew up, stored my memory\nwith deeper observations; restrained me from the\nusual puerile expenses, by remarking that MANY A\nLITTLE MADE A MICKLE; and, when I envied the finery\nof my neighbours, told me that BRAG WAS A GOOD\nDOG, BUT HOLDFAST WAS A BETTER.\n\nI was soon sagacious enough to discover that I\nwas not born to great wealth; and having heard no\nother name for happiness, was sometimes inclined\nto repine at my condition.  But my mother always\nrelieved me, by saying, that there was money enough\nin the family, that IT WAS GOOD TO BE OF KIN TO MEANS,\nthat I had nothing to do but to please my friends,\nand I might come to hold up my head with the\nbest squire in the country.\n\nThese splendid expectations arose from our\nalliance to three persons of considerable fortune.  My\nmother's aunt had attended on a lady, who, when\nshe died, rewarded her officiousness and fidelity\nwith a large legacy.  My father had two relations,\nof whom one had broken his indentures and run to\nsea, from whence, after an absence of thirty years,\nhe returned with ten thousand pounds; and the\nother had lured an heiress out of a window, who,\ndying of her first child, had left him her estate, on\nwhich he lived, without any other care than to\ncollect his rents, and preserve from poachers that\ngame which he could not kill himself.\n\nThese hoarders of money were visited and courted\nby all who had any pretence to approach them, and\nreceived presents and compliments from cousins\nwho could scarcely tell the degree of their relation.\nBut we had peculiar advantages, which encouraged\nus to hope, that we should by degrees supplant our\ncompetitors.  My father, by his profession, made\nhimself necessary in their affairs, for the sailor and\nthe chambermaid, he inquired out mortgages and\nsecurities, and wrote bonds and contracts; and had\nendeared himself to the old woman, who once rashly\nlent an hundred pounds without consulting him, by\ninforming her, that her debtor, was on the point\nof bankruptcy, and posting so expeditiously with\nan execution, that all the other creditors were\ndefrauded.\n\nTo the squire he was a kind of steward, and had\ndistinguished himself in his office by his address in\nraising the rents, his inflexibility in distressing the\ntardy tenants, and his acuteness in setting the parish\nfree from burdensome inhabitants, by shifting\nthem of to some other settlement.\n\nBusiness made frequent attendance necessary;\ntrust soon produced intimacy; and success gave a\nclaim to kindness; so that we had opportunity to\npractise all the arts of flattery and endearment.\nMy mother, who could not support the thoughts\nof losing any thing, determined, that all their\nfortunes should centre in me; and, in the prosecution\nof her schemes, took care to inform me that NOTHING\nCOST LESS THAN GOOD WORDS, and that it is comfortable\nto leap into an estate which another has got.\n\nShe trained me by these precepts to the utmost\nductility of obedience, and the closest attention to\nprofit.  At an age when other boys are sporting in\nthe fields or murmuring in the school, I was\ncontriving some new method of paying my court;\ninquiring the age of my future benefactors; or\nconsidering how I should employ their legacies.\n\nIf our eagerness of money could have been\nsatisfied with the possessions of any one of my relations,\nthey might perhaps have been obtained; but as it\nwas impossible to be always present with all three,\nour competitors were busy to efface any trace of\naffection which we might have left behind; and\nsince there was not, on any part, such superiority\nof merit as could enforce a constant and unshaken\npreference, whoever was the last that flattered or\nobliged, had, for a time, the ascendant.\n\nMy relations maintained a regular exchange of\ncourtesy, took care to miss no occasion of condolence\nor congratulation, and sent presents at stated\ntimes, but had in their hearts not much esteem for\none another.  The seaman looked with contempt\nupon the squire as a milksop and a landman, who\nhad lived without knowing the points of the compass,\nor seeing any part of the world beyond the\ncounty-town; and whenever they met, would talk\nof longitude and latitude, and circles and tropicks,\nwould scarcely tell him the hour without some\nmention of the horizon and meridian, nor shew him\nthe news without detecting his ignorance of the\nsituation of other countries.\n\nThe squire considered the sailor as a rude\nuncultivated savage, with little more of human than his\nform, and diverted himself with his ignorance of all\ncommon objects and affairs; when he could persuade\nhim to go into the field, he always exposed him to\nthe sportsmen, by sending him to look for game in\nimproper places; and once prevailed upon him to\nbe present at the races, only that he might shew\nthe gentlemen how a sailor sat upon a horse.\n\nThe old gentlewoman thought herself wiser than\nboth, for she lived with no servant but a maid, and\nsaved her money.  The others were indeed sufficiently\nfrugal; but the squire could not live without dogs\nand horses, and the sailor never suffered the day to\npass but over a bowl of punch, to which, as he was\nnot critical in the choice of his company, every man\nwas welcome that could roar out a catch, or tell a\nstory.\n\nAll these, however, I was to please; an arduous\ntask; but what will not youth and avarice undertake?\nI had an unresisting suppleness of temper,\nand an insatiable wish for riches; I was perpetually\ninstigated by the ambition of my parents, and assisted\noccasionally by their instructions.  What these\nadvantages enabled me to perform, shall be told in\nthe next letter of,\n\nYours, &c.\n\nCAPTATOR.\n\n\n\nNo. 198. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8. 1752\n\n Nil mihi das das vivus: dicis, post; fata daturum.\n Si non es stultus, scis, Maro, quid cupiam.\nMART. Lib. xi. 67.\n\n You've told me, Maro, whilst you live,\n You'd not a single penny give,\n But that whene'er you chance to die.\n You'd leave a handsome legacy:\n You must be mad beyond redress,\n If my next wish you cannot guess. F. LEWIS.\n\n\nMR. RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nYOU, who must have observed the inclination\nwhich almost every man, however unactive or\ninsignificant, discovers of representing his life as\ndistinguished by extraordinary events, will not wonder\nthat Captator thinks his narrative important enough\nto be continued.  Nothing is more common than for\nthose to tease their companions with their history,\nwho have neither done nor suffered any thing that\ncan excite curiosity, or afford instruction.\nAs I was taught to flatter with the first essays\nof speech, and had very early lost every other\npassion in the desire of money, I began my pursuit\nwith omens of success; for I divided my officiousness\nso judiciously among my relations, that I was equally\nthe favourite of all.  When any of them entered the\ndoor, I went to welcome him with raptures; when he\nwent away, I hung down my head, and sometimes\nentreated to go with him with so much importunity,\nthat I very narrowly escaped a consent which I\ndreaded in my heart.  When at an annual entertainment\nthey were altogether, I had a harder task; but\nplied them so impartially with caresses, that none\ncould charge me with neglect; and when they were\nwearied with my fondness and civilities, I was always\ndismissed with money to buy playthings.\n\nLife cannot be kept at a stand: the years of\ninnocence and prattle were soon at an end, and other\nqualifications were necessary to recommend me to\ncontinuance of kindness.  It luckily happened that\nnone of my friends had high notions of book-learning.\nThe sailor hated to see tall boys shut up in a\nschool, when they might more properly be seeing\nthe world, and making their fortunes; and was of\nopinion, that when the first rules of arithmetick\nwere known, all that was necessary to make a man\ncomplete might be learned on ship-board.  The squire\nonly insisted, that so much scholarship was\nindispensibly necessary, as might confer ability to draw\na lease and read the court hands; and the old\nchambermaid declared loudly her contempt of books,\nand her opinion that they only took the head off!\nthe main chance.\n\nTo unite, as well as we could, all their systems,\nI was bred at home.  Each was taught to believe,\nthat I followed his directions, and I gained likewise,\nas my mother observed, this advantage, that\nI was always in the way; for she had known many\nfavourite children sent to schools or academies, and\nforgotten.\n\nAs I grew fitter to be trusted to my own\ndiscretion, I was often despatched upon various\npretences to visit my relations, with directions from\nmy parents how to ingratiate myself, and drive\naway competitors.\n\nI was from my infancy, considered by the sailor\nas a promising genius, because I liked punch better\nthan wine; and I took care to improve this\nprepossession by continual inquiries about the art of\nnavigation, the degree of heat and cold in different\nclimates, the profits of trade, and the dangers of\nshipwreck.  I admired the courage of the seamen,\nand gained his heart by importuning him for a recital\nof his adventures, and a sight of his foreign curiosities.\nI listened with an appearance of close attention\nto stories which I could already repeat, and at the\nclose never failed to express my resolution to visit\ndistant countries, and my contempt of the cowards\nand drones that spend all their lives in their native\nparish; though I had in reality no desire of any thing\nbut money, nor ever felt the stimulations of curiosity\nor ardour of adventure, but would contentedly\nhave passed the years of Nestor in receiving rents,\nand lending upon mortgages.\n\nThe squire I was able to please with less\nhypocrisy, for I really thought it pleasant enough to kill\nthe game and eat it.  Some arts of falsehood, however,\nthe hunger of gold persuaded me to practise,\nby which, though no other mischief was produced,\nthe purity of my thoughts was vitiated, and the\nreverence for truth gradually destroyed.  I sometimes\npurchased fish, and pretended to have caught them;\nI hired the countrymen to shew me partridges, and\nthen gave my uncle intelligence of their haunt; I\nlearned the seats of hares at night, and discovered\nthem in the morning with a sagacity that raised the\nwonder and envy of old sportsmen.  One only\nobstruction to the advancement of my reputation I\ncould never fully surmount; I was naturally a coward,\nand was therefore always left shamefully behind,\nwhen there was a necessity to leap a hedge, to\nswim a river, or force the horses to the utmost speed;\nbut as these exigencies did not frequently happen,\nI maintained my honour with sufficient success, and\nwas never left out of a hunting party.\n\nThe old chambermaid was not so certainly, nor so\neasily pleased, for she had no predominant passion\nbut avarice, and was therefore cold and inaccessible.\nShe had no conception of any virtue in a young man\nbut that of saving his money.  When she heard of my\nexploits in the field, she would shake her head,\ninquire how much I should be the richer for all my\nperformances, and lament that such sums should be\nspent upon dogs and horses.  If the sailor told her of\nmy inclination to travel, she was sure there was no\nplace like England, and could not imagine why any\nman that can live in his own country should leave\nit.  This sullen and frigid being I found means,\nhowever, to propitiate by frequent commendations of\nfrugality, and perpetual care to avoid expense.\n\nFrom the sailor was our first and most\nconsiderable expectation; for he was richer than the\nchambermaid and older than the squire.  He was so\nawkward and bashful among women, that we concluded\nhim secure from matrimony; and the noisy\nfondness with which he used to welcome me to his\nhouse, made us imagine that he would look out for\nno other heir, and that we had nothing to do but\nwait patiently for his death.  But in the midst of our\ntriumph, my uncle saluted us one morning with a cry\nof transport, and, clapping his hand hard on my shoulder,\ntold me, I was a happy fellow to have a friend\nlike him in the world, for he came to fit me out for\na voyage with one of his old acquaintances.  I turned\npale, and trembled; my father told him, that he\nbelieved my constitution not fitted to the sea; and my\nmother, bursting into tears, cried out, that her heart\nwould break if she lost me.  All this had no effect;\nthe sailor was wholly insusceptive of the softer\npassions, and, without regard to tears or arguments,\npersisted in his resolution to make me a man.\n\nWe were obliged to comply in appearance, and\npreparations were accordingly made.  I took leave of\nmy friends with great alacrity, proclaimed the\nbeneficence of my uncle with the highest strains of\ngratitude, and rejoiced at the opportunity now put into\nmy hands of gratifying my thirst of knowledge.\nBut, a week before the day appointed for my departure,\nI fell sick by my mother's direction, and\nrefused all food but what she privately brought me;\nwhenever my uncle visited me I was lethargick or\ndelirious, but took care in my raving fits to talk\nincessantly of travel and merchandize.  The room was\nkept dark; the table was filled with vials and\ngallipots; my mother was with difficulty persuaded not\nto endanger her life with nocturnal attendance; my\nfather lamented the loss of the profits of the voyage;\nand such superfluity of artifices was employed, as\nperhaps might have discovered the cheat to a man\nof penetration.  But the sailor, unacquainted with\nsubtilties and stratagems, was easily deluded; and\nas the ship could not stay for my recovery, sold\nthe cargo, and left me to re-establish my health at\nleisure.\n\nI was sent to regain my flesh in a purer air, lest it\nshould appear never to have been wasted, and in\ntwo months returned to deplore my disappointment.\nMy uncle pitied my dejection, and bid me prepare\nmyself against next year, for no land-lubber should\ntouch his money.\n\nA reprieve however was obtained, and perhaps\nsome new stratagem might have succeeded another\nspring; but my uncle unhappily made amorous\nadvances to my mother's maid, who, to promote so\nadvantageous a match, discovered the secret with\nwhich only she had been entrusted.  He stormed,\nand raved, and declaring that he would have heirs\nof his own, and not give his substance to cheats and\ncowards, married the girl in two days, and has now\nfour children.\n\nCowardice is always scorned, and deceit universally\ndetested.  I found my friends, if not wholly\nalienated, at least cooled in their affection; the squire,\nthough he did not wholly discard me, was less fond,\nand often inquired when I would go to sea.  I was\nobliged to bear his insults, and endeavoured to\nrekindle his kindness by assiduity and respect; but all\nmy care was vain; he died without a will, and the\nestate devolved to the legal heir.\n\nThus has the folly of my parents condemned me\nto spend in flattery and attendance those years in\nwhich I might have been qualified to place myself\nabove hope or fear.  I am arrived at manhood without\nany useful art, or generous sentiment; and, if\nthe old woman should likewise at last deceive me,\nam in danger at once of beggary and ignorance.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nCAPTATOR.\n\n\n\nNo. 199. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1752\n\n Decolor, obscurus, vilis.  Non ille repexam\n Caesariem Regum, nec candida virginis ornat\n Colla, nec insigni splendet per cingula morsu.\n Sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxi,\n Tum pulcros superat cultus, et quidquid Eois\n Indus litoribus rubra scrutatur in alga.\n\nCLAUDIANUS, xlviii. 10.\n\n Obscure, upris'd, and dark, the magnet lies,\n Nor lures the search of avaricious eyes,\n Nor binds the neck, nor sparkles in the hair,\n Nor dignifies the great, nor decks the fair.\n But search the wonders of the dusky stone,\n And own all glories of the mine outdone,\n Each grace of form, each ornament of state,\n That decks the fair, or dignifies the great.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nSIR,\n\nTHOUGH you have seldom digressed from\nmoral subjects, I suppose you are not so rigorous\nor cynical as to deny the value or usefulness\nof natural philosophy; or to have lived in this age\nof inquiry and experiment, without any attention to\nthe wonders every day produced by the pokers\nof magnetism and the wheels of electricity.  At\nleast, I may be allowed to hope that, since nothing\nis more contrary to moral excellence than envy,\nyou will not refuse to promote the happiness of\nothers, merely because you cannot partake of their\nenjoyments.\n\nIn confidence, therefore, that your ignorance has\nnot made you an enemy to knowledge, I offer you\nthe honour of introducing to the notice of the\npublick, an adept, who, having long laboured for the\nbenefit of mankind, is not willing, like too many of\nhis predecessors, to conceal his secrets in the grave.\n\nMany have signalized themselves by melting their\nestates in crucibles.  I was born to no fortune, and\ntherefore had only my mind and body to devote to\nknowledge, and the gratitude of posterity will attest,\nthat neither mind nor body have been spared.\nI have sat whole weeks without sleep by the side\nof an athanor, to watch the moment of projection;\nI have made the first experiment in nineteen diving\nengines of new construction; I have fallen eleven\ntimes speechless under the shock of electricity; I\nhave twice dislocated my limbs, and once fractured\nmy skull, in essaying to fly[c]; and four times\nendangered my life by submitting to the transfusion of\nblood.\n\n\n [c] In the sixth chapter of Rasselas we have an excellent story\nof an experimentalist in the art of flying.  Dr. Johnson sketched\nperhaps from life, for we are informed that he once lodged in the\nsame house with a man who broke his legs in the daring attempt.\n\n\nIn the first period of my studies, I exerted the\npowers of my body more than those of my mind,\nand was not without hopes that fame might be\npurchased by a few broken bones without the toil of\nthinking; but having been shattered by some violent\nexperiments, and constrained to confine myself to\nmy books, I passed six and thirty years in searching\nthe treasures of ancient wisdom, but am at last amply\nrecompensed for all my perseverance.\n\nThe curiosity of the present race of philosophers,\nhaving been long exercised upon electricity, has been\nlately transformed to magnetism; the qualities of\nthe loadstone have been investigated, if not with\nmuch advantage, yet with great applause; and as the\nhighest praise of art is to imitate nature, I hope no\nman will think the makers of artificial magnets\ncelebrated or reverenced above their deserts.\n\nI have for some time employed myself in the same\npractice, but with deeper knowledge and more extensive\nviews.  While my contemporaries were touching\nneedles and raising weights, or busying themselves\nwith inclination and variation, I have been\nexamining those qualities of magnetism which may be\napplied to the accommodation and happiness of common\nlife.  I have left to inferior understandings the\ncare of conducting the sailor through the hazards of\nthe ocean, and reserve to myself the more difficult\nand illustrious province of preserving the connubial\ncompact from violation, and setting mankind free for\never from the danger of suppositious children, and the\ntorment of fruitless vigilance and anxious suspicion.\n\nTo defraud any man of his due praise is unworthy\nof a philosopher; I shall therefore openly confess,\nthat I owe the first hint of this inestimable secret\nto the Rabbi Abraham Ben Hannase, who, in his\ntreatise of precious stones, has left this account of\nthe magnet:  <hb atymalqh>, &c.  \"The calamita, or\nloadstone that attracts iron, produces many bad\nfantasies in man.  Women fly from this stone.  If\ntherefore any husband be disturbed with jealousy, and fear\nlest his wife converses with other men, let him lay\nthis stone upon her while she is asleep.  If she be pure,\nshe will, when she wakes, clasp her husband fondly in\nher arms; but if she be guilty, she will fall out of\nbed, and run away.\"\n\nWhen I first read this wonderful passage, I could\nnot easily conceive why it had remained hitherto\nunregarded in such a zealous competition for\nmagnetical fame.  I would surely be unjust to suspect\nthat any of the candidates are strangers to the name\nor works of Rabbi Abraham, or to conclude, from\na late edict of the Royal Society in favour of the\nEnglish language, that philosophy and literature\nare no longer to act in concert.  Yet, how should a\nquality so useful escape promulgation, but by the\nobscurity of the language in which it was delivered?\nWhy are footmen and chambermaids paid on every\nside for keeping secrets, which no caution nor expense\ncould secure from the all penetrating magnet?\nOr, why are so many witnesses summoned, and so\nmany artifices practised, to discover what so easy an\nexperiment would infallibly reveal?\n\nFull of this perplexity, I read the lines of Abraham\nto a friend, who advised me not to expose my\nlife by a mad indulgence of the love of fame; he\nwarned me by the fate of Orpheus, that knowledge\nor genius could give no protection to the invader of\nfemale prerogatives; assured me that neither the\narmour of Achilles, nor the antidote of Mithridates,\nwould be able to preserve me; and counselled me,\nif I could not live without renown, to attempt the\nacquisition of universal empire, in which the honour\nwould perhaps be equal, and the danger certainly\nbe less.\n\nI, a solitary student, pretend not to much\nknowledge of the world, but am unwilling to think it so\ngenerally corrupt, as that a scheme for the detection\nof incontinence should bring any danger upon\nits inventor.  My friend has indeed told me that all\nthe women will be my enemies, and that, however\nI flatter myself with hopes of defence from the\nmen, I shall certainly find myself deserted in the\nhour of danger.  Of the young men, said he, some\nwill be afraid of sharing the disgrace of their mothers,\nand some the danger of their mistresses; of those\nwho are married, part are already convinced of the\nfalsehood of their wives, and part shut their eyes to\navoid conviction; few ever sought for virtue in\nmarriage, and therefore few will try whether they\nhave found it.  Almost every man is careless or\ntimorous, and to trust is easier and safer than to\nexamine.\n\nThese observations discouraged me, till I began\nto consider what reception I was likely to find among\nthe ladies, whom I have reviewed under the three\nclasses of maids, wives, and widows, and cannot but\nhope that I may obtain some countenance among\nthem.  The single ladies I suppose universally ready\nto patronise my method, by which connubial wickedness\nmay be detected, since no woman marries with\na previous design to be unfaithful to her husband.\nAnd to keep them steady in my cause, I promise\nnever to sell one of my magnets to a man who\nsteals a girl from school; marries a woman of forty\nyears younger than himself; or employs the authority\nof parents to obtain a wife without her own\nconsent.\n\nAmong the married ladies, notwithstanding the\ninsinuations of slander, yet I resolve to believe, that\nthe greater part are my friends, and am at least\nconvinced, that they who demand the test, and\nappear on my side, will supply, by their spirit, the\ndeficiency of their numbers, and that their enemies\nwill shrink and quake at the sight of a magnet, as\nthe slaves of Scythia fled from the scourge.\n\nThe widows will be confederated in my favour by\ntheir curiosity, if not by their virtue; for it may be\nobserved, that women who have outlived their husbands,\nalways think themselves entitled to superintend\nthe conduct of young wives; and as they are\nthemselves in no danger from this magnetick trial,\nI shall expect them to be eminently and unanimously\nzealous in recommending it.\n\nWith these hopes I shall, in a short time, offer to\nsale magnets armed with a particular metallick\ncomposition, which concentrates their virtue, and\ndetermines their agency.  It is known that the efficacy\nof the magnet, in common operations, depends\nmuch upon its armature, and it cannot be imagined,\nthat a stone, naked, or cased only in a common\nmanner, will discover the virtues ascribed to it by\nRabbi Abraham.  The secret of this metal I shall\ncarefully conceal, and, therefore, am not afraid of\nimitators, nor shall trouble the offices with\nsolicitations for a patent.\n\nI shall sell them of different sizes, and various\ndegrees of strength.  I have some of a bulk proper\nto be hung at the bed's head, as scare-crows, and\nsome so small that they may be easily concealed.\nSome I have ground into oral forms to be hung at\nwatches; and some, for the curious, I have set in\nwedding rings, that ladies may never want an\nattestation of their innocence.  Some I can produce so\nsluggish and inert, that they will not act before the\nthird failure; and others so vigorous and animated,\nthat they exert their influence against unlawful\nwishes, if they have been willingly and deliberately\nindulged.  As it is my practice honestly to tell my\ncustomers the properties of my magnets, I can\njudge, by their choice, of the delicacy of their\nsentiments.  Many have been content to spare cost\nby purchasing only the lowest degree of efficacy,\nand all have started with terrour from those which\noperate upon the thoughts.  One young lady only\nfitted on a ring of the strongest energy, and\ndeclared that she scorned to separate her wishes from\nher acts, or allow herself to think what she was\nforbidden to practice.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nHERMETICUS.\n\n\n\nNo. 200. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1752.\n Nemo petit, modicis quae mittebantur amicis\n A Seneca, quae Piso bonus, quae Cotta solebat\n Largiri; namque et titulis, es fascibus olim\n Major habebatur dornandi gloria: solum\n Poscimus, ut coenes civiliter.  Hoc face, et esto,\n Esto, ut nunc multi, dives tibi, pauper amicis.  Juv. Sat. v.\n108.\n\n No man expects (for who so much a sot\n Who has the times he lives in so forgot?)\n What Seneca, what Piso us'd to send,\n To raise or to support a sinking friend.\n Those godlike men, to wanting virtue kind,\n Bounty well plac'd, preferr'd, and well design'd,\n To all their titles, all that height of pow'r,\n Which turns the brains of fools, and fools alone adore.\n When your poor client is condemn'd t' attend,\n 'Tis all we ask, to receive him as a friend:\n Descend to this, and then we ask no more;\n Rich to yourself, to all beside be poor.    BOWLES.\n\n\nTO THE RAMBLER.\n\nMR. RAMBLER,\n\nSUCH is the tenderness or infirmity of many\nminds, that when any affliction oppresses them,\nthey have immediate recourse to lamentation and\ncomplaint, which, though it can only be allowed\nreasonable when evils admit of remedy, and then only\nwhen addressed to those from whom the remedy is\nexpected, yet seems even in hopeless and incurable\ndistresses to be natural, since those by whom it is\nnot indulged, imagine that they give a proof of\nextraordinary fortitude by suppressing it.\n\nI am one of those who, with the Sancho of Cervantes,\nleave to higher characters the merit of suffering\nin silence, and give vent without scruple to\nany sorrow that swells in my heart.  It is therefore\nto me a severe aggravation of a calamity, when it is\nsuch as in the common opinion will not justify the\nacerbity of exclamation, or support the solemnity of\nvocal grief.  Yet many pains are incident to a man of\ndelicacy, which the unfeeling world cannot be\npersuaded to pity, and which, when they are separated\nfrom their peculiar and personal circumstances, will\nnever be considered as important enough to claim\nattention, or deserve redress.\n\nOf this kind will appear to gross and vulgar\napprehensions, the miseries which I endured in a morning\nvisit to Prospero, a man lately raised to wealth by a\nlucky project, and too much intoxicated by sudden\nelevation, or too little polished by thought and\nconversation, to enjoy his present fortune with elegance\nand decency.\n\nWe set out in the world together; and for a long\ntime mutually assisted each other in our exigencies,\nas either happened to have money or influence\nbeyond his immediate necessities.  You know that\nnothing generally endears men so much as participation\nof dangers and misfortunes; I therefore always\nconsidered Prospero as united with me in the\nstrongest league of kindness, and imagined that our\nfriendship was only to be broken by the hand of\ndeath.  I felt at his sudden shoot of success an honest\nand disinterested joy; but as I want no part of his\nsuperfluities, am not willing to descend from that\nequality in which we hitherto have lived.\n\nOur intimacy was regarded by me as a dispensation\nfrom ceremonial visits; and it was so long before\nI saw him at his new house, that he gently\ncomplained of my neglect, and obliged me to come on\na day appointed.  I kept my promise, but found that\nthe impatience of my friend arose not from any desire\nto communicate his happiness, but to enjoy his\nsuperiority.\n\nWhen I told my name at the door, the footman\nwent to see if his master was at home, and, by the\ntardiness of his return, gave me reason to suspect\nthat time was taken to deliberate.  He then informed\nme, that Prospero desired my company, and shewed\nthe staircase carefully secured by mats from the\npollution of my feet.  The best apartments were\nostentatiously set open, that I might have a distant view\nof the magnificence which I was not permitted to\napproach; and my old friend receiving me with all\nthe insolence of condescension at the top of the stairs,\nconducted me to a back room, where he told me he\nalways breakfasted when he had not great company.\n\nOn the floor where we sat lay a carpet covered\nwith a cloth, of which Prospero ordered his servant\nto lift up a corner, that I might contemplate the\nbrightness of the colours, and the elegance of the\ntexture, and asked me whether I had ever seen any\nthing so fine before?  I did not gratify his folly with\nany outcries of admiration, but coldly bade the\nfootman let down the cloth.\n\nWe then sat down, and I began to hope that\npride was glutted with persecution, when Prospero\ndesired that I would give the servant leave to adjust\nthe cover of my chair, which was slipt a little\naside, to shew the damask; he informed me that he\nhad bespoke ordinary chairs for common use, but had\nbeen disappointed by his tradesman.  I put the chair\naside with my foot, and drew another so hastily,\nthat I was entreated not to rumple the carpet.\n\nBreakfast was at last set, and as I was not willing\nto indulge the peevishness that began to seize me,\nI commended the tea:  Prospero then told me, that\nanother time I should taste his finest sort, but that\nhe had only a very small quantity remaining, and\nreserved it for those whom he thought himself\nobliged to treat with particular respect.\n\nWhile we were conversing upon such subjects as\nimagination happened to suggest, he frequently\ndigressed into directions to the servant that waited,\nor made a slight inquiry after the jeweller or\nsilversmith; and once, as I was pursuing an argument\nwith some degree of earnestness, he started from\nhis posture of attention, and ordered, that if lord\nLofty called on him that morning, he should be\nshown into the best parlour.\n\nMy patience was yet not wholly subdued.  I was\nwilling to promote his satisfaction, and therefore\nobserved that the figures on the china were\neminently pretty.  Prospero had now an opportunity of\ncalling for his Dresden china, which, says he, I\nalways associate with my chased tea-kettle.  The cups\nwere brought; I once resolved not to have looked\nupon them, but my curiosity prevailed.  When I had\nexamined them a little, Prospero desired me to set\nthem down, for they who were accustomed only to\ncommon dishes, seldom handled china with much\ncare.  You will, I hope, commend my philosophy,\nwhen I tell you that I did not dash his baubles to\nthe ground.\n\nHe was now so much elevated with his own\ngreatness, that he thought some humility necessary to\navert the glance of envy, and therefore told me,\nwith an air of soft composure, that I was not to\nestimate life by external appearance, that all these\nshining acquisitions had added little to his happiness,\nthat he still remembered with pleasure the\ndays in which he and I were on the level, and had\noften, in the moment of reflection, been doubtful,\nwhether he should lose much by changing his condition\nfor mine.\n\nI began now to be afraid lest his pride should, by\nsilence and submission be emboldened to insults\nthat could not easily be borne, and therefore coolly\nconsidered, how I should repress it without such\nbitterness of reproof as I was yet unwilling to use.\nBut he interrupted my meditation, by asking leave\nto be dressed, and told me, that he had promised\nto attend some ladies in the park, and, if I was\ngoing the same way, would take me in his chariot.  I\nhad no inclination to any other favours, and therefore\nleft him without any intention of seeing him\nagain, unless some misfortune should restore his\nunderstanding.\n\nI am, &c.\n\nASPER.\n\n\nThough I am not wholly insensible of the\nprovocations which my correspondent has received, I\ncannot altogether commend the keenness of his\nresentment, nor encourage him to persist in his\nresolution of breaking off all commerce with his old\nacquaintance.  One of the golden precepts of\nPythagoras directs, that A FRIEND SHOULD NOT BE HATED\nFOR LITTLE FAULTS; and surely he, upon whom nothing\nworse can be charged, than that he mats his stairs,\nand covers his carpet, and sets out his finery to show\nbefore those whom he does not admit to use it,\nhas yet committed nothing that should exclude him\nfrom common degrees of kindness.  Such improprieties\noften proceed rather from stupidity than\nmalice.  Those who thus shine only to dazzle, are\ninfluenced merely by custom and example, and neither\nexamine, nor are qualified to examine, the motives\nof their own practice, or to state the nice limits\nbetween elegance and ostentation.  They are often\ninnocent of the pain which their vanity produces,\nand insult others when they have no worse purpose\nthan to please themselves.\n\nHe that too much refines his delicacy will always\nendanger his quiet.  Of those with whom nature\nand virtue oblige us to converse, some are ignorant\nof the art of pleasing, and offend when they design\nto caress; some are negligent, and gratify themselves\nwithout regard to the quiet of another; some,\nperhaps, are malicious, and feel no greater satisfaction\nin prosperity, than that of raising envy and\ntrampling inferiority.  But, whatever be the motive\nof insult, it is always best to overlook it, for folly\nscarcely can deserve resentment, and malice is punished\nby neglect[d].\n\n\n [d] Garrick's little vanities are recognized by all in the\ncharacter of Prospero.  Mr. Boswell informs us, that he never\nforgave its pointed satire.  On the same authority we are\nassured, that though Johnson so dearly loved to ridicule his\npupil, yet he so habitually considered him as his own property,\nthat he would permit no one beside to hold up his weaknesses to\nderision.\n\n\n\nNo. 201. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1752\n\n ----Sanctus haberi\n Justitiaeque tenax factis dictisque mereris,\n Adnosco procerem.  JUV. Sat. Lib. viii. 24.\n\n Convince the world that you're devout and true;\n Be just in all you say, and all you do;\n Whatever be your birth, you're sure to be\n A peer of the first magnitude to me.  STEPNEY.\n\nBOYLE has observed, that the excellency of\nmanufactures, and the facility of labour, would\nbe much promoted, if the various expedients and\ncontrivances which lie concealed in private hands,\nwere by reciprocal communications made generally\nknown; for there are few operations that are not\nperformed by one or other with some peculiar\nadvantages, which, though singly of little\nimportance, would, by conjunction and concurrence, open\nnew inlets to knowledge, and give new powers to\ndiligence.\n\nThere are, in like manner, several moral\nexcellencies distributed among the different classes of a\ncommunity.  It was said by Cujacius, that he never\nread more than one book by which he was not\ninstructed; and he that shall inquire after virtue\nwith ardour and attention, will seldom find a man\nby whose example or sentiments he may not be\nimproved.\n\nEvery profession has some essential and appropriate\nvirtue, without which there can be no hope\nof honour or success, and which, as it is more or less\ncultivated, confers within its sphere of activity\ndifferent degrees of merit and reputation.  As the\nastrologers range the subdivisions of mankind under\nthe planets which they suppose to influence their\nlives, the moralist may distribute them according\nto the virtues which they necessarily practise, and\nconsider them as distinguished by prudence or fortitude,\ndiligence or patience.\n\nSo much are the modes of excellence settled by\ntime and place, that men may be heard boasting in\none street of that which they would anxiously conceal\nin another.  The grounds of scorn and esteem,\nthe topicks of praise and satire, are varied according\nto the several virtues or vices which the course of\nlife has disposed men to admire or abhor; but he who\nis solicitous for his own improvement, must not be\nlimited by local reputation, but select from every\ntribe of mortals their characteristical virtues, and\nconstellate in himself the scattered graces which\nshine single in other men.\n\nThe chief praise to which a trader aspires is that\nof punctuality, or an exact and rigorous observance\nof commercial engagements; nor is there any vice of\nwhich he so much dreads the imputation, as of\nnegligence and instability.  This is a quality which the\ninterest of mankind requires to be diffused through\nall the ranks of life, but which many seem to consider\nas a vulgar and ignoble virtue, below the\nambition of greatness or attention of wit, scarcely\nrequisite among men of gaiety and spirit, and sold\nat its highest rate when it is sacrificed to a frolick or\na jest.\n\nEvery man has daily occasion to remark what\nvexations arise from this privilege of deceiving one\nanother.  The active and vivacious have so long\ndisdained the restraints of truth, that promises and\nappointments have lost their cogency, and both parties\nneglect their stipulations, because each concludes\nthat they will be broken by the other.\n\nNegligence is first admitted in small affairs, and\nstrengthened by petty indulgences.  He that is not\nyet hardened by custom, ventures not on the violation\nof important engagements, but thinks himself\nbound by his word in cases of property or danger,\nthough he allows himself to forget at what time he\nis to meet ladies in the park, or at what tavern his\nfriends are expecting him.\n\nThis laxity of honour would be more tolerable, if\nit could be restrained to the play-house, the\nballroom, or the card-table; yet even there it is\nsufficiently troublesome, and darkens those moments\nwith expectation, suspense, and resentment, which\nare set aside for pleasure, and from which we naturally\nhope for unmingled enjoyment, and total relaxation.\nBut he that suffers the slightest breach in\nhis morality, can seldom tell what shall enter it, or\nhow wide it shall be made; when a passage is open,\nthe influx of corruption is every moment wearing\ndown opposition, and by slow degrees deluges the\nheart.\n\nAliger entered the world a youth of lively\nimagination, extensive views, and untainted principles.\nHis curiosity incited him to range from place to\nplace, and try all the varieties of conversation; his\nelegance of address and fertility of ideas gained him\nfriends wherever he appeared; or at least he found\nthe general kindness of reception always shown to a\nyoung man whose birth and fortune give him a\nclaim to notice, and who has neither by vice nor\nfolly destroyed his privileges.  Aliger was pleased\nwith this general smile of mankind, and was industrious\nto preserve it by compliance and officiousness,\nbut did not suffer his desire of pleasing to vitiate his\nintegrity.  It was his established maxim, that a\npromise is never to be broken; nor was it without\nlong reluctance that he once suffered himself to be\ndrawn away from a festal engagement by the\nimportunity of another company.\n\nHe spent the evening, as is usual in the rudiments\nof vice, in perturbation and imperfect enjoyment,\nand met his disappointed friends in the morning\nwith confusion and excuses.  His companions, not\naccustomed to such scrupulous anxiety, laughed at his\nuneasiness, compounded the offence for a bottle,\ngave him courage to break his word again, and again\nlevied the penalty.  He ventured the same experiment\nupon another society, and found them equally\nready to consider it as a venial fault, always incident\nto a man of quickness and gaiety; till, by degrees,\nhe began to think himself at liberty to follow the\nlast invitation, and was no longer shocked at the\nturpitude of falsehood.  He made no difficulty to\npromise his presence at distant places, and if\nlistlessness happened to creep upon him, he would sit at\nhome with great tranquillity, and has often sunk to\nsleep in a chair, while he held ten tables in continual\nexpectations of his entrance.\n\nIt was so pleasant to live in perpetual vacancy,\nthat he soon dismissed his attention as an useless\nincumbrance, and resigned himself to carelessness\nand dissipation, without any regard to the future\nor the past, or any other motive of action than the\nimpulse of a sudden desire, or the attraction of\nimmediate pleasure.  The absent were immediately\nforgotten, and the hopes or fears felt by others, had\nno influence upon his conduct.  He was in speculation\ncompletely just, but never kept his promise to\na creditor; he was benevolent, but always deceived\nthose friends whom he undertook to patronise or\nassist; he was prudent, but suffered his affairs to be\nembarrassed for want of regulating his accounts at\nstated times.  He courted a young lady, and when\nthe settlements were drawn, took a ramble into the\ncountry on the day appointed to sign them.  He resolved\nto travel, and sent his chests on shipboard,\nbut delayed to follow them till he lost his passage.\nHe was summoned as an evidence in a cause of great\nimportance, and loitered on the way till the trial\nwas past.  It is said that when he had, with great\nexpense, formed an interest in a borough, his opponent\ncontrived, by some agents who knew his temper,\nto lure him away on the day of election.\n\nHis benevolence draws him into the commission\nof a thousand crimes, which others less kind or civil\nwould escape.  His courtesy invites application; his\npromises produce dependance; he has his pockets\nfilled with petitions, which he intends some time to\ndeliver and enforce, and his table covered with letters\nof request, with which he purposes to comply; but\ntime slips imperceptibly away, while he is either idle\nor busy; his friends lose their opportunities, and\ncharge upon him their miscarriages and calamities.\n\nThis character, however contemptible, is not\npeculiar to Aliger.  They whose activity of imagination\nis often shifting the scenes of expectation, are\nfrequently subject to such sallies of caprice as make all\ntheir actions fortuitous, destroy the value of their\nfriendship, obstruct the efficacy of their virtues, and\nset them below the meanest of those that persist in\ntheir resolutions, execute what they design, and\nperform what they have promised.\n\n\n\nNo. 202. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1752\n\n<gr> Pr<ooes <apanta deil<ooes <o p<enhs pr<agmata>,\n<gr> Kaioe pantas auoeto<u?> cataprone<i?>n upolambanei.\n<gr> 'O deoe metrioews prattwn periscelesteron\n<gr> \"Apanta t aoeniaraoe Dampria, peret.  CALLIMACHUS.\n\n From no affliction is the poor exempt,\n He thinks each eye surveys him with contempt;\n Unmanly poverty subdues the heart,\n Cankers each wound, and sharpens ev'ry dart.  F. LEWIS.\n\nAMONG those who have endeavoured to promote\nlearning, and rectify judgment, it has\nbeen long customary to complain of the abuse of\nwords, which are often admitted to signify things so\ndifferent, that, instead of assisting the understanding\nas vehicles of knowledge, they produce errour,\ndissention, and perplexity, because what is affirmed\nin one sense, is received in another.\n\nIf this ambiguity sometimes embarrasses the most\nsolemn controversies, and obscures the demonstrations\nof science, it may well be expected to infest\nthe pompous periods of declaimers, whose purpose\nis often only to amuse with fallacies, and change the\ncolours of truth and falsehood; or the musical\ncompositions of poets, whose style is professedly figurative,\nand whose art is imagined to consist in distorting\nwords from their original meaning.\n\nThere are few words of which the reader believes\nhimself better to know the import, than of POVERTY;\nyet, whoever studies either the poets or philosophers,\nwill find such an account of the condition expressed\nby that term as his experience or observation will\nnot easily discover to be true.  Instead of the meanness,\ndistress, complaint, anxiety, and dependance,\nwhich have hitherto been combined in his ideas of\npoverty, he will read of content, innocence, and\ncheerfulness, of health and safety, tranquillity and\nfreedom; of pleasures not known but to men\nunencumbered with possessions; and of sleep that\nsheds his balsamick anodynes only on the cottage.\nSuch are the blessings to be obtained by the\nresignation of riches, that kings might descend from\ntheir thrones, and generals retire from a triumph,\nonly to slumber undisturbed in the elysium of\npoverty.\n\nIf these authors do not deceive us, nothing can\nbe more absurd than that perpetual contest for\nwealth which keeps the world in commotion; nor\nany complaints more justly censured than those\nwhich proceed from want of the gifts of fortune,\nwhich we are taught by the great masters of moral\nwisdom to consider as golden shackles, by which\nthe wearer is at once disabled and adorned; as\nluscious poisons which may for a time please the\npalate, but soon betray their malignity by langour and\nby pain.\n\nIt is the great privilege of poverty to be happy\nunenvied, to be healthful without physick, and\nsecure without a guard; to obtain from the bounty\nof nature, what the great and wealthy are compelled\nto procure by the help of artists and attendants,\nof flatterers and spies.\n\nBut it will be found upon a nearer view, that\nthey who extol the happiness of poverty, do not\nmean the same state with those who deplore its\nmiseries.  Poets have their imaginations filled with\nideas of magnificence; and being accustomed to\ncontemplate the downfall of empires, or to contrive\nforms of lamentations, for monarchs in distress,\nrank all the classes of mankind in a state of poverty,\nwho make no approaches to the dignity of crowns.\nTo be poor, in the epick language, is only not to\ncommand the wealth of nations, nor to have fleets\nand armies in pay.\n\nVanity has perhaps contributed to this impropriety\nof style.  He that wishes to become a philosopher\nat a cheap rate, easily gratifies his ambition by\nsubmitting to poverty when he does not feel it,\nand by boasting his contempt of riches when he has\nalready more than he enjoys.  He who would shew\nthe extent of his views, and grandeur of his\nconceptions, or discover his acquaintance with\nsplendour and magnificence, may talk like Cowley, of an\nhumble station and quiet obscurity, of the paucity\nof nature's wants, and the inconveniences of superfluity,\nand at last, like him, limit his desires to five\nhundred pounds a year; a fortune, indeed, not\nexuberant, when we compare it with the expenses of\npride and luxury, but to which it little becomes a\nphilosopher to affix the name of poverty, since no\nman can, with any propriety, be termed poor, who\ndoes not see the greater part of mankind richer\nthan himself.\n\nAs little is the general condition of human life\nunderstood by the panegyrists and historians, who\namuse us with accounts of the poverty of heroes\nand sages.  Riches are of no value in themselves,\ntheir use is discovered only in that which they\nprocure.  They are not coveted, unless by narrow\nunderstandings, which confound the means with the\nend, but for the sake of power, influence, and\nesteem; or, by some of less elevated and refined\nsentiments, as necessary to sensual enjoyment.\n\nThe pleasures of luxury, many have, without\nuncommon virtue, been able to despise, even when\naffluence and idleness have concurred to tempt\nthem; and therefore he who feels nothing from\nindigence but the want of gratifications which he\ncould not in any other condition make consistent\nwith innocence, has given no proof of eminent\npatience.  Esteem and influence every man desires,\nbut they are equally pleasing, and equally valuable,\nby whatever means they are obtained; and whoever\nhas found the art of securing them without the help\nof money, ought, in reality, to be accounted rich,\nsince he has all that riches can purchase to a wise\nman.  Cincinnatus, though he lived upon a few acres\ncultivated by his own hand, was sufficiently removed\nfrom all the evils generally comprehended\nunder the name of poverty, when his reputation\nwas such, that the voice of his country called him\nfrom his farm to take absolute command into his\nhand; nor was Diogenes much mortified by his\nresidence in a tub, where he was honoured with the\nvisit of Alexander the Great.\n\nThe same fallacy has conciliated veneration to the\nreligious orders.  When we behold a man abdicating\nthe hope of terrestrial possessions, and precluding\nhimself, by an irrevocable vow, from the pursuit\nand acquisition of all that his fellow-beings consider\nas worthy of wishes and endeavours, we are\nimmediately struck with the purity, abstraction, and\nfirmness of his mind, and regard him as wholly\nemployed in securing the interests of futurity, and\ndevoid of any other care than to gain, at whatever\nprice, the surest passage to eternal rest.\n\nYet, what can the votary be justly said to have\nlost of his present happiness?  If he resides in a\nconvent, he converses only with men whose condition\nis the same with his own; he has, from the munificence\nof the founder, all the necessaries of life, and\nis safe from that destitution, which Hooker declares\nto be \"such an impediment to virtue, as, till it be\nremoved, suffereth not the mind of man to admit\nany other care.\"  All temptations to envy and\ncompetition are shut out from his retreat; he is not\npained with the sight of unattainable dignity, nor\ninsulted with the bluster of insolence, or the smile\nof forced familiarity, If he wanders abroad, the\nsanctity of his character amply compensates all other\ndistinctions; he is seldom seen but with reverence,\nnor heard but with submission.\n\nIt has been remarked, that death, though often\ndefied in the field, seldom fails to terrify when it\napproaches the bed of sickness in its natural horrour;\nso poverty may easily be endured, while associated\nwith dignity and reputation, but will always be\nshunned and dreaded, when it is accompanied with\nignominy and contempt.\n\n\n\nNo. 203. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1752\n\n Cum volet illa dies, quae nil nisi corporis hujus\n Jus habett, incerti spatium mihi finiat oevi.\n\nOVID. Met. xv. 873.\n\n Come, soon or late, death's undetermin'd day,\n This mortal being only can decay.  WELSTED.\nIT seems to be the fate of man to seek all his\nconsolations in futurity.  The time present is seldom\nable to fill desire or imagination with immediate\nenjoyment, and we are forced to supply its\ndeficiencies by recollection or anticipation.\n\nEvery one has so often detected the fallaciousness\nof hope, and the inconvenience of teaching\nhimself to expect what a thousand accidents may\npreclude, that, when time has abated the confidence\nwith which youth rushes out to take possession of\nthe world, we endeavour, or wish, to find entertainment\nin the review of life, and to repose upon\nreal facts, and certain experience.  This is perhaps\none reason, among many, why age delights in\nnarratives.\n\nBut so full is the world of calamity, that every\nsource of pleasure is polluted, and every retirement\nof tranquillity disturbed.  When time has supplied\nus with events sufficient to employ our thoughts,\nit has mingled them with so many disasters, that\nwe shrink from their remembrance, dread their\nintrusion upon our minds, and fly from them as from\nenemies that pursue us with torture.\n\nNo man past the middle point of life can sit down\nto feast upon the pleasures of youth without finding\nthe banquet embittered by the cup of sorrow;\nhe may revive lucky accidents, and pleasing\nextravagancies; many days of harmless frolick, or\nnights of honest festivity, will perhaps recur; or, if\nhe has been engaged in scenes of action, and\nacquainted with affairs of difficulty and vicissitudes\nof fortune, he may enjoy the nobler pleasure of\nlooking back upon distress firmly supported, dangers\nresolutely encountered, and opposition artfully\ndefeated.  AEneas properly comforts his companions,\nwhen, after the horrours of a storm, they have landed\non an unknown and desolate country, with the hope\nthat their miseries will be at some distant time\nrecounted with delight.  There are few higher\ngratifications, than that of reflection on surmounted evils,\nwhen they are not incurred nor protracted by our\nfault, and neither approach us with cowardice nor\nguilt.\n\nBut this felicity is almost always abated by the\nreflection that they with whom we should be most\npleased to share it are now in the grave.  A few years\nmake such havock in human generations, that we\nsoon see ourselves deprived of those with whom we\nentered the world, and whom the participation of\npleasures or fatigues had endeared to our remembrance.\nThe man of enterprise recounts his adventures\nand expedients, but is forced, at the close of\nthe relation, to pay a sigh to the names of those\nthat contributed to his success; he that passes his\nlife among the gayer part of mankind, has his\nremembrance stored with remarks and repartees of\nwits, whose sprightliness and merriment are now\nlost in perpetual silence; the trader, whose industry\nhas supplied the want of inheritance, repines in\nsolitary plenty at the absence of companions, with whom\nhe had planned out amusements for his latter years;\nand the scholar, whose merit, after a long series of\nefforts, raises him from obscurity, looks round in\nvain from his exaltation for his old friends or enemies,\nwhose applause or mortification would heighten his\ntriumph.\n\nAmong Martial's requisites to happiness is, Res\nnon parta labore, sed relicta, \"an estate not gained\nby industry, but left by inheritance.\"  It is necessary\nto the completion of every good, that it be timely\nobtained; for whatever comes at the close of life will\ncome too late to give much delight; yet all human\nhappiness has its defects.  Of what we do not gain\nfor ourselves we have only a faint and imperfect\nfruition, because we cannot compare the difference\nbetween want and possession, or at least can derive\nfrom it no conviction of our own abilities, nor any\nincrease of self-esteem; what we acquire by bravery\nor science, by mental or corporal diligence, comes\nat last when we cannot communicate, and therefore\ncannot enjoy it.\n\nThus every period of life is obliged to borrow its\nhappiness from the time to come.  In youth we have\nnothing past to entertain us, and in age, we derive\nlittle from retrospect but hopeless sorrow.  Yet the\nfuture likewise has its limits, which the imagination\ndreads to approach, but which we see to be not far\ndistant.  The loss of our friends and companions\nimpresses hourly upon us the necessity of our own\ndeparture; we know that the schemes of man are\nquickly at an end, that we must soon lie down in\nthe grave with the forgotten multitudes of former\nages, and yield our place to others, who, like us, shall\nbe driven a while by hope or fear about the surface\nof the earth, and then like us be lost in the shades\nof death.\n\nBeyond this termination of our material existence,\nwe are therefore obliged to extend our hopes;\nand almost every man indulges his imagination with\nsomething, which is not to happen till he has changed\nhis manner of being: some amuse themselves with\nentails and settlements, provide for the perpetuation\nof families and honours, or contrive to obviate the\ndissipation of the fortunes, which it has been their\nbusiness to accumulate; others, more refined or\nexalted, congratulate their own hearts upon the\nfuture extent of their reputation, the reverence of\ndistant nations, and the gratitude of unprejudiced\nposterity.\n\nThey whose souls are so chained down to coffers\nand tenements, that they cannot conceive a state in\nwhich they shall look upon them with less solicitude,\nare seldom attentive or flexible to arguments; but\nthe votaries of fame are capable of reflection, and\ntherefore may be called to reconsider the probability\nof their expectations.\n\nWhether to be remembered in remote times be\nworthy of a wise man's wish, has not yet been\nsatisfactorily decided; and, indeed, to be long\nremembered, can happen to so small a number, that the\nbulk of mankind has very little interest in the\nquestion.  There is never room in the world for more than\na certain quantity or measure of renown.  The\nnecessary business of life, the immediate pleasures or\npains of every condition, leave us not leisure beyond\na fixed proportion for contemplations which do not\nforcibly influence our present welfare.  When this\nvacuity is filled, no characters can be admitted into\nthe circulation of fame, but by occupying the place\nof some that must be thrust into oblivion.  The eye\nof the mind, like that of the body, can only extend\nits view to new objects, by losing sight of those\nwhich are now before it.\n\nReputation is therefore a meteor, which blazes a\nwhile and disappears for ever; and, if we except\na few transcendent and invincible names, which\nno revolutions of opinion or length of time is able to\nsuppress; all those that engage our thoughts, or\ndiversify our conversation, are every moment hasting\nto obscurity, as new favourites are adopted by\nfashion.\n\nIt is not therefore from this world, that any ray\nof comfort can proceed, to cheer the gloom of the\nlast hour.  But futurity has still its prospects; there\nis yet happiness in reserve, which, if we transfer our\nattention to it, will support us in the pains of disease,\nand the langour of decay.  This happiness we\nmay expect with confidence, because it is out of\nthe power of chance, and may be attained by all that\nsincerely desire and earnestly pursue it.  On this\ntherefore every mind ought finally to rest.  Hope is\nthe chief blessing of man, and that hope only is\nrational, of which we are certain that it cannot\ndeceive us.\n\n\n\nNo. 204. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1752\n\n Nemo tam divos habuit favintis,\n Crastinum ut possit sibi polliceri.  SENECA.\n\n Of heaven's protection who can be\n So confident to utter this?--\n To-morrow I will spend in bliss.  F. LEWIS.\n\nSEGED, lord of Ethiopia, to the inhabitants of\nthe world:  To the sons of Presumption, humility\nand fear; and to the daughters of Sorrow, content\nand acquiescence.\n\nThus, in the twenty-seventh year of his reign,\nspoke Seged, the monarch of forty nations, the\ndistributor of the waters of the Nile:  \"At length,\nSeged, thy toils are at an end; thou hast reconciled\ndisaffection, thou hast suppressed rebellion, thou\nhast pacified the jealousies of thy courtiers, thou\nhast chased war from thy confines, and erected\nfortresses in the lands of thine enemies.  All who have\noffended thee tremble in thy presence, and where-\never thy voice is heard, it is obeyed.  Thy throne is\nsurrounded by armies, numerous as the locusts of\nthe summer, and resistless as the blasts of pestilence.\nThy magazines are stored with ammunition, thy\ntreasures overflow with the tribute of conquered\nkingdoms.  Plenty waves upon thy fields, and opulence\nglitters in thy cities.  Thy nod is as the earthquake\nthat shakes the mountains, and thy smile as\nthe dawn of the vernal day.  In thy hand is the\nstrength of thousands, and thy health is the health\nof millions.  Thy palace is gladdened by the song of\npraise, and thy path perfumed by the breath of\nbenediction.  Thy subjects gaze upon thy greatness,\nand think of danger or misery no more.  Why,\nSeged, wilt not thou partake the blessings thou\nbestowest?  Why shouldst thou only forbear to rejoice\nin this general felicity?  Why should thy face be\nclouded with anxiety, when the meanest of those\nwho call thee sovereign, gives the day to festivity,\nand the night to peace?  At length, Seged, reflect\nand be wise.  What is the gift of conquest but safety?\nWhy are riches collected but to purchase happiness?\"\n\nSeged then ordered the house of pleasure, built\nin an island of the lake of Dambea, to be prepared for\nhis reception.  \"I will retire,\" says he, \"for ten days\nfrom tumult and care, from counsels and decrees.\nLong quiet is not the lot of the governours of nations,\nbut a cessation of ten days cannot be denied me.\nThis short interval of happiness may surely be secured\nfrom the interruption of fear or perplexity, sorrow\nor disappointment.  I will exclude all trouble from\nmy abode, and remove from my thoughts whatever\nmay confuse the harmony of the concert, or abate the\nsweetness of the banquet.  I will fill the whole capacity\nof my soul with enjoyment, and try what it is\nto live without a wish unsatisfied.\"\n\nIn a few days the orders were performed, and\nSeged hasted to the palace of Dambea, which stood\nin an island cultivated only for pleasure, planted with\nevery flower that spreads its colours to the sun, and\nevery shrub that sheds fragrance in the air.  In one\npart of this extensive garden, were open walks for\nexcursions in the morning; in another, thick groves,\nand silent arbours, and bubbling fountains for repose\nat noon.  All that could solace the sense, or flatter\nthe fancy, all that industry could extort from nature,\nor wealth furnish to art, all that conquest could seize,\nor beneficence attract, was collected together, and\nevery perception of delight was excited and gratified.\n\nInto this delicious region Seged summoned all the\npersons of his court, who seemed eminently qualified\nto receive or communicate pleasure.  His call was\nreadily obeyed; the young, the fair, the vivacious,\nand the witty, were all in haste to be sated with\nfelicity.  They sailed jocund over the lake, which\nseemed to smooth its surface before them: their\npassage was cheered with musick, and their hearts\ndilated with expectation.\n\nSeged, landing here with his band of pleasure,\ndetermined from that hour to break off all acquaintance\nwith discontent, to give his heart for ten days\nto ease and jollity, and then fall back to the common\nstate of man, and suffer his life to be diversified,\nas before, with joy and sorrow.\n\nHe immediately entered his chamber, to consider\nwhere he should begin his circle of happiness.  He\nhad all the artists of delight before him, but knew\nnot whom to call, since he could not enjoy one, but\nby delaying the performance of another.  He chose\nand rejected, he resolved and changed his resolution,\ntill his faculties were harassed, and his thoughts\nconfused; then returned to the apartment where his\npresence was expected, with languid eyes and clouded\ncountenance, and spread the infection of uneasiness\nover the whole assembly.  He observed their depression,\nand was offended, for he found his vexation\nincreased by those whom he expected to dissipate and\nrelieve it.  He retired again to his private chamber,\nand sought for consolation in his own mind; one\nthought flowed in upon another; a long succession\nof images seized his attention; the moments crept\nimperceptibly away through the gloom of pensiveness,\ntill, having recovered his tranquillity, he lifted\nhis head, and saw the lake brightened by the setting\nsun.  \"Such,\" said Seged, sighing, \"is the longest\nday of human existence: before we have learned to\nuse it, we find it at an end.\"\n\nThe regret which he felt for the loss of so great\na part of his first day, took from him all disposition\nto enjoy the evening; and, after having endeavoured,\nfor the sake of his attendants, to force an air of gaiety,\nand excite that mirth which he could not share, he\nresolved to refer his hopes to the next morning,\nand lay down to partake with the slaves of labour\nand poverty the blessing of sleep.\n\nHe rose early the second morning, and resolved\nnow to be happy.  He therefore fixed upon the gate\nof the palace an edict, importing, that whoever,\nduring nine days, should appear in the presence of\nthe king with a dejected countenance, or utter any\nexpression of discontent or sorrow, should be driven\nfor ever from the palace of Dambea.\n\nThis edict was immediately made known in every\nchamber of the court, and bower of the gardens.\nMirth was frighted away, and they who were before\ndancing in the lawns, or singing in the shades, were at\nonce engaged in the care of regulating their looks,\nthat Seged might find his will punctually obeyed,\nand see none among them liable to banishment.\n\nSeged now met every face settled in a smile; but\na smile that betrayed solicitude, timidity, and\nconstraint.  He accosted his favourites with familiarity\nand softness; but they durst not speak without\npremeditation, lest they should be convicted of\ndiscontent or sorrow.  He proposed diversions, to which\nno objection was made, because objection would\nhave implied uneasiness; but they were regarded\nwith indifference by the courtiers, who had no other\ndesire than to signalize themselves by clamorous\nexultation.  He offered various topicks of conversation,\nbut obtained only forced jests, and laborious\nlaughter; and after many attempts to animate his\ntrain to confidence and alacrity, was obliged to\nconfess to himself the impotence of command, and\nresign another day to grief and disappointment.\n\nHe at last relieved his companions from their\nterrours, and shut himself up in his chamber to ascertain,\nby different measures, the felicity of the succeeding\ndays.  At length he threw himself on the bed,\nand closed his eyes, but imagined, in his sleep, that\nhis palace and gardens were overwhelmed by an\ninundation, and waked with all the terrours of a man\nstruggling in the water.  He composed himself again\nto rest, but was affrighted by an imaginary irruption\ninto his kingdom; and striving, as is usual in dreams,\nwithout ability to move, fancied himself betrayed\nto his enemies, and again started up with horrour\nand indignation.\n\nIt was now day, and fear was so strongly\nimpressed on his mind, that he could sleep no more.\nHe rose, but his thoughts were filled with the deluge\nand invasion, nor was he able to disengage his attention,\nor mingle with vacancy and ease in any amusement.\nAt length his perturbation gave way to reason,\nand he resolved no longer to be harassed by visionary\nmiseries; but, before this resolution could be\ncompleted, half the day had elapsed: he felt a new\nconviction of the uncertainty of human schemes,\nand could not forbear to bewail the weakness of that\nbeing whose quiet was to be interrupted by vapours\nof the fancy.  Having been first disturbed by a dream,\nhe afterwards grieved that a dream could disturb\nhim.  He at last discovered, that his terrours and\ngrief were equally vain, and that to lose the present\nin lamenting the past, was voluntarily to protract a\nmelancholy vision.  The third day was now declining,\nand Seged again resolved to be happy on the morrow.\n\n\n\nNo. 205. TUESDAY, MARCH 3, 1752\n\n Volat ambiguis\n Mobilis alis hora, nec ulli\n Praestat velox Fortuna fidem.  SENECA. Hippol. 1141.\n On fickle wings the minutes haste,\n And fortune's favours never last.  F. LEWIS.\n\nON the fourth morning Seged rose early, refreshed\nwith sleep, vigorous with health, and eager with\nexpectation.  He entered the garden, attended by\nthe princes and ladies of his court, and seeing\nnothing about him but airy cheerfulness, began to say to\nhis heart, \"This day shall be a day of pleasure.\"\nThe sun played upon the water, the birds warbled\nin the groves, and the gales quivered among the\nbranches.  He roved from walk to walk as chance\ndirected him, and sometimes listened to the songs,\nsometimes mingled with the dancers, sometimes let\nloose his imagination in flights of merriment; and\nsometimes uttered grave reflections, and sententious\nmaxims, and feasted on the admiration with which\nthey were received.\n\nThus the day rolled on, without any accident of\nvexation, or intrusion of melancholy thoughts.  All\nthat beheld him caught gladness from his looks, and\nthe sight of happiness conferred by himself filled\nhis heart with satisfaction: but having passed three\nhours in this harmless luxury, he was alarmed on a\nsudden by an universal scream among the women,\nand turning back saw the whole assembly flying in\nconfusion.  A young crocodile had risen out of the\nlake, and was ranging the garden in wantonness or\nhunger.  Seged beheld him with indignation, as a\ndisturber of his felicity, and chased him back into\nthe lake, but could not persuade his retinue to stay,\nor free their hearts from the terrour which had seized\nupon them.  The princesses inclosed themselves in\nthe palace, and could yet scarcely believe themselves\nin safety.  Every attention was fixed upon the late\ndanger and escape, and no mind was any longer at\nleisure for gay sallies or careless prattle.\n\nSeged had now no other employment than to\ncontemplate the innumerable casualties which lie in\nambush on every side to intercept the happiness of\nman, and break in upon the hour of delight and\ntranquillity.  He had, however, the consolation of\nthinking, that he had not been now disappointed\nby his own fault, and that the accident which had\nblasted the hopes of the day, might easily be\nprevented by future caution.\n\nThat he might provide for the pleasure of the\nnext morning, he resolved to repeal his penal edict,\nsince he had already found that discontent and\nmelancholy were not to be frighted away by the\nthreats of authority, and that pleasure would only\nreside where she was exempted from control.  He\ntherefore invited all the companions of his retreat\nto unbounded pleasantry, by proposing prizes for\nthose who should, on the following day, distinguish\nthemselves by any festive performances; the tables\nof the antechamber were covered with gold and\npearls, and robes and garlands decreed the rewards\nof those who could refine elegance or heighten\npleasure.\n\nAt this display of riches every eye immediately\nsparkled, and every tongue was busied in celebrating\nthe bounty and magnificence of the emperour.\nBut when Seged entered, in hopes of uncommon\nentertainment from universal emulation, he found\nthat any passion too strongly agitated, puts an end\nto that tranquillity which is necessary to mirth, and\nthat the mind, that is to be moved by the gentle\nventilations of gaiety, must be first smoothed by a\ntotal calm.  Whatever we ardently wish to gain, we\nmust in the same degree be afraid to lose, and fear\nand pleasure cannot dwell together.\n\nAll was now care and solicitude.  Nothing was\ndone or spoken, but with so visible an endeavour at\nperfection, as always failed to delight, though it\nsometimes forced admiration: and Seged could not\nbut observe with sorrow, that his prizes had more\ninfluence than himself.  As the evening approached,\nthe contest grew more earnest, and those who were\nforced to allow themselves excelled, began to\ndiscover the malignity of defeat, first by angry glances,\nand at last by contemptuous murmurs.  Seged likewise\nshared the anxiety of the day, for considering\nhimself as obliged to distribute with exact justice\nthe prizes which had been so zealously sought, he\ndurst never remit his attention, but passed his\ntime upon the rack of doubt, in balancing different\nkinds of merit, and adjusting the claims of all the\ncompetitors.\n\nAt last, knowing that no exactness could satisfy\nthose whose hopes he should disappoint, and thinking\nthat on a day set apart for happiness, it would\nbe cruel to oppress any heart with sorrow, he declared\nthat all had pleased him alike, and dismissed\nall with presents of equal value.\n\nSeged soon saw that his caution had not been able\nto avoid offence.  They who had believed themselves\nsecure of the highest prizes, were not pleased to be\nlevelled with the crowd: and though, by the\nliberality of the king, they received more than his\npromise had entitled them to expect, they departed\nunsatisfied, because they were honoured with no\ndistinction, and wanted an opportunity to triumph\nin the mortification of their opponents.  \"Behold\nhere,\" said Seged, \"the condition of him who places\nhis happiness in the happiness of others.\"  He then\nretired to meditate, and, while the courtiers were\nrepining at his distributions, saw the fifth sun go\ndown in discontent.\n\nThe next dawn renewed his resolution to be happy.\nBut having learned how little he could effect by\nsettled schemes or preparatory measures, he thought\nit best to give up one day entirely to chance, and\nleft every one to please and be pleased his own way.\n\nThis relaxation of regularity diffused a general\ncomplacence through the whole court, and the emperour\nimagined that he had at last found the secret\nof obtaining an interval of felicity.  But as he was\nroving in this careless assembly with equal carelessness,\nhe overheard one of his courtiers in a close arbour\nmurmuring alone:  \"What merit has Seged\nabove us, that we should thus fear and obey him, a\nman, whom, whatever he may have formerly performed,\nhis luxury now shows to have the same\nweakness with ourselves.\"  This charge affected him\nthe more, as it was uttered by one whom he had\nalways observed among the most abject of his flatterers.\nAt first his indignation prompted him to severity;\nbut reflecting, that what was spoken without\nintention to be heard, was to be considered as only\nthought, and was perhaps but the sudden burst of\ncasual and temporary vexation, he invented some\ndecent pretence to send him away, that his retreat\nmight not be tainted with the breath of envy, and,\nafter the struggle of deliberation was past, and all\ndesire of revenge utterly suppressed, passed the evening\nnot only with tranquillity, but triumph, though none\nbut himself was conscious of the victory.\n\nThe remembrance of his clemency cheered the\nbeginning of the seventh day, and nothing happened\nto disturb the pleasure of Seged, till, looking on the\ntree that shaded him, he recollected, that, under a\ntree of the same kind he had passed the night after\nhis defeat in the kingdom of Goiama.  The reflection\non his loss, his dishonour, and the miseries which his\nsubjects suffered from the invader, filled him with\nsadness.  At last he shook of f the weight of sorrow,\nand began to solace himself with his usual pleasures,\nwhen his tranquillity was again disturbed by jealousies\nwhich the late contest for the prizes had produced,\nand which, having in vain tried to pacify\nthem by persuasion, he was forced to silence by\ncommand.\n\nOn the eighth morning Seged was awakened early\nby an unusual hurry in the apartments, and inquiring\nthe cause, was told that the princess Balkis was\nseized with sickness.  He rose, and calling the\nphysicians, found that they had little hope of her\nrecovery.  Here was an end of jollity: all his thoughts\nwere now upon his daughter, whose eyes he closed\non the tenth day.\n\nSuch were the days which Seged of Ethiopia had\nappropriated to a short respiration from the fatigues\nof war and the cares of government.  This narrative\nhe has bequeathed to future generations, that no\nman hereafter may presume to say, \"This day shall\nbe a day of happiness.\"\n\n\n\nNo. 206. SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1752\n\n ----Propositi nondum pudet, atque eadem est mens,\n Ut bona summa putes, alien<a vivere quadr<a.  JUV. Sat. v. 1.\n\n But harden'd by affronts, and still the same,\n Lost to all sense of honour and of fame,\n Thou yet canst love to haunt the great man's board,\n And think no supper good but with a lord.  BOWLES.\n\nWHEN Diogenes was once asked, what kind of\nwine he liked best? he answered, \"That\nwhich is drunk at the cost of others.\"\n\nThough the character of Diogenes has never\nexcited any general zeal of imitation, there are many\nwho resemble him in his taste of wine; many who\nare frugal, though not abstemious; whose appetites,\nthough too powerful for reason, are kept under\nrestraint by avarice; and to whom all delicacies lose\ntheir flavour, when they cannot be obtained but at\ntheir own expense.\n\nNothing produces more singularity of manners\nand inconstancy of life, than the conflict of opposite\nvices in the same mind.  He that uniformly pursues\nany purpose, whether good or bad, has a settled\nprinciple of action; and as he may always find\nassociates who are travelling the same way, is\ncountenanced by example, and sheltered in the multitude;\nbut a man, actuated at once by different desires,\nmust move in a direction peculiar to himself, and\nsuffer that reproach which we are naturally inclined\nto bestow on those who deviate from the rest of the\nworld, even without inquiring whether they are\nworse or better.\n\nYet this conflict of desires sometimes produces\nwonderful efforts.  To riot in far-fetched dishes, or\nsurfeit with unexhausted variety, and yet practise\nthe most rigid economy, is surely an art which may\njustly draw the eyes of mankind upon them whose\nindustry or judgment has enabled them to attain it.\nTo him, indeed, who is content to break open the\nchests, or mortgage the manours, of his ancestors,\nthat he may hire the ministers of excess at the highest\nprice, gluttony is an easy science; yet we often\nhear the votaries of luxury boasting of the elegance\nwhich they owe to the taste of others, relating with\nrapture the succession of dishes with which their\ncooks and caterers supply them; and expecting\ntheir share of praise with the discoverers of arts and\nthe civilizers of nations.  But to shorten the way to\nconvivial happiness, by eating without cost, is a\nsecret hitherto in few hands, but which certainly\ndeserves the curiosity of those whose principal\nenjoyment is their dinner, and who see the sun rise\nwith no other hope than that they shall fill their\nbellies before it sets.\n\nOf them that have within my knowledge attempted\nthis scheme of happiness, the greater part\nhave been immediately obliged to desist; and some,\nwhom their first attempts flattered with success,\nwere reduced by degrees to a few tables, from which\nthey were at last chased to make way for others;\nand having long habituated themselves to superfluous\nplenty, growled away their latter years in\ndiscontented competence.\n\nNone enter the regions of luxury with higher\nexpectations than men of wit, who imagine, that they\nshall never want a welcome to that company whose\nideas they can enlarge, or whose imaginations they\ncan elevate, and believe themselves able to pay for\ntheir wine with the mirth which it qualifies them\nto produce.  Full of this opinion, they crowd with\nlittle invitation, wherever the smell of a feast allures\nthem, but are seldom encouraged to repeat their\nvisits, being dreaded by the pert as rivals, and hated\nby the dull as disturbers of the company.\n\nNo man has been so happy in gaining and keeping\nthe privilege of living at luxurious houses as\nGulosulus, who, after thirty years of continual revelry,\nhas now established, by uncontroverted prescription,\nhis claim to partake of every entertainment,\nand whose presence they who aspire to the praise\nof a sumptuous table are careful to procure on a\nday of importance, by sending the invitation a\nfortnight before.\n\nGulosulus entered the world without any eminent\ndegree of merit; but was careful to frequent houses\nwhere persons of rank resorted.  By being often seen,\nhe became in time known; and, from sitting in the\nsame room, was suffered to mix in idle conversation,\nor assisted to fill up a vacant hour, when better\namusement was not readily to be had.  From the\ncoffee-house he was sometimes taken away to dinner;\nand as no man refuses the acquaintance of him\nwhom he sees admitted to familiarity by others of\nequal dignity, when he had been met at a few tables,\nhe with less difficulty found the way to more, till\nat last he was regularly expected to appear wherever\npreparations are made for a feast, within the\ncircuit of his acquaintance.\n\nWhen he was thus by accident initiated in luxury,\nhe felt in himself no inclination to retire from\na life of so much pleasure, and therefore very\nseriously considered how he might continue it.  Great\nqualities, or uncommon accomplishments, he did not\nfind necessary; for he had already seen that merit\nrather enforces respect than attracts fondness; and\nas he thought no folly greater than that of losing a\ndinner for any other gratification, he often congratulated\nhimself, that he had none of that disgusting\nexcellence which impresses awe upon greatness, and\ncondemns its possessors to the society of those who\nare wise or brave, and indigent as themselves.\n\nGulosulus, having never allotted much of his time\nto books or meditation, had no opinion in philosophy\nor politicks, and was not in danger of injuring his\ninterest by dogmatical positions or violent contradiction.\nIf a dispute arose, he took care to listen with\nearnest attention; and, when either speaker grew\nvehement and loud, turned towards him with eager\nquickness, and uttered a short phrase of admiration,\nas if surprised by such cogency of argument as he\nhad never known before.  By this silent concession,\nhe generally preserved in either controvertist such\na conviction of his own superiority, as inclined him\nrather to pity than irritate his adversary, and\nprevented those outrages which are sometimes produced\nby the rage of defeat, or petulance of triumph.\n\nGulosulus was never embarrassed but when he was\nrequired to declare his sentiments before he had been\nable to discover to which side the master of the\nhouse inclined, for it was his invariable rule to adopt\nthe notions of those that invited him.\n\nIt will sometimes happen that the insolence of\nwealth breaks into contemptuousness, or the turbulence\nof wine requires a vent; and Gulosulus seldom\nfails of being singled out on such emergencies, as\none on whom any experiment of ribaldry may be\nsafely tried.  Sometimes his lordship finds himself\ninclined to exhibit a specimen of raillery for the diversion\nof his guests, and Gulosulus always supplies him\nwith a subject of merriment.  But he has learned to\nconsider rudeness and indignities as familiarities that\nentitle him to greater freedom: he comforts himself,\nthat those who treat and insult him pay for their\nlaughter, and that he keeps his money while they\nenjoy their jest.\n\nHis chief policy consists in selecting some dish\nfrom every course, and recommending it to the company,\nwith an air so decisive, that no one ventures\nto contradict him.  By this practice he acquires at a\nfeast a kind of dictatorial authority; his taste\nbecomes the standard of pickles and seasoning, and he\nis venerated by the professors of epicurism, as the\nonly man who understands the niceties of cookery.\n\nWhenever a new sauce is imported, or any\ninnovation made in the culinary system, he procures the\nearliest intelligence, and the most authentick\nreceipt; and, by communicating his knowledge under\nproper injunctions of secrecy, gains a right of tasting\nhis own dish whenever it is prepared, that he\nmay tell whether his directions have been fully\nunderstood.\n\nBy this method of life Gulosulus has so impressed\non his imagination the dignity of feasting, that he\nhas no other topick of talk, or subject of meditation.\nHis calendar is a bill of fare; he measures the year\nby successive dainties.  The only common-places of\nhis memory are his meals; and if you ask him at what\ntime an event happened, he considers whether he\nheard it after a dinner of turbot or venison.  He\nknows, indeed.  that those who value themselves\nupon sense, learning, or piety, speak of him with\ncontempt; but he considers them as wretches,\nenvious or ignorant, who do not know his happiness,\nor wish to supplant him; and declares to his friends,\nthat he is fully satisfied with his own conduct, since\nhe has fed every day on twenty dishes, and yet\ndoubled his estate.\n\n\n\nNo. 207. TUESDAY, MARCH 10, 1752\n\n Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne\n Peccet ad extremum ridendus.----  HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 8.\n\n The voice of reason cries with winning force,\n Loose from the rapid car your aged horse,\n Lest, in the race derided, left behind,\n He drag his jaded limbs and burst his wind.  FRANCIS.\n\nSUCH is the emptiness of human enjoyment,\nthat we are always impatient of the present.\nAttainment is followed by neglect, and possession\nby disgust; and the malicious remark of the Greek\nepigrammatist on marriage may be applied to every\nother course of life, that its two days of happiness\nare the first and the last.\n\nFew moments are more pleasing than those in\nwhich the mind is concerting measures for a new\nundertaking.  From the first hint that weakens the\nfancy, till the hour of actual execution, all is\nimprovement and progress, triumph and felicity.  Every\nhour brings additions to the original scheme,\nsuggests some new expedient to secure success, or\ndiscovers consequential advantages not hitherto\nforeseen.  While preparations are made, and materials\naccumulated, day glides after day through elysian\nprospects, and the heart dances to the song of hope.\n\nSuch is the pleasure of projecting, that many\ncontent themselves with a succession of visionary\nschemes, and wear out their allotted time in the calm\namusement of contriving what they never attempt\nor hope to execute.\n\nOthers, not able to feast their imagination with\npure ideas, advance somewhat nearer to the grossness\nof action, with great diligence collect whatever\nis requisite to their design, and, after a thousand\nresearches and consultations, are snatched away by\ndeath, as they stand in procinctu waiting for a proper\nopportunity to begin.\n\nIf there were no other end of life, than to find\nsome adequate solace for every day, I know not\nwhether any condition could be preferred to that of\nthe man who involves himself in his own thoughts,\nand never suffers experience to shew him the vanity\nof speculation; for no sooner are notions reduced to\npractice, than tranquillity and confidence forsake\nthe breast; every day brings its task, and often\nwithout bringing abilities to perform it: difficulties\nembarrass, uncertainty perplexes, opposition retards,\ncensure exasperates, or neglect depresses.  We\nproceed because we have begun; we complete our\ndesign, that the labour already spent may not be\nvain; but as expectation gradually dies away, the\ngay smile of alacrity disappears, we are compelled\nto implore severer powers, and trust the event to\npatience and constancy.\n\nWhen once our labour has begun, the comfort\nthat enables us to endure it is the prospect of its\nend; for though in every long work there are some\njoyous intervals of self-applause, when the attention\nis recreated by unexpected facility, and the imagination\nsoothed by incidental excellencies; yet the toil\nwith which performance struggles after idea, is so\nirksome and disgusting, and so frequent is the\nnecessity of resting below that perfection which we\nimagined within our reach, that seldom any man\nobtains more from his endeavours than a painful\nconviction of his defects, and a continual resuscitation\nof desires which he feels himself unable to\ngratify.\n\nSo certainly is weariness the concomitant of our\nundertakings, that every man, in whatever he is\nengaged, consoles himself with the hope of change; if\nhe has made his way by assiduity to publick\nemployment, he talks among his friends of the delight\nof retreat; if by the necessity of solitary application\nhe is secluded from the world, he listens with a\nbeating heart to distant noises, longs to mingle with\nliving beings, and resolves to take hereafter his fill\nof diversions, or display his abilities on the universal\ntheatre, and enjoy the pleasure of distinction and\napplause.\n\nEvery desire, however innocent, grows dangerous,\nas by long indulgence it becomes ascendant in the\nmind.  When we have been much accustomed to\nconsider any thing as capable of giving happiness, it\nis not easy to restrain our ardour or forbear some\nprecipitation in our advances, and irregularity in our\npursuits.  He that has cultivated the tree, watched the\nswelling bud and opening blossom, and pleased himself\nwith computing how much every sun and shower\nadd to its growth, scarcely stays till the fruit has\nobtained its maturity, but defeats his own cares by\neagerness to reward them.  When we have diligently\nlaboured for any purpose, we are willing to believe\nthat we have attained it, and, because we have\nalready done much, too suddenly conclude that no\nmore is to be done.\n\nAll attraction is increased by the approach of the\nattracting body.  We never find ourselves so desirous\nto finish, as in the latter part of our work, or so\nimpatient of delay, as when we know that delay cannot\nbe long.  Thus unseasonable importunity of discontent\nmay be partly imputed to langour and weariness,\nwhich must always oppress those more whose\ntoil has been longer continued; but the greater part\nusually proceeds from frequent contemplation of\nthat ease which is now considered as within reach,\nand which, when it has once flattered our hopes, we\ncannot suffer to be withheld.\nIn some of the noblest compositions of wit, the\nconclusion falls below the vigour and spirit of the\nfirst books; and as a genius is not to be degraded\nby the imputation of human failings, the cause of\nthis declension is commonly sought in the structure\nof the work, and plausible reasons are given why in\nthe defective part less ornament was necessary, or\nless could be admitted.  But, perhaps, the author\nwould have confessed, that his fancy was tired, and\nhis perseverance broken; that he knew his design\nto be unfinished, but that, when he saw the end so\nnear, he could no longer refuse to be at rest.\n\nAgainst the instillations of this frigid opiate, the\nheart should be secured by all the considerations\nwhich once concurred to kindle the ardour of enterprise.\nWhatever motive first incited action, has still\ngreater force to stimulate perseverance; since he\nthat might have lain still at first in blameless\nobscurity, cannot afterwards desist but with infamy\nand reproach.  He, whom a doubtful promise of distant\ngood could encourage to set difficulties at\ndefiance, ought not to remit his vigour, when he has\nalmost obtained his recompense.  To faint or loiter,\nwhen only the last efforts are required, is to steer\nthe ship through tempests, and abandon it to the\nwinds in sight of land; it is to break the ground and\nscatter the seed, and at last to neglect the harvest.\n\nThe masters of rhetorick direct, that the most\nforcible arguments be produced in the latter part\nof an oration, lest they should be effaced or perplexed\nby supervenient images.  This precept may be justly\nextended to the series of life: nothing is ended with\nhonour, which does not conclude better than it began.\nIt is not sufficient to maintain the first vigour;\nfor excellence loses its effect upon the mind by\ncustom, as light after a time ceases to dazzle.\nAdmiration must be continued by that novelty which first\nproduced it, and how much soever is given, there\nmust always be reason to imagine that more remains.\n\nWe not only are most sensible of the last\nimpressions, but such is the unwillingness of mankind\nto admit transcendant merit, that, though it be\ndifficult to obliterate the reproach of miscarriages by\nany subsequent achievement, however illustrious,\nyet the reputation raised by a long train of success\nmay be finally ruined by a single failure; for\nweakness or errour will be always remembered by that\nmalice and envy which it gratifies.\n\nFor the prevention of that disgrace, which\nlassitude and negligence may bring at last upon the\ngreatest performances, it is necessary to proportion\ncarefully our labour to our strength.  If the design\ncomprises many parts, equally essential, and therefore\nnot to be separated, the only time for caution\nis before we engage; the powers of the mind must\nbe then impartially estimated, and it must be\nremembered that, not to complete the plan, is not to\nhave begun it; and that nothing is done, while any\nthing is omitted.\n\nBut, if the task consists in the repetition of single\nacts, no one of which derives its efficacy from the\nrest, it may be attempted with less scruple, because\nthere is always opportunity to retreat with honour.\nThe danger is only, lest we expect from the world\nthe indulgence with which most are disposed to\ntreat themselves; and in the hour of listlessness\nimagine, that the diligence of one day will atone\nfor the idleness of another, and that applause begun\nby approbation will be continued by habit.\n\nHe that is himself weary will soon weary the\npublick.  Let him therefore lay down his employment,\nwhatever it be, who can no longer exert\nhis former activity or attention; let him not\nendeavour to struggle with censure, or obstinately\ninfest the stage till a general hiss commands him\nto depart.\n\n\n\nNo. 208. SATURDAY, MARCH 14, 1752\n\n <gr> 'Hr<acleitos egw<.S> ti me catw elcet' a:.mousoi;\n     <gr> Ouc' um<i?>n eoeponoun, to<i?>s de m'\neoepistamenois<.S>\n <gr> Eis eoemoioe anqrwpos trismurioi<.S> oi d' aoenariqmoi\n     <gr> Ouoedeis<.S> ta<u?>t' auoed<y?> cai paraoe\nPersefonh<.S>>\n\nDIOG.\n\nLAERT.\n\n Begone, ye blockheads, Herselitus cries,\n And leave my labours to the learn'd and wise;\n By wit, by knowledge, studious to be read,\n I scorn the multitude, alive and dead.\n\n\nTIME, which puts an end to all human pleasures\nand sorrows, has likewise concluded the labours\nof the Rambler.  Having supported, for two years,\nthe anxious employment of a periodical writer, and\nmultiplied my essays to upwards of two hundred,\nI have now determined to desist.\n\nThe reasons of this resolution it is of little\nimportance to declare, since justification is unnecessary\nwhen no objection is made.  I am far from\nsupposing, that the cessation of my performances\nwill raise any inquiry, for I have never been much\na favourite of the publick, nor can boast that, in\nthe progress of my undertaking, I have been animated\nby the rewards of the liberal, the caresses of\nthe great, or the praises of the eminent.\n\nBut I have no design to gratify pride by\nsubmission, or malice by lamentation; nor think it\nreasonable to complain of neglect from those whose\nregard I never solicited.  If I have not been\ndistinguished by the distributors of literary honours, I\nhave seldom descended to the arts by which favour\nis obtained.  I have seen the meteors of fashions rise\nand fall, without any attempt to add a moment to\ntheir duration.  I have never complied with temporary\ncuriosity, nor enabled my readers to discuss\nthe topick of the day; I have rarely exemplified\nmy assertions by living characters; in my papers,\nno man could look for censures of his enemies, or\npraises of himself; and they only were expected to\nperuse them, whose passions left them leisure for\nabstracted truth, and whom virtue could please by\nits naked dignity.\n\nTo some, however, I am indebted for encouragement,\nand to others for assistance.  The number of\nmy friends was never great, but they have been\nsuch as would not suffer me to think that I was\nwriting in vain, and I did not feel much dejection\nfrom the want of popularity.\n\nMy obligations having not been frequent, my\nacknowledgments may be soon despatched.  I can\nrestore to all my correspondents their productions,\nwith little diminution of the bulk of my volumes,\nthough not without the loss of some pieces to\nwhich particular honours have been paid.\n\nThe parts from which I claim no other praise\nthan that of having given them an opportunity of\nappearing, are the four billets in the tenth paper,\nthe second letter in the fifteenth, the thirtieth, the\nforty-fourth, the ninety-seventh, and the hundredth\npapers, and the second letter in the hundred and\nseventh.\n\nHaving thus deprived myself of many excuses\nwhich candour might have admitted for the\ninequality of my compositions, being no longer able\nto allege the necessity of gratifying correspondents,\nthe importunity with which publication was\nsolicited, or obstinacy with which correction was\nrejected, I must remain accountable for all my faults,\nand submit, without subterfuge, to the censures of\ncriticism, which, however, I shall not endeavour to\nsoften by a formal deprecation, or to overbear by the\ninfluence of a patron.  The supplications of an author\nnever yet reprieved him a moment from oblivion;\nand, though greatness has sometimes sheltered guilt,\nit can afford no protection to ignorance or dulness.\nHaving hitherto attempted only the propagation of\ntruth, I will not at last violate it by the confession\nof terrours which I do not feel; having laboured to\nmaintain the dignity of virtue, I will not now\ndegrade it by the meanness of dedication.\n\nThe seeming vanity with which I have sometimes\nspoken of myself, would perhaps require an apology,\nwere it not extenuated by the example of those who\nhave published essays before me, and by the privilege\nwhich every nameless writer has been hitherto\nallowed.  \"A mask,\" say Castiglione, \"confers a\nright of acting and speaking with less restraint, even\nwhen the wearer happens to be known.\"  He that\nis discovered without his own consent, may claim\nsome indulgence, and cannot be rigorously called to\njustify those sallies or frolicks which his disguise\nmust prove him desirous to conceal.\n\nBut I have been cautious lest this offense should\nbe frequently or grossly committed; for, as one of\nthe philosophers directs us to live with a friend, as\nwith one that is some time to become an enemy, I\nhave always thought it the duty of an anonymous\nauthor to write, as if he expected to be hereafter\nknown.\n\nI am willing to flatter myself with hopes, that,\nby collecting these papers, I am not preparing, for\nmy future life, either shame or repentance.  That all\nare happily imagined, or accurately polished, that\nthe same sentiments have not sometimes recurred, or\nthe same expressions been too frequently repeated,\nI have not confidence in my abilities sufficient to\nwarrant.  He that condemns himself to compose on\na stated day, will often bring to his task an attention\ndissipated, a memory embarrassed, an imagination\noverwhelmed, a mind distracted with anxieties,\na body languishing with disease: he will labour on\na barren topick, till it is too late to change it; or, in\nthe ardour of invention, diffuse his thoughts into\nwild exuberance, which the pressing hour of publication\ncannot suffer judgment to examine or reduce.\n\nWhatever shall be the final sentence of mankind,\nI have at least endeavoured to deserve their kindness.\nI have laboured to refine our language to\ngrammatical purity, and to clear it from colloquial\nbarbarisms, licentious idioms, and irregular\ncombinations.  Something, perhaps, I have added to the\nelegance of its construction, and something to the\nharmony of its cadence.  When common words were\nless pleasing to the ear, or less distinct in their\nsignification, I have familiarized the terms of\nphilosophy, by applying them to popular ideas, but have\nrarely admitted any words not authorized by former\nwriters; for I believe that whoever knows the English\ntongue in its present extent, will be able to express\nhis thoughts without further help from other nations.\n\nAs it has been my principal design to inculcate\nwisdom or piety, I have allotted few papers to the\nidle sports of imagination.  Some, perhaps, may be\nfound, of which the highest excellence is harmless\nmerriment; but scarcely any man is so steadily\nserious as not to complain, that the severity of\ndictatorial instruction has been too seldom relieved, and\nthat he is driven by the sternness of the Rambler's\nphilosophy to more cheerful and airy companions.\n\nNext to the excursions of fancy are the disquisitions\nof criticism, which, in my opinion, is only to be\nranked among the subordinate and instrumental arts.\nArbitrary decision and general exclamation I have\ncarefully avoided, by asserting nothing without a\nreason, and establishing all my principles of\njudgment on unalterable and evident truth.\n\nIn the pictures of life I have never been so\nstudious of novelty or surprise, as to depart wholly\nfrom all resemblance; a fault which writers\ndeservedly celebrated frequently commit, that they\nmay raise, as the occasion requires, either mirth or\nabhorrence.  Some enlargement may be allowed to\ndeclamation, and some exaggeration to burlesque,\nbut as they deviate farther from reality, they become\nless useful, because their lessons will fail of\napplication.  The mind of the reader is carried away from\nthe contemplation of his own manner; he finds in\nhimself no likeness to the phantom before him; and\nthough he laughs or rages, is not reformed.\n\nThe essays professedly serious, if I have been able\nto execute my own intentions, will be found exactly\nconformable to the precepts of Christianity, without\nany accommodation to the licentiousness and levity\nof the present age.  I therefore look back on this\npart of my work with pleasure, which no blame or\npraise of man shall diminish or augment.  I shall\nnever envy the honours which wit and learning obtain\nin any other cause, if I can be numbered among\nthe writers who have given ardour to virtue, and\nconfidence to truth.\n\n<gr> Auoet<w?>n eoec macarwn aoentaxios eih aoemoib<h>.\n\nCelestial pow'rs! that piety regard,\nFrom you my labours wait their last reward.\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURER\n\nNo. 34. SATURDAY, MARCH 3. 1753\n\n Has toties optata exegit gloria poenas.  JUV. Sat. x. 187.\n\n Such fate pursues the votaries of praise.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER.\n\nSIR,\n\nFleet Prison, Feb. 24.\n\nTO a benevolent disposition, every state of life\nwill afford some opportunities of contributing to\nthe welfare of mankind.  Opulence and splendour are\nenabled to dispel the cloud of adversity, to dry up the\ntears of the widow and the orphan, and to increase\nthe felicity of all around them: their example will\nanimate virtue, and retard the progress of vice.  And\neven indigence and obscurity, though without power\nto confer happiness, may at least prevent misery,\nand apprize those who are blinded by their passions,\nthat they are on the brink of irremediable calamity.\n\nPleased, therefore, with the thought of recovering\nothers from that folly which has embittered my\nown days, I have presumed to address the ADVENTURER\nfrom the dreary mansions of wretchedness\nand despair, of which the gates are so wonderfully\nconstructed, as to fly open for the reception of\nstrangers, though they are impervious as a rock of\nadamant to such as are within them:\n\n ----Facilis descensus Averni:\n Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis.\n Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,\n Hoc opus, hic labor est.--------  VIRG. AEn. vi. 126.\n\n The gates of hell are open night and day;\n Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:\n But to return and view the cheerful skies;\n In this the task and mighty labour lies.    DRYDEN.\n\nSuffer me to acquaint you, Sir, that I have\nglittered at the ball, and sparkled in the circle; that I\nhave had the happiness to be the unknown favourite\nof an unknown lady at the masquerade, have been\nthe delight of tables of the first fashion, and envy\nof my brother beaux; and to descend a little lower,\nit is, I believe, still remembered, that Messrs.\nVelours and d'Espagne stand indebted for a great part\nof their present influence at Guildhall, to the\nelegance of my shape, and the graceful freedom of my\ncarriage.\n\n ----Sed quae praeclara et prospera tanti,\n Ut rebus laetis par sit mensura malorum?  JUV. Sat. x. 97.\n\n See the wild purchase of the bold and vain,\n Where every bliss is bought with equal pain!\n\n\nAs I entered into the world very young, with an\nelegant person and a large estate, it was not long\nbefore I disentangled myself from the shackles of\nreligion; for I was determined to the pursuit of\npleasure, which according to my notions consisted\nin the unrestrained and unlimited gratifications of\nevery passion and every appetite; and as this could\nnot be obtained under the frowns of a perpetual\ndictator, I considered religion as my enemy; and\nproceeding to treat her with contempt and derision,\nwas not a little delighted, that the unfashionableness\nof her appearance, and the unanimated uniformity\nof her motions, afforded frequent opportunities for\nthe sallies of my imagination.\n\nConceiving now that I was sufficiently qualified\nto laugh away scruples, I imparted my remarks to\nthose among my female favourites, whose virtue I\nintended to attack; for I was well assured, that pride\nwould be able to make but a weak defence, when\nreligion was subverted; nor was my success below\nmy expectation: the love of pleasure is too strongly\nimplanted in the female breast, to suffer them scrupulously\nto examine the validity of arguments designed\nto weaken restraint; all are easily led to\nbelieve, that whatever thwarts their inclination must\nbe wrong: little more, therefore, was required, than\nby the addition of some circumstances, and the\nexaggeration of others, to make merriment supply the\nplace of demonstration; nor was I so senseless as to\noffer arguments to such as could not attend to them,\nand with whom a repartee or catch would more\neffectually answer the same purpose.  This being\neffected, there remained only \"the dread of the\nworld:\" but Roxana soared too high, to think the\nopinion of others worthy her notice; Laetitia seemed\nto think of it only to declare, that \"if all her hairs\nwere worlds,\" she should reckon them \"well lost\nfor love;\" and Pastorella fondly conceived, that she\ncould dwell for ever by the side of a bubbling fountain,\ncontent with her swain and fleecy care; without\nconsidering that stillness and solitude can afford\nsatisfaction only to innocence.\n\nIt is not the desire of new acquisitions, but the\nglory of conquests, that fires the soldier's breast; as\nindeed the town is seldom worth much, when it has\nsuffered the devastations of a siege; so that though\nI did not openly declare the effects of my own\nprowess, which is forbidden by the laws of honour, it\ncannot be supposed that I was very solicitous to\nbury my reputation, or to hinder accidental discoveries.\nTo have gained one victory, is an inducement\nto hazard a second engagement: and though the\nsuccess of the general should be a reason for increasing\nthe strength of the fortification, it becomes, with\nmany, a pretence for an immediate surrender, under\nthe notion that no power is able to withstand so\nformidable an adversary; while others brave the danger,\nand think it mean to surrender, and dastardly to fly.\nMelissa, indeed, knew better; and though she could\nnot boast the apathy, steadiness, and inflexibility of a\nCato, wanted not the more prudent virtue of Scipio,\nand gained the victory by declining the contest.\n\nYou must not, however, imagine, that I was,\nduring this state of abandoned libertinism, so fully\nconvinced of the fitness of my own conduct, as to be\nfree from uneasiness.  I knew very well, that I might\njustly be deemed the pest of society, and that such\nproceedings must terminate in the destruction of\nmy health and fortune; but to admit thoughts of this\nkind was to live upon the rack: I fled, therefore, to\nthe regions of mirth and jollity, as they are called,\nand endeavoured with Burgundy, and a continual\nrotation of company, to free myself from the pangs\nof reflection.  From these orgies we frequently sallied\nforth in quest of adventures, to the no small terrour\nand consternation of all the sober stragglers that\ncame in our way: and though we never injured, like\nour illustrious progenitors, the Mohocks, either life\nor limbs; yet we have in the midst of Covent Garden\nburied a tailor, who had been troublesome to\nsome of our fine gentlemen, beneath a heap of\ncabbage-leaves and stalks, with this conceit,\n\n Satia te caule quem semper cupisti.\n\n Glut yourself with cabbage, of which you have always been\ngreedy.\n\n\nThere can be no reason for mentioning the common\nexploits of breaking windows and bruising the\nwatch; unless it be to tell you of the device of\nproducing before the justice broken lanterns, which have\nbeen paid for an hundred times; or their appearances\nwith patches on their heads, under pretence of being\ncut by the sword that was never drawn: nor need I\nsay any thing of the more formidable attack of\nsturdy chairmen, armed with poles; by a slight stroke\nof which, the pride of Ned Revel's face was at once\nlaid flat, and that effected in an instant, which its\nmost mortal foe had for years assayed in vain.  I shall\npass over the accidents that attended attempts to\nscale windows, and endeavours to dislodge signs\nfrom their hooks: there are many \"hair-breadth\n'scapes,\" besides those in the \"imminent deadly\nbreach;\" but the rake's life, though it be equally\nhazardous with that of the soldier, is neither\naccompanied with present honour nor with pleasing\nretrospect; such is, and such ought to be, the difference\nbetween the enemy and the preserver of his country.\n\nAmidst such giddy and thoughtless extravagance,\nit will not seem strange, that I was often the\ndupe of coarse flattery.  When Mons. L'Allonge\nassured me, that I thrust quart over arm better than\nany man in England, what could I less than present\nhim with a sword that cost me thirty pieces?  I was\nbound for a hundred pounds for Tom Trippet,\nbecause he had declared that he would dance a minuet\nwith any man in the three kingdoms except myself.\nBut I often parted with money against my inclination,\neither because I wanted the resolution to refuse,\nor dreaded the appellation of a niggardly fellow;\nand I may be truly said to have squandered\nmy estate, without honour, without friends, and\nwithout pleasure.  The last may, perhaps, appear\nstrange to men unacquainted with the masquerade\nof life: I deceived others, and I endeavoured to\ndeceive myself; and have worn the face of pleasantry\nand gaiety, while my heart suffered the most\nexquisite torture.\n\nBy the instigation and encouragement of my\nfriends, I became at length ambitious of a seat in\nparliament; and accordingly set out for the town\nof Wallop in the west, where my arrival was\nwelcomed by a thousand throats, and I was in three\ndays sure of a majority: but after drinking out one\nhundred and fifty hogsheads of wine, and bribing\ntwo-thirds of the corporation twice over, I had the\nmortification to find that the borough had been\nbefore sold to Mr. Courtly.\n\nIn a life of this kind, my fortune, though\nconsiderable, was presently dissipated; and as the\nattraction grows more strong the nearer any body\napproaches the earth, when once a man begins to\nsink into poverty, he falls with velocity always\nincreasing; every supply is purchased at a higher and\nhigher price, and every office of kindness obtained\nwith greater and greater difficulty.  Having now\nacquainted you with my state of elevation, I shall, if\nyou encourage the continuance of my correspondence,\nshew you by what steps I descended from a\nfirst floor in Pall-Mall to my present habitation[e].\n\nI am, Sir,\n\nYour humble servant,\n\nMISARGYRUS.\n\n\n [e] For an account of the disputes raised on this paper, and on\nthe other letters of Misargyrus, see Preface.\n\n\n\nNo. 39. TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1753\n\n <gr> --'Oduseuoes fulloisi caluyato' t<y?> d' ar' 'Aq<hnh>\n <gr> \"Gpnon eoep' <ommasi ce<u?>', ina min pauseie tacista\n <gr> Duspon<es cam<atoio>.--------   HOM. E'. 491.\n\n --Pallas pour'd sweet slumbers on his soul;\n And balmy dreams, the gift of soft repose,\n Calm'd all his pains, and banish'd all his woes.  POPE.\n\nIF every day did not produce fresh instances of\nthe ingratitude of mankind, we might, perhaps,\nbe at a loss, why so liberal and impartial a\nbenefactor as sleep, should meet with so few historians\nor panegyrists.  Writers are so totally absorbed by\nthe business of the day, as never to turn their\nattention to that power, whose officious hand so\nseasonably suspends the burthen of life; and without\nwhose interposition man would not be able to endure\nthe fatigue of labour, however rewarded, or\nthe struggle with opposition, however successful.\n\nNight, though she divides to many the longest\npart of life, and to almost all the most innocent and\nhappy, is yet unthankfully neglected, except by\nthose who pervert her gifts.\n\nThe astronomers, indeed, expect her with\nimpatience, and felicitate themselves upon her arrival:\nFontenelle has not failed to celebrate her praises;\nand to chide the sun for hiding from his view the\nworlds, which he imagines to appear in every\nconstellation.  Nor have the poets been always deficient\nin her praises:  Milton has observed of the night,\nthat it is \"the pleasant time, the cool, the silent.\"\n\nThese men may, indeed, well be expected to pay\nparticular homage to night; since they are indebted\nto her, not only for cessation of pain, but increase\nof pleasure; not only for slumber, but for knowledge.\nBut the greater part of her avowed votaries are the\nsons of luxury; who appropriate to festivity the\nhours designed for rest; who consider the reign of\npleasure as commencing when day begins to withdraw\nher busy multitudes, and ceases to dissipate\nattention by intrusive and unwelcome variety; who\nbegin to awake to joy when the rest of the world\nsinks into insensibility; and revel in the soft affluence\nof flattering and artifical lights, which \"more shadowy\nset off the face of things.\"\n\nWithout touching upon the fatal consequences of\na custom, which, as Ramazzini observes, will be for\never condemned and for ever retained; it may be\nobserved, that however sleep may be put off from\ntime to time, yet the demand is of so importunate a\nnature, as not to remain long unsatisfied: and if, as\nsome have done, we consider it as the tax of life, we\ncannot but observe it as a tax that must be paid,\nunless we could cease to be men; for Alexander\ndeclared, that nothing convinced him that he was not a\ndivinity, but his not being able to live without sleep.\n\nTo live without sleep in our present fluctuating\nstate, however desirably it might seem to the lady in\nClelia, can surely be the wish only of the young or\nthe ignorant; to every one else, a perpetual vigil will\nappear to be a state of wretchedness, second only\nto that of the miserable beings, whom Swift has in\nhis travels so elegantly described, as \"supremely\ncursed with immortality.\"\n\nSleep is necessary to the happy to prevent satiety,\nand to endear life by a short absence; and to the\nmiserable, to relieve them by intervals of quiet.  Life\nis to most, such as could not be endured without\nfrequent intermission of existence:  Homer, therefore,\nhas thought it an office worthy of the goddess\nof wisdom, to lay Ulysses asleep when landed on\nPhaeacia.\n\nIt is related of Barretier, whose early advances in\nliterature scarce any human mind has equalled, that\nhe spent twelve hours of the four-and-twenty in\nsleep: yet this appears from the bad state of his\nhealth, and the shortness of his life, to have been\ntoo small a respite for a mind so vigorously and\nintensely employed: it is to be regretted, therefore,\nthat he did not exercise his mind less, and his body\nmore: since by this means, it is highly probable,\nthat though he would not then have astonished with\nthe blaze of a comet, he would yet have shone with\nthe permanent radiance of a fixed star.\n\nNor should it be objected, that there have been\nmany men who daily spend fifteen or sixteen hours\nin study: for by some of whom this is reported it\nhas never been done; others have done it for a short\ntime only; and of the rest it appears, that they\nemployed their minds in such operations as required\nneither celerity nor strength, in the low drudgery of\ncollating copies, comparing authorities, digesting\ndictionaries, or accumulating compilations.\n\nMen of study and imagination are frequently\nupbraided by the industrious and plodding sons of care,\nwith passing too great a part of their life in a state\nof inaction.  But these defiers of sleep seem not to\nremember that though it must be granted them that\nthey are crawling about before the break of day, it\ncan seldom be said that they are perfectly awake;\nthey exhaust no spirits, and require no repairs; but\nlie torpid as a toad in marble, or at least are known\nto live only by an inert and sluggish loco-motive\nfaculty, and may be said, like a wounded snake, to\n\"drag their slow length along.\"\n\nMan has been long known among philosophers\nby the appellation of the microcosm, or epitome of\nthe world: the resemblance between the great and\nlittle world might, by a rational observer, be detailed\nto many particulars; and to many more by a fanciful\nspeculatist.  I know not in which of these two classes\nI shall be ranged for observing, that as the total\nquantity of light and darkness allotted in the course\nof the year to every region of the earth is the same,\nthough distributed at various times and in different\nportions; so, perhaps, to each individual of the\nhuman species, nature has ordained the same quantity\nof wakefulness and sleep; though divided by\nsome into a total quiescence and vigorous exertion\nof their faculties, and, blended by others in a kind of\ntwilight of existence, in a state between dreaming\nand reasoning, in which they either think without\naction, or act without thought.\n\nThe poets are generally well affected to sleep: as\nmen who think with vigour, they require respite from\nthought; and gladly resign themselves to that gentle\npower, who not only bestows rest, but frequently\nleads them to happier regions, where patrons are\nalways kind, and audiences are always candid; where\nthey are feasted in the bowers of imagination, and\ncrowned with flowers divested of their prickles, and\nlaurels of unfading verdure.\n\nThe more refined and penetrating part of\nmankind, who take wide surveys of the wilds of life, who\nsee the innumerable terrours and distresses that are\nperpetually preying on the heart of man, and discern\nwith unhappy perspicuity, calamities yet latent in\ntheir causes, are glad to close their eyes upon the\ngloomy prospect, and lose in a short insensibility\nthe remembrance of others' miseries and their own.\nThe hero has no higher hope, than that, after having\nrouted legions after legions, and added kingdom to\nkingdom, he shall retire to milder happiness, and\nclose his days in social festivity.  The wit or the sage\ncan expect no greater happiness, than that, after\nhaving harassed his reason in deep researches, and\nfatigued his fancy in boundless excursions, he shall\nsink at night in the tranquillity of sleep.\n\nThe poets, among all those that enjoy the blessings\nof sleep, have been least ashamed to acknowledge\ntheir benefactor.  How much Statius considered\nthe evils of life as assuaged and softened by the balm\nof slumber, we may discover by that pathetick\ninvocation, which he poured out in his waking nights:\nand that Cowley, among the other felicities of his\ndarling solitude, did not forget to number the\nprivilege of sleeping without disturbance, we may learn\nfrom the rank that he assigns among the gifts of\nnature to the poppy, \"which is scattered,\" says he,\n\"over the fields of corn, that all the needs of man\nmay be easily satisfied, and that bread and sleep may\nbe found together.\"\n\n Si quis invisum Cereri benignae\n Me putat germen, vehementer errat;\n Illa me in partem recipit libenter\n                    Fertilis agri.\n\n Meque frumentumque simul per omnes\n Consulens mundo Dea spargit oras;\n Creseite, O! dixit, duo magna susten-\n                    tacula vitae.\n\n Carpe, mortalis, mea dona laetus,\n Carpe, nec plantas alias require,\n Sed satur panis, satur et soporis,\n                    Caetera sperne.\n\n He wildly errs who thinks I yield\n Precedence in the well-cloth'd field,\n     Tho' mix'd with wheat I grow:\n Indulgent Ceres knew my worth,\n And to adorn the teeming earth,\n     She bade the Poppy blow.\n\n Nor vainly gay the sight to please,\n But blest with pow'r mankind to ease,\n     The goddess saw me rise:\n \"Thrive with the life-supporting grain,\"\n She cried, \"the solace of the swain,\n     The cordial of his eyes.\n\n Seize, happy mortal, seize the good;\n My hand supplies thy sleep and food,\n     And makes thee truly blest:\n With plenteous meals enjoy the day,\n In slumbers pass the night away,\n     And leave to fate the rest.\" C. B.\n\n\nSleep, therefore, as the chief of all earthly\nblessings, is justly appropriated to industry and\ntemperance; the refreshing rest, and the peaceful night,\nare the portion only of him who lies down weary\nwith honest labour, and free from the fumes of\nindigested luxury; it is the just doom of laziness and\ngluttony, to be inactive without ease, and drowsy\nwithout tranquillity.\n\nSleep has often been mentioned as the image of\ndeath[f]; \"so like it,\" says Sir Thomas Brown, \"that\nI dare not trust it without my prayers:\" their\nresemblance is, indeed, apparent and striking; they\nboth, when they seize the body, leave the soul at\nliberty: and wise is he that remembers of both, that\nthey can be safe and happy only by virtue.\n\n\n [f] Lovely sleep! thou beautiful image of terrible death\n     Be thou my pillow-companion, my angel of rest!\n     Come, O sleep! for thine are the joys of living and dying:\n     Life without sorrow, and death with no anguish, no pain.\n\nFrom the German of Schmidt.\n\n\n\nNo. 41. TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 1753\n\n --------Si mutabile pectus\n Est tibi, consiliis, non curribus, utere nostris;\n Dum potes, et solidis etiam num sedibus adstas,\n Dumque male optatos nondum premis inscius axes.\n\nOVID. Met. ii. 143.\n\n --------Th' attempt forsake,\n And not my chariot but my counsel take;\n While yet securely on the earth you stand;\n Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.  ADDISON.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER.\n\nSIR,\n\nFleet, March 24.\n\nI NOW send you the sequel of my story, which had\nnot been so long delayed, if I could have brought\nmyself to imagine, that any real impatience was\nfelt for the fate of Misargyrus; who has travelled no\nunbeaten track to misery, and consequently can\npresent the reader only with such incidents as occur\nin daily life.\n\nYou have seen me, Sir, in the zenith of my glory,\nnot dispensing the kindly warmth of an all-cheering\nsun: but, like another Pha<eton, scorching and blasting\nevery thing round me.  I shall proceed, therefore,\nto finish my career, and pass as rapidly as possible\nthrough the remaining vicissitudes of my life.\n\nWhen I first began to be in want of money, I\nmade no doubt of an immediate supply.  The newspapers\nwere perpetually offering directions to men,\nwho seemed to have no other business than to\ngather heaps of gold for those who place their\nsupreme felicity in scattering it.  I posted away,\ntherefore, to one of these advertisers, who by his proposals,\nseemed to deal in thousands; and was not a little\nchagrined to find, that this general benefactor would\nhave nothing to do with any larger sum than thirty\npounds, nor would venture that without a joint note\nfrom myself and a reputable house keeper, or for a\nlonger time than three months.\n\nIt was yet not so bad with me, as that I needed\nto solicit surety for thirty pounds: yet partly from\nthe greediness that extravagance always produces,\nand partly from a desire of seeing the humour of a\npetty usurer, a character of which I had hitherto\nlived in ignorance, I condescended to listen to his\nterms.  He proceeded to inform me of my great\nfelicity in not falling into the hands of an\nextortioner; and assured me, that I should find him\nextremely moderate in his demands: he was not,\nindeed, certain that he could furnish me with the\nwhole sum, for people were at this particular time\nextremely pressing and importunate for money:\nyet, as I had the appearance of a gentleman, he\nwould try what he could do, and give me his answer\nin three days.\n\nAt the expiration of the time, I called upon him\nagain; and was again informed of the great demand\nfor money, and that, \"money was money now:\" he\nthen advised me to be punctual in my payment, as\nthat might induce him to befriend me hereafter;\nand delivered me the money, deducting at the rate\nof five and thirty per cent.  with another panegyrick\nupon his own moderation.\n\nI will not tire you with the various practices of\nusurious oppression; but cannot omit my transaction\nwith Squeeze on Tower-hill, who, finding me a\nyoung man of considerable expectations, employed\nan agent to persuade me to borrow five hundred\npounds, to be refunded by an annual payment of\ntwenty per cent. during the joint lives of his\ndaughter Nancy Squeeze and myself.  The negociator\ncame prepared to enforce his proposal with all his\nart; but, finding that I caught his offer with the\neagerness of necessity, he grew cold and languid;\n\"he had mentioned it out of kindness; he would\ntry to serve me:  Mr. Squeeze was an honest man,\nbut extremely cautious.\"  In three days he came\nto tell me, that his endeavours had been ineffectual,\nMr. Squeeze having no good opinion of my\nlife; but that there was one expedient remaining:\nMrs. Squeeze could influence her husband, and\nher good will might be gained by a compliment.\nI waited that afternoon on Mrs. Squeeze, and\npoured out before her the flatteries which usually\ngain access to rank and beauty: I did not then\nknow, that there are places in which the only\ncompliment is a bribe.  Having yet credit with a\njeweller, I afterwards procured a ring of thirty guineas,\nwhich I humbly presented, and was soon admitted\nto a treaty with Mr. Squeeze.  He appeared peevish\nand backward, and my old friend whispered me,\nthat he would never make a dry bargain:  I therefore\ninvited him to a tavern.  Nine times we met on\nthe affair; nine times I paid four pounds for the\nsupper and claret; and nine guineas I gave the\nagent for good offices.  I then obtained the money,\npaying ten per cent. advance; and at the tenth\nmeeting gave another supper, and disbursed fifteen\npounds for the writings.\n\nOthers who styled themselves brokers, would\nonly trust their money upon goods: that I might,\ntherefore, try every art of expensive folly, I took a\nhouse and furnished it.  I amused myself with\ndespoiling my moveables of their glossy appearance,\nfor fear of alarming the lender with suspicions: and\nin this I succeeded so well, that he favoured me\nwith one hundred and sixty pounds upon that\nwhich was rated at seven hundred.  I then found\nthat I was to maintain a guardian about me to\nprevent the goods from being broken or removed.\nThis was, indeed, an unexpected tax; but it was too\nlate to recede: and I comforted myself, that I might\nprevent a creditor, of whom I had some apprehensions,\nfrom seizing, by having a prior execution always\nin the house.\n\nBy such means I had so embarrassed myself, that\nmy whole attention was engaged in contriving excuses,\nand raising small sums to quiet such as words\nwould no longer mollify.  It cost me eighty pounds\nin presents to Mr. Leech the attorney, for his\nforbearance of one hundred, which he solicited me to\ntake when I had no need.  I was perpetually harassed\nwith importunate demands, and insulted by\nwretches, who a few months before would not have\ndared to raise their eyes from the dust before me.\nI lived in continual terrour, frighted by every noise\nat the door, and terrified at the approach of every\nstep quicker than common.  I never retired to rest\nwithout feeling the justness of the Spanish proverb,\n\"Let him who sleeps too much, borrow the pillow\nof a debtor:\" my solicitude and vexation kept me\nlong waking; and when I had closed my eyes, I\nwas pursued or insulted by visionary bailiffs.\n\nWhen I reflected upon the meanness of the shifts\nI had reduced myself to, I could not but curse the\nfolly and extravagance that had overwhelmed me\nin a sea of troubles, from which it was highly\nimprobable that I should ever emerge.  I had some\ntime lived in hopes of an estate, at the death of\nmy uncle; but he disappointed me by marrying\nhis housekeeper; and, catching an opportunity soon\nafter of quarrelling with me, for settling twenty\npounds a year upon a girl whom I had seduced,\ntold me that he would take care to prevent his\nfortune from being squandered upon prostitutes.\n\nNothing now remained, but the chance of\nextricating myself by marriage; a scheme which, I\nflattered myself, nothing but my present distress would\nhave made me think on with patience.  I determined,\ntherefore, to look out for a tender novice, with a\nlarge fortune, at her own disposal; and accordingly\nfixed my eyes upon Miss Biddy Simper.  I had now\npaid her six or seven visits; and so fully convinced\nher of my being a gentleman and a rake, that I\nmade no doubt that both her person and fortune\nwould soon be mine.\n\nAt this critical time, Miss Gripe called upon me,\nin a chariot bought with my money, and loaded\nwith trinkets that I had, in my days of affluence,\nlavished on her.  Those days were now over; and\nthere was little hope that they would ever return.\nShe was not able to withstand the temptation of\nten pounds that Talon the bailiff offered her, but\nbrought him into my apartment disguised in a livery;\nand taking my sword to the window, under pretence\nof admiring the workmanship, beckoned him to\nseize me.\n\nDelay would have been expensive without use,\nas the debt was too considerable for payment or\nbail: I, therefore, suffered myself to be immediately\nconducted to gaol.\n\n\n Vestibulum ante ipsum, primisque in faucibus Orci,\n Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia cureae:\n Pallentesque habitant morbi, tristisque senectus,\n Et metus, et malesuada fames, et turpis egestas.\n\nVIRG. AEn. vi. 273.\n\n\n Just in the gate and in the jaws of hell,\n Revengeful cares and sullen sorrows dwell;\n And pale diseases, and repining age;\n Want, fear, and famine's unresisted rage.  DRYDEN.\n\n\nConfinement of any kind is dreadful; a prison is\nsometimes able to shock those, who endure it in a\ngood cause: let your imagination, therefore, acquaint\nyou with what I have not words to express, and\nconceive, if possible, the horrours of imprisonment\nattended with reproach and ignominy, of involuntary\nassociation with the refuse of mankind, with\nwretches who were before too abandoned for society,\nbut, being now freed from shame or fear, are hourly\nimproving their vices by consorting with each other.\n\nThere are, however, a few, whom, like myself,\nimprisonment has rather mortified than hardened:\nwith these only I converse; and of these you may,\nperhaps, hereafter receive some account from\n\nYour humble servant,\n\nMISARGYRUS.\n\n\nNo. 45. TUESDAY, APRIL 10, 1753\n\n Nulla fides regni sociis, omnisque potestas\n Impatiens consortis erit.--------\n\nLUCAN. Lib. i. 92.\n\n No faith of partnership dominion owns:\n Still discord hovers o'er divided thrones.\n\nIT is well known, that many things appear plausible\nin speculation, which can never be reduced to\npractice; and that of the numberless projects that\nhave flattered mankind with theoretical speciousness,\nfew had served any other purpose than to show\nthe ingenuity of their contrivers.  A voyage to the\nmoon, however romantick and absurd the scheme\nmay now appear, since the properties of air have\nbeen better understood, seemed highly probable\nto many of the aspiring wits in the last century,\nwho began to dote upon their glossy plumes, and\nfluttered with impatience for the hour of their\ndeparture:\n\n ------------Pereunt vestigia mille\n Ante fugam, absentemque ferit gravis ungula campum.\n\n Hills, vales and floods appear already crost;\n And, ere he starts, a thousand steps are lost.  POPE.\n\n\nAmong the fallacies which only experience can\ndetect, there are some, of which scarcely experience\nitself can destroy the influence; some which, by a\ncaptivating show of indubitable certainty, are\nperpetually gaining upon the human mind; and which,\nthough every trial ends in disappointment, obtain\nnew credit as the sense of miscarriage wears gradually\naway, persuade us to try again what we have\ntried already, and expose us by the same failure to\ndouble vexation.\n\nOf this tempting, this delusive kind, is the\nexpectation of great performances by confederated\nstrength.  The speculatist, when he has carefully\nobserved how much may be performed by a single\nhand, calculates by a very easy operation the force\nof thousands, and goes on accumulating power till\nresistance vanishes before it, then rejoices in the\nsuccess of his new scheme, and wonders at the folly or\nidleness of former ages, who have lived in want\nof what might so readily be procured, and suffered\nthemselves to be debarred from happiness by obstacles\nwhich one united effort would have so easily\nsurmounted.\n\nBut this gigantick phantom of collective power\nvanishes at once into air and emptiness, at the first\nattempt to put it into action.  The different apprehensions,\nthe discordant passions, the jarring interests of\nmen, will scarcely permit that many should unite in\none undertaking.\n\nOf a great and complicated design, some will never\nbe brought to discern the end; and of the several\nmeans by which it may be accomplished, the choice\nwill be a perpetual subject of debate, as every man\nis swayed in his determination by his own knowledge\nor convenience.  In a long series of action some\nwill languish with fatigue, and some be drawn of\nby present gratifications; some will loiter because\nothers labour, and some will cease to labour because\nothers loiter: and if once they come within prospect\nof success and profit, some will be greedy and\nothers envious; some will undertake more than they\ncan perform, to enlarge their claims of advantage;\nsome will perform less than they undertake, lest\ntheir labours should chiefly turn to the benefit of\nothers.\n\nThe history of mankind informs us that a single\npower is very seldom broken by a confederacy.  States\nof different interests, and aspects malevolent to each\nother, may be united for a time by common distress;\nand in the ardour of self-preservation fall unanimously\nupon an enemy, by whom they are all equally\nendangered.  But if their first attack can be\nwithstood, time will never fail to dissolve their union:\nsuccess and miscarriage will be equally destructive:\nafter the conquest of a province, they will quarrel in\nthe division; after the loss of a battle, all will be\nendeavouring to secure themselves by abandoning\nthe rest.\n\nFrom the impossibility of confining numbers to\nthe constant and uniform prosecution of a common\ninterest, arises the difficulty of securing subjects\nagainst the encroachment of governours.  Power is\nalways gradually stealing away from the many to the\nfew, because the few are more vigilant and consistent;\nit still contracts to a smaller number, till in time\nit centres in a single person.\n\nThus all the forms of governments instituted\namong mankind, perpetually tend towards monarchy;\nand power, however diffused through the\nwhole community, is, by negligence or corruption,\ncommotion or distress, reposed at last in the chief\nmagistrate.\n\n\"There never appear,\" says Swift, \"more than\nfive or six men of genius in an age; but if they were\nunited, the world could not stand before them.\"\nIt is happy, therefore, for mankind, that of this\nunion there is no probability.  As men take in a\nwider compass of intellectual survey, they are more\nlikely to choose different objects of pursuit; as they\nsee more ways to the same end, they will be less\neasily persuaded to travel together; as each is better\nqualified to form an independent scheme of private\ngreatness, he will reject with greater obstinacy the\nproject of another; as each is more able to distinguish\nhimself as the head of a party, he will less\nreadily be made a follower or an associate.\n\nThe reigning philosophy informs us, that the vast\nbodies which constitute the universe, are regulated\nin their progress through the ethereal spaces by the\nperpetual agency of contrary forces; by one of which\nthey are restrained from deserting their orbits, and\nlosing themselves in the immensity of heaven;\nand held off by the other from rushing together,\nand clustering round their centre with everlasting\ncohesion.\n\nThe same contrariety of impulse may be perhaps\ndiscovered in the motions of men: we are formed\nfor society, not for combination; we are equally\nunqualified to live in a close connexion with our\nfellow-beings, and in total separation from them;\nwe are attracted towards each other by general\nsympathy, but kept back from contact by private\ninterests.\n\nSome philosophers have been foolish enough to\nimagine, that improvements might be made in the\nsystem of the universe, by a different arrangement\nof the orbs of heaven; and politicians, equally\nignorant and equally presumptuous, may easily be led to\nsuppose, that the happiness of our world would be\npromoted by a different tendency of the human\nmind.  It appears, indeed, to a slight and superficial\nobserver, that many things impracticable in our present\nstate, might be easily effected, if mankind were\nbetter disposed to union and co-operation: but a little\nreflection will discover, that if confederacies were\neasily formed, they would lose their efficacy, since\nnumbers would be opposed to numbers, and unanimity\nto unanimity; and instead of the present petty\ncompetitions of individuals or single families,\nmultitudes would be supplanting multitudes, and\nthousands plotting against thousands.\nThere is no class of the human species, of which\nthe union seems to have been more expected, than\nof the learned: the rest of the world have almost always\nagreed to shut scholars up together in colleges\nand cloisters; surely not without hope, that they\nwould look for that happiness in concord, which they\nwere debarred from finding in variety; and that such\nconjunctions of intellect would recompense the\nmunificence of founders and patrons, by performances\nabove the reach of any single mind.\n\nBut discord, who found means to roll her apple\ninto the banqueting chamber of the goddesses, has\nhad the address to scatter her laurels in the seminaries\nof learning.  The friendship of students and of\nbeauties is for the most part equally sincere, and\nequally durable: as both depend for happiness on\nthe regard of others, on that of which the value\narises merely from comparison, they are both exposed\nto perpetual jealousies, and both incessantly\nemployed in schemes to intercept the praises of each\nother.\n\nI am, however, far from intending to inculcate\nthat this confinement of the studious to studious\ncompanions, has been wholly without advantage to\nthe publick: neighbourhood, where it does not\nconciliate friendship, incites competition; and he that\nwould contentedly rest in a lower degree of excellence,\nwhere he had no rival to dread, will be urged\nby his impatience of inferiority to incessant\nendeavours after great attainments.\n\nThese stimulations of honest rivalry are, perhaps,\nthe chief effects of academies and societies; for\nwhatever be the bulk of their joint labours, every single\npiece is always the production of an individual, that\nowes nothing to his colleagues but the contagion of\ndiligence, a resolution to write, because the rest are\nwriting, and the scorn of obscurity while the rest are\nillustrious[g].\n\n\n [g] It may not be uninteresting to place in immediate comparison\nwith this finished paper its first rough draught as given in\nBoswell, vol. i.\n\"Confederacies difficult; why.\n\n\"Seldom in war a match for single persons--nor in peace;\ntherefore kings make themselves absolute.  Confederacies in\nlearning--every great work the work of one.  Bruy.  Scholars\nfriendship like ladies.  Scribebamus, &c. Mart.  The apple of\ndiscord--the laurel of discord--the poverty of criticism.\nSwift's opinion of the power of six geniuses united.  That union\nscarce possible.  His remarks just;--man a social, not steady\nnature.  Drawn to man by words, repelled by passions.  Orb drawn\nby attraction, rep. [repelled] by centrifugal.\n\n\"Common danger unites by crushing other passions--but they\nreturn.  Equality hinders compliance.  Superiority produces\ninsolence and envy.  Too much regard in each to private\ninterest;--too little.\n\n\"The mischiefs of private and exclusive societies.--The fitness\nof social attraction diffused through the whole.  The mischiefs\nof too partial love of our country.  Contraction of moral duties.\n<gr>> Oi filoi, o<u?> filos>.\n\n\"Every man moves upon his own centre, and therefore repels others\nfrom too near a contact, though he may comply with some general\nlaws.\n\nOf confederacy with superiors every one knows the inconvenience.\nWith equals no authority;--every man his own opinion--his own\ninterest.\n\n\"Man and wife hardly united;--scarce ever without children.\nComputation, if two to one against two, how many against five?\nIf confederacies were easy--useless;--many oppresses many.--If\npossible only to some, dangerous.  Principum amicitias.\"\n\n\n\nNo. 50. SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1753\n\n Quincunque turpi fraude semel innotuit,\n Etiamsi verum dicit, amittit fidem.\n\nPHAED. Lib. i. Fab. x. 1.\n\n\n The wretch that often has deceiv'd,\n Though truth he speaks, is ne'er believ'd.\n\nWHEN Aristotle was once asked, what a man\ncould gain by uttering falsehoods? he replied,\n\"Not to be credited when he shall tell the truth.\"\n\nThe character of a liar is at once so hateful and\ncontemptible, that even of those who have lost\ntheir virtue it might be expected that from the\nviolation of truth they should be restrained by\ntheir pride.  Almost every other vice that disgraces\nhuman nature, may be kept in countenance by\napplause and association: the corrupter of virgin\ninnocence sees himself envied by the men, and at\nleast not detested by the women; the drunkard may\neasily unite with beings, devoted like himself to\nnoisy merriments or silent insensibility, who will\ncelebrate his victories over the novices of intemperance,\nboast themselves the companions of his prowess,\nand tell with rapture of the multitudes whom\nunsuccessful emulation has hurried to the grave;\neven the robber and the cut-throat have their\nfollowers, who admire their address and intrepidity,\ntheir stratagems of rapine, and their fidelity to the\ngang.\n\nThe liar, and only the liar, is invariably and\nuniversally despised, abandoned, and disowned: he has\nno domestick consolations, which he can oppose to\nthe censure of mankind; he can retire to no fraternity,\nwhere his crimes may stand in the place of\nvirtues; but is given up to the hisses of the\nmultitude, without friend and without apologist.  It is\nthe peculiar condition of falsehood, to be equally\ndetested by the good and bad:  \"The devils,\" says\nSir Thomas Brown, \"do not tell lies to one another;\nfor truth is necessary to all societies: nor can the\nsociety of hell subsist without it.\"\n\nIt is natural to expect, that a crime thus generally\ndetested should be generally avoided; at least, that\nnone should expose himself to unabated and\nunpitied infamy, without an adequate temptation;\nand that to guilt so easily detected, and so severely\npunished, an adequate temptation would not readily\nbe found.\n\nYet so it is, that in defiance of censure and\ncontempt, truth is frequently violated; and scarcely the\nmost vigilant and unremitted circumspection will\nsecure him that mixes with mankind, from being\nhourly deceived by men of whom it can scarcely\nbe imagined, that they mean any injury to him or\nprofit to themselves: even where the subject of\nconversation could not have been expected to put\nthe passions in motion, or to have excited either\nhope or fear, or zeal or malignity, sufficient to\ninduce any man to put his reputation in hazard,\nhowever little he might value it, or to overpower the\nlove of truth, however weak might be its influence.\n\nThe casuists have very diligently distinguished lies\ninto their several classes, according to their various\ndegrees of malignity: but they have, I think,\ngenerally omitted that which is most common, and\nperhaps, not least mischievous; which, since the\nmoralists have not given it a name, I shall distinguish\nas the LIE OF VANITY.\n\nTo vanity may justly be imputed most of the\nfalsehoods which every man perceives hourly playing\nupon his ear, and, perhaps, most of those that\nare propagated with success.  To the lie of\ncommerce, and the lie of malice, the motive is so\napparent, that they are seldom negligently or\nimplicitly received; suspicion is always watchful over\nthe practices of interest; and whatever the hope of\ngain, or desire of mischief, can prompt one man to\nassert, another is by reasons equally cogent incited\nto refute.  But vanity pleases herself with such slight\ngratifications, and looks forward to pleasure so\nremotely consequential, that her practices raise no\nalarm, and her stratagems are not easily discovered.\n\nVanity is, indeed, often suffered to pass unpursued\nby suspicion, because he that would watch her motions,\ncan never be at rest: fraud and malice are\nbounded in their influence; some opportunity of\ntime and place is necessary to their agency; but\nscarce any man is abstracted one moment from his\nvanity; and he, to whom truth affords no gratifications,\nis generally inclined to seek them in falsehoods.\n\nIt is remarked by Sir Kenelm Digby, \"that every\nman has a desire to appear superior to others, though\nit were only in having seen what they have not seen.\"\nSuch an accidental advantage, since it neither\nimplies merit, nor confers dignity, one would think\nshould not be desired so much as to be counterfeited:\nyet even this vanity, trifling as it is, produces\ninnumerable narratives, all equally false; but more or\nless credible in proportion to the skill or confidence\nof the relater.  How many may a man of diffusive\nconversation count among his acquaintances, whose\nlives have been signalized by numberless escapes;\nwho never cross the river but in a storm, or take a\njourney into the country without more adventures\nthan befel the knights-errant of ancient times in\npathless forests or enchanted castles!  How many\nmust he know, to whom portents and prodigies are\nof daily occurrence; and for whom nature is hourly\nworking wonders invisible to every other eye, only\nto supply them with subjects of conversation.\n\nOthers there are that amuse themselves with the\ndissemination of falsehood, at greater hazard of\ndetection and disgrace; men marked out by some lucky\nplanet for universal confidence and friendship, who\nhave been consulted in every difficulty, intrusted\nwith every secret, and summoned to every transaction:\nit is the supreme felicity of these men, to\nstun all companies with noisy information; to still\ndoubt, and overbear opposition, with certain knowledge\nor authentick intelligence.  A liar of this kind,\nwith a strong memory or brisk imagination, is often\nthe oracle of an obscure club, and, till time discovers\nhis impostures, dictates to his hearers with\nuncontrouled authority; for if a publick question be\nstarted, he was present at the debate; if a new\nfashion be mentioned, he was at court the first day of\nits appearance; if a new performance of literature\ndraws the attention of the publick, he has patronized\nthe author, and seen his work in manuscript;\nif a criminal of eminence be condemned to die, he\noften predicted his fate, and endeavoured his\nreformation: and who that lives at a distance from\nthe scene of action, will dare to contradict a man,\nwho reports from his own eyes and ears, and to\nwhom all persons and affairs are thus intimately\nknown?\n\nThis kind of falsehood is generally successful for\na time, because it is practised at first with timidity\nand caution: but the prosperity of the liar is of short\nduration; the reception of one story is always an\nincitement to the forgery of another less probable;\nand he goes on to triumph over tacit credulity, till\npride or reason rises up against him, and his\ncompanions will no longer endure to see him wiser than\nthemselves.\n\nIt is apparent, that the inventors of all these\nfictions intend some exaltation of themselves, and are\nled off by the pursuit of honour from their\nattendance upon truth: their narratives always imply\nsome consequence in favour of their courage, their\nsagacity, or their activity, their familiarity with the\nlearned, or their reception among the great; they\nare always bribed by the present pleasure of seeing\nthemselves superior to those that surround them,\nand receiving the homage of silent attention and\nenvious admiration.\n\nBut vanity is sometimes excited to fiction by less\nvisible gratifications: the present age abounds with\na race of liars who are content with the consciousness\nof falsehood, and whose pride is to deceive others\nwithout any gain or glory to themselves.  Of this\ntribe it is the supreme pleasure to remark a lady in the\nplayhouse or the park, and to publish, under the\ncharacter of a man suddenly enamoured, an advertisement\nin the news of the next day, containing a\nminute description of her person and her dress.  From\nthis artifice, however, no other effect can be\nexpected, than perturbations which the writer can\nnever see, and conjectures of which he never can be\ninformed; some mischief, however, he hopes he has\ndone; and to have done mischief, is of some importance.\nHe sets his invention to work again, and produces\na narrative of a robbery or a murder, with all\nthe circumstances of time and place accurately\nadjusted.  This is a jest of greater effect and longer\nduration: if he fixes his scene at a proper distance, he\nmay for several days keep a wife in terrour for her\nhusband, or a mother for her son; and please himself\nwith reflecting, that by his abilities and address some\naddition is made to the miseries of life.\n\nThere is, I think, an ancient law of Scotland, by\nwhich LEASING-MAKING was capitally punished.  I am,\nindeed, far from desiring to increase in this kingdom\nthe number of executions; yet I cannot but think,\nthat they who destroy the confidence of society,\nweaken the credit of intelligence, and interrupt the\nsecurity of life; harass the delicate with shame, and\nperplex the timorous with alarms; might very properly\nbe awakened to a sense of their crimes, by\ndenunciations of a whipping-post or pillory: since\nmany are so insensible of right and wrong, that they\nhave no standard of action but the law; nor feel\nguilt, but as they dread punishment.\n\n\n\nNo. 53. TUESDAY, MAY 8, 1753\n\n Quisque suos patimur manes.  VIRG. AEn. Lib. vi. 743.\n\n Each has his lot, and bears the fate he drew.\n\n\nSIR,\n\nFleet, May 6.\n\nIN consequence of my engagements, I address you\nonce more from the habitations of misery.  In this\nplace, from which business and pleasure are equally\nexcluded, and in which our only employment and\ndiversion is to hear the narratives of each other, I\nmight much sooner have gathered materials for a\nletter, had I not hoped to have been reminded of\nmy promise; but since I find myself placed in the\nregions of oblivion, where I am no less neglected by\nyou than by the rest of mankind, I resolved no\nlonger to wait for solicitation, but stole early this\nevening from between gloomy sullenness and riotous\nmerriment, to give you an account of part of my\ncompanions.\n\nOne of the most eminent members of our club is\nMr. Edward Scamper, a man of whose name the\nOlympick heroes would not have been ashamed.  Ned\nwas born to a small estate, which he determined to\nimprove; and therefore, as soon as he became of age,\nmortgaged part of his land to buy a mare and stallion,\nand bred horses for the course.  He was at first\nvery successful, and gained several of the king's\nplates, as he is now every day boasting, at the\nexpense of very little more than ten times their value.\nAt last, however, he discovered, that victory brought\nhim more honour than profit: resolving, therefore,\nto be rich as well as illustrious, he replenished his\npockets by another mortgage, became on a sudden\na daring bettor, and resolving not to trust a jockey\nwith his fortune, rode his horse himself, distanced\ntwo of his competitors the first heat, and at last\nwon the race by forcing his horse on a descent to full\nspeed at the hazard of his neck.  His estate was thus\nrepaired, and some friends that had no souls advised\nhim to give over; but Ned now knew the way to\nriches, and therefore without caution increased his\nexpenses.  From this hour he talked and dreamed of\nnothing but a horse-race; and rising soon to the summit\nof equestrian reputation, he was constantly expected\non every course, divided all his time between\nlords and jockeys, and, as the unexperienced\nregulated their bets by his example, gained a great deal\nof money by laying openly on one horse and secretly\non the other.  Ned was now so sure of growing rich,\nthat he involved his estate in a third mortgage,\nborrowed money of all his friends, and risked his whole\nfortune upon Bay Lincoln.  He mounted with beating\nheart, started fair, and won the first heat; but in\nthe second, as he was pushing against the foremost\nof his rivals, his girth broke, his shoulder was\ndislocated, and before he was dismissed by the surgeon,\ntwo bailiffs fastened upon him, and he saw\nNewmarket no more.  His daily amusement for four\nyears has been to blow the signal for starting, to\nmake imaginary matches, to repeat the pedigree\nof Bay Lincoln, and to form resolutions against\ntrusting another groom with the choice of his girth.\n\nThe next in seniority is Mr. Timothy Snug, a\nman of deep contrivance and impenetrable secrecy.\nHis father died with the reputation of more wealth\nthan he possessed: Tim, therefore, entered the world\nwith a reputed fortune of ten thousand pounds.  Of\nthis he very well knew that eight thousand was\nimaginary: but being a man of refined policy, and\nknowing how much honour is annexed to riches,\nhe resolved never to detect his own poverty; but\nfurnished his house with elegance, scattered his\nmoney with profusion, encouraged every scheme\nof costly pleasure, spoke of petty losses with\nnegligence, and on the day before an execution entered\nhis doors, had proclaimed at a publick table his\nresolution to be jolted no longer in a hackney coach.\n\nAnother of my companions is the magnanimous\nJack Scatter, the son of a country gentleman, who,\nhaving no other care than to leave him rich,\nconsidered that literature could not be had without\nexpense; masters would not teach for nothing; and\nwhen a book was bought and read, it would sell for\nlittle.  Jack was, therefore, taught to read and write\nby the butler; and when this acquisition was made,\nwas left to pass his days in the kitchen and stable,\nwhere he heard no crime censured but covetousness\nand distrust of poor honest servants, and where all\nthe praise was bestowed on good housekeeping,\nand a free heart.  At the death of his father, Jack\nset himself to retrieve the honour of his family:\nhe abandoned his cellar to the butler, ordered his\ngroom to provide hay and corn at discretion, took\nhis housekeeper's word for the expenses of the\nkitchen, allowed all his servants to do their work\nby deputies, permitted his domesticks to keep his\nhouse open to their relations and acquaintance, and\nin ten years was conveyed hither, without having\npurchased by the loss of his patrimony either honour\nor pleasure, or obtained any other gratification\nthan that of having corrupted the neighbouring\nvillagers by luxury and idleness.\n\nDick Serge was a draper in Cornhill, and passed\neight years in prosperous diligence, without any\ncare but to keep his books, or any ambition but to\nbe in time an alderman: but then, by some\nunaccountable revolution in his understanding, he\nbecame enamoured of wit and humour, despised the\nconversation of pedlars and stock-jobbers, and\nrambled every night to the regions of gaiety, in quest\nof company suited to his taste.  The wits at first\nflocked about him for sport, and afterwards for\ninterest; some found their way into his books, and\nsome into his pockets; the man of adventure was\nequipped from his shop for the pursuit of a fortune;\nand he had sometimes the honour to have his\nsecurity accepted when his friends were in distress.\nElated with these associations, he soon learned to\nneglect his shop; and having drawn his money out\nof the funds, to avoid the necessity of teasing men\nof honour for trifling debts, he has been forced at\nlast to retire hither, till his friends can procure him\na post at court.\n\nAnother that joins in the same mess is Bob Cornice,\nwhose life has been spent in fitting up a house.\nAbout ten years ago Bob purchased the country\nhabitation of a bankrupt: the mere shell of a building\nBob holds no great matter; the inside is the\ntest of elegance.  Of this house he was no sooner\nmaster than he summoned twenty workmen to his\nassistance, tore up the floors and laid them anew,\nstripped off the wainscot, drew the windows from\ntheir frames, altered the disposition of doors and\nfire-places, and cast the whole fabrick into a new\nform: his next care was to have his ceilings painted,\nhis pannels gilt, and his chimney-pieces carved:\nevery thing was executed by the ablest hands:\nBob's business was to follow the workmen with a\nmicroscope, and call upon them to retouch their\nperformances, and heighten excellence to perfection.\nThe reputation of his house now brings round him\na daily confluence of visitants, and every one tells\nhim of some elegance which he has hitherto\noverlooked, some convenience not yet procured, or\nsome new mode in ornament or furniture.  Bob, who\nhad no wish but to be admired, nor any guide but\nthe fashion, thought every thing beautiful in\nproportion as it was new, and considered his work as\nunfinished, while any observer could suggest an\naddition, some alteration was therefore every day made,\nwithout any other motive than the charms of novelty.\nA traveller at last suggested to him the convenience\nof a grotto:  Bob immediately ordered the mount of\nhis garden to be excavated: and having laid out a\nlarge sum in shells and minerals, was busy in regulating\nthe disposition of the colours and lustres, when\ntwo gentlemen, who had asked permission to see\nhis gardens, presented him a writ, and led him off\nto less elegant apartments.\n\nI know not, Sir, whether among this fraternity\nof sorrow you will think any much to be pitied; nor\nindeed do many of them appear to solicit compassion,\nfor they generally applaud their own conduct,\nand despise those whom want of taste or spirit suffers\nto grow rich.  It were happy if the prisons of the\nkingdom were filled only with characters like these,\nmen whom prosperity could not make useful, and\nwhom ruin cannot make wise: but there are among us\nmany who raise different sensations, many that owe\ntheir present misery to the seductions of treachery,\nthe strokes of casualty, or the tenderness of pity;\nmany whose sufferings disgrace society, and whose\nvirtues would adorn it: of these, when familiarity\nshall have enabled me to recount their stories without\nhorrour, you may expect another narrative from\n\nSir, Your most humble servant,\n\nMISARGYRUS.\n\n\n\nNo. 58. SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1753\n\n Damnant guod non intelligunt.  CIC.\n They condemn what they do not understand.\n\nEURIPIDES, having presented Socrates with\nthe writings of Heraclitus[h], a philosopher famed\nfor involution and obscurity, inquired afterwards his\nopinion of their merit.  \"What I understand,\" said\nSocrates, \"I find to be excellent; and, therefore,\nbelieve that to be of equal value which I cannot\nunderstand.\"\n\n\n [h] The obscurity of this philosopher's style is complained of\nby Aristotle in his treatise on Rhetoric, iii. 5.  We make the\nreference with the view of recommending to attention the whole of\nthat book, which is interspersed with the most acute remarks, and\nwith rules of criticism founded deeply on the workings of the\nhuman mind.  It is undervalued only by those who have not\nscholarship to read it, and surely merits this slight tribute of\nadmiration from an Editor of Johnson's works, with whom a\nTranslation of the Rhetoric was long a favourite project.\n\n\nThe reflection of every man who reads this passage\nwill suggest to him the difference between the practice\nof Socrates, and that of modern criticks: Socrates,\nwho had, by long observation upon himself\nand others, discovered the weakness of the strongest,\nand the dimness of the most enlightened intellect,\nwas afraid to decide hastily in his own favour, or to\nconclude that an author had written without meaning,\nbecause he could not immediately catch his\nideas; he knew that the faults of books are often\nmore justly imputable to the reader, who sometimes\nwants attention, and sometimes penetration; whose\nunderstanding is often obstructed by prejudice, and\noften dissipated by remissness; who comes sometimes\nto a new study, unfurnished with knowledge\npreviously necessary; and finds difficulties insuperable,\nfor want of ardour sufficient to encounter them.\n\nObscurity and clearness are relative terms: to some\nreaders scarce any book is easy, to others not many\nare difficult: and surely they, whom neither any\nexuberant praise bestowed by others, nor any eminent\nconquests over stubborn problems, have entitled to\nexalt themselves above the common orders of mankind,\nmight condescend to imitate the candour of\nSocrates; and where they find incontestable proofs\nof superior genius, be content to think that there is\njustness in the connexion which they cannot trace,\nand cogency in the reasoning which they cannot\ncomprehend.\n\nThis diffidence is never more reasonable than in\nthe perusal of the authors of antiquity; of those\nwhose works have been the delight of ages, and\ntransmitted as the great inheritance of mankind\nfrom one generation to another: surely, no man can,\nwithout the utmost arrogance, imagine that he\nbrings any superiority of understanding to the perusal\nof these books which have been preserved in the\ndevastations of cities, and snatched up from the\nwreck of nations; which those who fled before\nbarbarians have been careful to carry off in a hurry of\nmigration, and of which barbarians have repented\nthe destruction.  If in books thus made venerable by\nthe uniform attestation of successive ages, any\npassages shall appear unworthy of that praise which they\nhave formerly received, let us not immediately\ndetermine, that they owed their reputation to dulness\nor bigotry; but suspect at least that our ancestors\nhad some reasons for their opinions, and that our\nignorance of those reasons makes us differ from them.\n\nIt often happens that an author's reputation is\nendangered in succeeding times, by that which\nraised the loudest applause among his contemporaries:\nnothing is read with greater pleasure than allusions\nto recent facts, reigning opinions, or present\ncontroversies; but when facts are forgotten, and\ncontroversies extinguished, these favourite touches\nlose all their graces; and the author in his descent\nto posterity must be left to the mercy of chance,\nwithout any power of ascertaining the memory of\nthose things, to which he owed his luckiest thoughts\nand his kindest reception.\n\nOn such occasions, every reader should remember\nthe diffidence of Socrates, and repair by his candour\nthe injuries of time: he should impute the seeming\ndefects of his author to some chasm of intelligence,\nand suppose that the sense which is now weak was\nonce forcible, and the expression which is now dubious\nformerly determinate.\n\nHow much the mutilation of ancient history has\ntaken away from the beauty of poetical performances,\nmay be conjectured from the light which a\nlucky commentator sometimes effuses, by the\nrecovery of an incident that had been long forgotten:\nthus, in the third book of Horace, Juno's denunciations\nagainst those that should presume to raise\nagain the walls of Troy, could for many ages please\nonly by splendid images and swelling language, of\nwhich no man discovered the use or propriety, till\nLe Fevre, by showing on what occasion the Ode\nwas written, changed wonder to rational delight.\nMany passages yet undoubtedly remain in the same\nauthor, which an exacter knowledge of the incidents\nof his time would clear from objections.  Among\nthese I have always numbered the following lines:\n\n\n Aurum per medios ire satellites,\n Et perrumpere amat saxa, potentius\n     Ictu fulmineo.  Concidit auguris\n          Argivi domus ob lucrum\n Demersa exitio.  Diffidit urbium\n Portas vir Macedo, et subruit aemulos\n Regis muneribus:  Munera navium\n Saevos illaqueant duces.  HOR. Lib. iii. Ode xvi. 9.\n\n Stronger than thunder's winged force,\n All-powerful gold can spread its course,\n Thro' watchful guards its passage make,\n And loves thro' solid walls to break:\n From gold the overwhelming woes\n That crush'd the Grecian augur rose:\n Philip with gold thro' cities broke,\n And rival monarchs felt his yoke;\n Captains of ships to gold are slaves,\n Tho' fierce as their own winds and waves.  FRANCIS.\n\n\nThe close of this passage, by which every reader is\nnow disappointed and offended, was probably the\ndelight of the Roman Court: it cannot be imagined,\nthat Horace, after having given to gold the force of\nthunder, and told of its power to storm cities and to\nconquer kings, would have concluded his account of\nits efficacy with its influence over naval commanders,\nhad he not alluded to some fact then current in the\nmouths of men, and therefore more interesting for\na time than the conquests of Philip.  Of the like kind\nmay be reckoned another stanza in the same book:\n\n\n --Jussa coram non sine conscio\n Surgit marito, seu vocat institor,\n Seu navis Hispanae magister,\n Dedecorum pretiosus emptor.  HOR. Lib. iii. Ode. vi. 29.\n\n The conscious husband bids her rise,\n When some rich factor courts her charms,\n Who calls the wanton to his arms,\n And, prodigal of wealth and fame,\n Profusely buys the costly shame.  FRANCIS.\n\n\nHe has little knowledge of Horace who imagines\nthat the FACTOR, or the SPANISH MERCHANT, are\nmentioned by chance: there was undoubtedly some\npopular story of an intrigue, which those names recalled\nto the memory of his reader.\n\nThe flame of his genius in other parts, though\nsomewhat dimmed by time, is not totally eclipsed;\nhis address and judgment yet appear, though much\nof the spirit and vigour of his sentiment is lost: this\nhas happened in the twentieth Ode of the first book:\n\n Vile potabis modicis Sabinum\n Cantharis, Graeca quod ego ipse testa\n Conditum levi, datus in theatro\n          Cum tibi plausus,\n Care Moecenas eques: ut paterni\n Fluminis ripae, simul et jocosa\n Redderet laudes tibi Vaticani\n          Montis imago.\n\n A poet's beverage humbly cheap,\n     (Should great Maecenas be my guest,)\n The vintage of the Sabine grape,\n     But yet in sober cups shall crown the feast:\n 'Twas rack'd into a Grecian cask,\n     Its rougher juice to melt away;\n I seal'd it too--a pleasing task!\n     With annual joy to mark the glorious day,\n When in applausive shouts thy name\n     Spread from the theatre around,\n Floating on thy own Tiber's stream,\n     And Echo, playful nymph, return'd the sound.  FRANCIS.\n\nWe here easily remark the intertexture of a happy\ncompliment with an humble invitation; but certainly\nare less delighted than those, to whom the\nmention of the applause bestowed upon Maecenas,\ngave occasion to recount the actions or words that\nproduced it.\n\nTwo lines which have exercised the ingenuity of\nmodern criticks, may, I think, be reconciled to the\njudgment, by an easy supposition:  Horace thus\naddresses Agrippa:\n\n\n Scriberis Vario fortis, et hostium\n Victor, Maeonii carminis alite.  Hon. Lib. i. Ode vi. 1.\n\n Varius, a swan of Homer's wing,\n Shall brave Agrippa's conquests sing.\n\n\nThat Varius should be called \"A bird of Homeric\nsong,\" appears so harsh to modern ears, that an\nemendation of the text has been proposed: but\nsurely the learning of the ancients had been long ago\nobliterated, had every man thought himself at liberty\nto corrupt the lines which he did not understand.\nIf we imagine that Varius had been by any of\nhis contemporaries celebrated under the appellation\nof Musarum ales, \"the swan of the Muses,\" the\nlanguage of Horace becomes graceful and familiar;\nand that such a compliment was at least possible,\nwe know from the transformation feigned by Horace\nof himself.\n\nThe most elegant compliment that was paid to\nAddison, is of this obscure and perishable kind;\n\n\n When panting Virtue her last efforts made,\n You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid.\n\n\nThese lines must please as long as they are understood;\nbut can be understood only by those that have\nobserved Addison's signatures in the Spectator.\n\nThe nicety of these minute allusions I shall\nexemplify by another instance, which I take this\noccasion to mention, because, as I am told, the\ncommentators have omitted it.  Tibullus addressed\nCynthia in this manner:\n\n\n Te spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,\n     Te teneam moriens deficiente manu.  Lib. i. El. i. 73.\n\n Before my closing eyes dear Cynthia stand,\n Held weakly by my fainting trembling hand.\n\n\nTo these lines Ovid thus refers in his Elegy on the\ndeath of Tibullus:\n\n\n Cynthia discedens, Felicius, inquit, amata\n     Sum tibi; vixisti dum tuus ignis eram.\n Cui Nemesis, quid, ait, tibi sint mea damna dolori?\n     Me tenuit moriens deficiente manu.  Am. Lib. iii. El. ix.\n56.\n\n Blest was my reign, retiring Cynthia cry'd;\n Not till he left my breast, Tibullus dy'd.\n Forbear, said Nemesis, my loss to moan,\n The FAINTING TREMBLING HAND was mine alone.\n\n\nThe beauty of this passage, which consists in the\nappropriation made by Nemesis of the line originally\ndirected to Cynthia, had been wholly imperceptible\nto succeeding ages, had chance, which has\ndestroyed so many greater volumes, deprived us\nlikewise of the poems of Tibullus.\n\n\n\nNo. 62. SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 1753\n\n Of fortuna viris, invida fortibus\n Quam non aequa bonis praemia diridis.  SENECA.\n\n Capricious Fortune ever joys,\n With partial hand to deal the prize,\n To crush the brave and cheat the wise.\n\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER,\n\nSIR,\n\nFleet, June 6.\n\nTO the account of such of my companions as\nare imprisoned without being miserable, or are\nmiserable without any claim to compassion, I promised\nto add the histories of those, whose virtue\nhas made them unhappy or whose misfortunes\nare at least without a crime.  That this catalogue\nshould be very numerous, neither you nor your\nreaders ought to expect: rari quippe boni; \"the\ngood are few.\"  Virtue is uncommon in all the\nclasses of humanity; and I suppose it will scarcely\nbe imagined more frequent in a prison than in\nother places.\n\nYet in these gloomy regions is to be found the\ntenderness, the generosity, the philanthropy of\nSerenus, who might have lived in competence and\nease, if he could have looked without emotion on\nthe miseries of another.  Serenus was one of those\nexalted minds, whom knowledge and sagacity could\nnot make suspicious; who poured out his soul in\nboundless intimacy, and thought community of\npossessions the law of friendship.  The friend of\nSerenus was arrested for debt, and after many endeavours\nto soften his creditor, sent his wife to solicit\nthat assistance which never was refused.  The tears\nand importunity of female distress were more than\nwas necessary to move the heart of Serenus; he\nhasted immediately away, and conferring a long\ntime with his friend, found him confident that if\nthe present pressure was taken off, he should soon\nbe able to re-establish his affairs.  Serenus,\naccustomed to believe, and afraid to aggravate distress,\ndid not attempt to detect the fallacies of hope, nor\nreflect that every man overwhelmed with calamity\nbelieves, that if that was removed he shall immediately\nbe happy: he, therefore, with little hesitation\noffered himself as surety.\n\nIn the first raptures of escape all was joy, gratitude,\nand confidence: the friend of Serenus displayed\nhis prospects, and counted over the sums of\nwhich he should infallibly be master before the day\nof payment.  Serenus in a short time began to find\nhis danger, but could not prevail with himself to\nrepent of beneficence; and therefore suffered himself\nstill to be amused with projects which he durst\nnot consider, for fear of finding them impracticable.\nThe debtor, after he had tried every method of\nraising money which art or indigence could prompt,\nwanted either fidelity or resolution to surrender\nhimself to prison, and left Serenus to take his place.\n\nSerenus has often proposed to the creditor, to pay\nhim whatever he shall appear to have lost by the\nflight of his friend: but however reasonable this\nproposal may be thought, avarice and brutality have\nbeen hitherto inexorable, and Serenus still continues\nto languish in prison.\n\nIn this place, however, where want makes almost\nevery man selfish, or desperation gloomy, it is the\ngood fortune of Serenus not to live without a friend:\nhe passes most of his hours in the conversation of\nCandidus, a man whom the same virtuous ductility\nhas, with some difference of circumstances, made\nequally unhappy.  Candidus, when he was young,\nhelpless, and ignorant, found a patron that educated,\nprotected, and supported him, his patron being\nmore vigilant for others than himself, left at his\ndeath an only son, destitute and friendless.  Candidus\nwas eager to repay the benefits he had received; and\nhaving maintained the youth for a few years at his\nown house, afterwards placed him with a merchant\nof eminence, and gave bonds to a great value as a\nsecurity for his conduct.\n\nThe young man, removed too early from the only\neye of which he dreaded the observation, and deprived\nof the only instruction which he heard with\nreverence, soon learned to consider virtue as restraint,\nand restraint as oppression: and to look with a\nlonging eye at every expense to which he could not\nreach, and every pleasure which he could not partake:\nby degrees he deviated from his first regularity,\nand unhappily mingling among young men busy\nin dissipating the gains of their fathers' industry, he\nforgot the precepts of Candidus, spent the evening\nin parties of pleasure, and the morning in expedients\nto support his riots.  He was, however, dexterous and\nactive in business: and his master, being secured\nagainst any consequences of dishonesty, was very\nlittle solicitous to inspect his manners, or to inquire\nhow he passed those hours, which were not immediately\ndevoted to the business of his profession:\nwhen he was informed of the young man's\nextravagance or debauchery, \"let his bondsman look to\nthat,\" said he, \"I have taken care of myself.\"\n\nThus the unhappy spendthrift proceeded from\nfolly to folly, and from vice to vice, with the\nconnivance, if not the encouragement, of his master; till\nin the heat of a nocturnal revel he committed such\nviolences in the street as drew upon him a criminal\nprosecution.  Guilty and unexperienced, he knew not\nwhat course to take: to confess his crime to Candidus,\nand solicit his interposition, was little less dreadful\nthan to stand before the frown of a court of justice.\nHaving, therefore, passed the day with anguish in\nhis heart and distraction in his looks, he seized at\nnight a very large sum of money in the compting-\nhouse, and setting out he knew not whither, was\nheard of no more.\n\nThe consequence of his flight was the ruin of\nCandidus; ruin surely undeserved and irreproachable,\nand such as the laws of a just government ought\neither to prevent or repair: nothing is more inequitable\nthan that one man should suffer for the crimes\nof another, for crimes which he neither prompted\nnor permitted, which he could neither foresee nor\nprevent.  When we consider the weakness of human\nresolutions and the inconsistency of human conduct,\nit must appear absurd that one man shall engage for\nanother, that he will not change his opinions or alter\nhis conduct.\n\nIt is, I think, worthy of consideration, whether,\nsince no wager is binding without a possibility of loss\non each side, it is not equally reasonable, that no\ncontract should be valid without reciprocal stipulations;\nbut in this case, and others of the same kind, what\nis stipulated on his side to whom the bond is given?\nhe takes advantage of the security, neglects his\naffairs, omits his duty, suffers timorous wickedness to\ngrow daring by degrees, permits appetite to call for\nnew gratifications, and, perhaps, secretly longs for the\ntime in which he shall have power to seize the\nforfeiture; and if virtue or gratitude should prove too\nstrong for temptation, and a young man persist in\nhonesty, however instigated by his passions, what\ncan secure him at last against a false accusation?  I\nfor my part always shall suspect, that he who can\nby such methods secure his property, will go one\nstep further to increase it; nor can I think that man\nsafely trusted with the means of mischief, who, by\nhis desire to have them in his hands, gives an\nevident proof how much less he values his neighbour's\nhappiness than his own.\n\nAnother of our companions is Lentulus, a man\nwhose dignity of birth was very ill supported by\nhis fortune.  As some of the first offices in the\nkingdom were filled by his relations, he was early\ninvited to court, and encouraged by caresses and\npromises to attendance and solicitation; a constant\nappearance in splendid company necessarily\nrequired magnificence of dress; and a frequent\nparticipation of fashionable amusements forced him\ninto expense: but these measures were requisite\nto his success; since every body knows, that to be\nlost to sight is to be lost to remembrance, and that\nhe who desires to fill a vacancy, must be always at\nhand, lest some man of greater vigilance should\nstep in before him.\n\nBy this course of life his little fortune was every\nday made less: but he received so many distinctions\nin publick, and was known to resort so familiarly\nto the houses of the great, that every man looked\non his preferment as certain, and believed that its\nvalue would compensate for its slowness: he, therefore,\nfound no difficulty in obtaining credit for all\nthat his rank or his vanity made necessary: and, as\nready payment was not expected, the bills were\nproportionably enlarged, and the value of the hazard\nor delay was adjusted solely by the equity of\nthe creditor.  At length death deprived Lentulus\nof one of his patrons, and a revolution in the\nministry of another; so that all his prospects vanished\nat once, and those that had before encouraged his\nexpenses, began to perceive that their money was\nin danger; there was now no other contention but\nwho should first seize upon his person, and, by\nforcing immediate payment, deliver him up naked\nto the vengeance of the rest.  In pursuance of this\nscheme, one of them invited him to a tavern, and\nprocured him to be arrested at the door; but Lentulus,\ninstead of endeavouring secretly to pacify him\nby payment, gave notice to the rest, and offered to\ndivide amongst them the remnant of his fortune:\nthey feasted six hours at his expense, to deliberate\non his proposal; and at last determined, that as he\ncould not offer more than five shillings in the pound,\nit would be more prudent to keep him in prison,\ntill he could procure from his relations the payment\nof his debts.\n\nLentulus is not the only man confined within\nthese walls, on the same account: the like procedure,\nupon the like motives, is common among men whom\nyet the law allows to partake the use of fire and water\nwith the compassionate and the just; who frequent\nthe assemblies of commerce in open day, and talk\nwith detestation and contempt of highwaymen or\nhousebreakers: but, surely, that man must be confessedly\nrobbed, who is compelled, by whatever means,\nto pay the debts which he does not owe: nor can I\nlook with equal hatred upon him, who, at the hazard\nof his life, holds out his pistol and demands my\npurse, as on him who plunders under shelter of the\nlaw, and by detaining my son or my friend in prison,\nextorts from me the price of their liberty.  No\nman can be more an enemy to society than he, by\nwhose machinations our virtues are turned to our\ndisadvantage; he is less destructive to mankind\nthat plunders cowardice, than he that preys upon\ncompassion.\n\nI believe, Mr. Adventurer, you will readily\nconfess, that though not one of these, if tried before a\ncommercial judicature, can be wholly acquitted from\nimprudence or temerity; yet that, in the eye of all\nwho can consider virtue as distinct from wealth, the\nfault of two of them, at least, is outweighed by the\nmerit; and that of the third is so much extenuated\nby the circumstances of his life, as not to deserve a\nperpetual prison: yet must these, with multitudes\nequally blameless, languish in confinement, till\nmalevolence shall relent, or the law be changed.\n\nI am, Sir,\n\nYour humble servant,\n\nMISARGYRUS.68\n\n\n\nNo. 67. TUESDAY, JUNE 26, 1753\n\n Inventas----vitam excoluere per artes.\n\nVIRG. AEn. vi. 663.\n\n\n They polish life by useful arts.\n\nTHAT familiarity produces neglect, has been\nlong observed.  The effect of all external objects,\nhowever great or splendid, ceases with their novelty;\nthe courtier stands without emotion in the royal\npresence: the rustick tramples under his foot the\nbeauties of the spring with little attention to their\ncolours or their fragrance; and the inhabitant of the\ncoast darts his eye upon the immense diffusion of\nwaters, without awe, wonder, or terrour.\n\nThose who have past much of their lives in this\ngreat city, look upon its opulence and its multitudes,\nits extent and variety, with cold indifference; but an\ninhabitant of the remoter parts of the kingdom is\nimmediately distinguished by a kind of dissipated\ncuriosity, a busy endeavour to divide his attention\namongst a thousand objects, and a wild confusion of\nastonishment and alarm.\n\nThe attention of a new comer is generally first\nstruck by the multiplicity of cries that stun him in\nthe streets, and the variety of merchandize and\nmanufactures which the shopkeepers expose on\nevery hand; and he is apt, by unwary bursts of\nadmiration, to excite the merriment and contempt\nof those who mistake the use of their eyes for effects\nof their understanding, and confound accidental\nknowledge with just reasoning.\n\nBut, surely, these are subjects on which any man\nmay without reproach employ his meditations: the\ninnumerable occupations, among which the thousands\nthat swarm in the streets of London, are distributed,\nmay furnish employment to minds of every\ncast, and capacities of every degree.  He that\ncontemplates the extent of this wonderful city, finds it\ndifficult to conceive, by what method plenty is\nmaintained in our markets, and how the inhabitants are\nregularly supplied with the necessaries of life; but\nwhen he examines the shops and warehouses, sees\nthe immense stores of every kind of merchandize\npiled up for sale, and runs over all the manufactures\nof art and products of nature, which are every where\nattracting his eye and soliciting his purse, he will be\ninclined to conclude, that such quantities cannot\neasily be exhausted, and that part of mankind must\nsoon stand still for want of employment, till the wares\nalready provided shall be worn out and destroyed.\n\nAs Socrates was passing through the fair at Athens,\nand casting his eyes over the shops and customers,\n\"how many things are here,\" says he, \"that\nI do not want!\"  The same sentiment is every\nmoment rising in the mind of him that walks the streets\nof London, however inferior in philosophy to\nSocrates: he beholds a thousand shops crowded with\ngoods, of which he can scarcely tell the use, and\nwhich, therefore, he is apt to consider as of no value:\nand indeed, many of the arts by which families are\nsupported, and wealth is heaped together, are of that\nminute and superfluous kind, which nothing but\nexperience could evince possible to be prosecuted with\nadvantage, and which, as the world might easily\nwant, it could scarcely be expected to encourage.\n\nBut so it is, that custom, curiosity, or\nwantonness, supplies every art with patrons, and finds\npurchasers for every manufacture; the world is so\nadjusted, that not only bread, but riches may be\nobtained without great abilities or arduous\nperformances: the most unskilful hand and unenlightened\nmind have sufficient incitements to industry; for\nhe that is resolutely busy, can scarcely be in want.\nThere is, indeed, no employment, however despicable,\nfrom which a man may not promise himself\nmore than competence, when he sees thousands and\nmyriads raised to dignity, by no other merit than\nthat of contributing to supply their neighbours with\nthe means of sucking smoke through a tube of clay;\nand others raising contributions upon those, whose\nelegance disdains the grossness of smoky luxury, by\ngrinding the same materials into a powder that may\nat once gratify and impair the smell.\n\nNot only by these popular and modish trifles,\nbut by a thousand unheeded and evanescent kinds\nof business, are the multitudes of this city preserved\nfrom idleness, and consequently from want.  In the\nendless variety of tastes and circumstances that\ndiversify mankind, nothing is so superfluous, but that\nsome one desires it: or so common, but that some\none is compelled to buy it.  As nothing is useless\nbut because it is in improper hands, what is thrown\naway by one is gathered up by another; and the\nrefuse of part of mankind furnishes a subordinate\nclass with the materials necessary to their support.\n\nWhen I look round upon those who are thus\nvariously exerting their qualifications, I cannot but\nadmire the secret concatenation of society that links\ntogether the great and the mean, the illustrious\nand the obscure; and consider with benevolent\nsatisfaction, that no man, unless his body or mind be\ntotally disabled, has need to suffer the mortification\nof seeing himself useless or burthensome to the\ncommunity: he that will diligently labour, in whatever\noccupation, will deserve the sustenance which\nhe obtains, and the protection which he enjoys; and\nmay lie down every night with the pleasing\nconsciousness of having contributed something to the\nhappiness of life.\n\nContempt and admiration are equally incident to\nnarrow minds: he whose comprehension can take\nin the whole subordination of mankind, and whose\nperspicacity can pierce to the real state of things\nthrough the thin veils of fortune or of fashion, will\ndiscover meanness in the highest stations, and dignity\nin the meanest; and find that no man can become\nvenerable but by virtue, or contemptible but\nby wickedness.\n\nIn the midst of this universal hurry, no man\nought to be so little influenced by example, or so\nvoid of honest emulation, as to stand a lazy spectator\nof incessant labour; or please himself with the\nmean happiness of a drone, while the active swarms\nare buzzing about him: no man is without some\nquality, by the due application of which he might\ndeserve well of the world; and whoever he be that\nhas but little in his power, should be in haste to do\nthat little, lest he be confounded with him that can\ndo nothing.\n\nBy this general concurrence of endeavours, arts\nof every kind have been so long cultivated, that all\nthe wants of man may be immediately supplied;\nidleness can scarcely form a wish which she may not\ngratify by the toil of others, or curiosity dream of a\ntoy, which the shops are not ready to afford her.\n\nHappiness is enjoyed only in proportion as it is\nknown; and such is the state or folly of man, that\nit is known only by experience of its contrary: we\nwho have long lived amidst the conveniences of a\ntown immensely populous, have scarce an idea of a\nplace where desire cannot be gratified by money.\nIn order to have a just sense of this artificial plenty,\nit is necessary to have passed some time in a distant\ncolony, or those parts of our island which are thinly\ninhabited: he that has once known how many trades\nevery man in such situations is compelled to\nexercise, with how much labour the products of nature\nmust be accommodated to human use, how long\nthe loss or defect of any common utensil must be\nendured, or by what awkward expedients it must\nbe supplied, how far men may wander with money\nin their hands before any can sell them what they\nwish to buy, will know how to rate at its proper\nvalue the plenty and ease of a great city.\n\nBut that the happiness of man may still remain\nimperfect, as wants in this place are easily supplied,\nnew wants likewise are easily created; every man,\nin surveying the shops of London, sees numberless\ninstruments and conveniences, of which, while he\ndid not know them, he never felt the need; and yet,\nwhen use has made them familiar, wonders how life\ncould be supported without them.  Thus it comes to\npass, that our desires always increase with our\npossessions; the knowledge that something remains yet\nunenjoyed, impairs our enjoyment of the good before us.\n\nThey who have been accustomed to the refinements\nof science, and multiplications of contrivance,\nsoon lose their confidence in the unassisted powers\nof nature, forget the paucity of our real necessities,\nand overlook the easy methods by which they may\nbe supplied.  It were a speculation worthy of a\nphilosophical mind, to examine how much is taken away\nfrom our native abilities, as well as added to them,\nby artificial expedients.  We are so accustomed to\ngive and receive assistance, that each of us singly\ncan do little for himself; and there is scarce any one\namong us, however contracted may be his form of\nlife, who does not enjoy the labour of a thousand\nartists.\n\nBut a survey of the various nations that inhabit\nthe earth will inform us, that life may be supported\nwith less assistance; and that the dexterity, which\npractice enforced by necessity produces, is able to\neffect much by very scanty means.  The nations of\nMexico and Peru erected cities and temples with\nout the use of iron; and at this day the rude Indian\nsupplies himself with all the necessaries of life: sent\nlike the rest of mankind naked into the world, as\nsoon as his parents have nursed him up to strength,\nhe is to provide by his own labour for his own support.\nHis first care is to find a sharp flint among the\nrocks; with this he undertakes to fell the trees of\nthe forest; he shapes his bow, heads his arrows,\nbuilds his cottage, and hollows his canoe, and from\nthat time lives in a state of plenty and prosperity;\nhe is sheltered from the storms, he is fortified against\nbeasts of prey, he is enabled to pursue the fish of\nthe sea, and the deer of the mountains; and as he\ndoes not know, does not envy the happiness of\npolished nations, where gold can supply the want of\nfortitude and skill, and he whose laborious ancestors\nhave made him rich, may lie stretched upon a couch,\nand see all the treasures of all the elements poured\ndown before him.\n\nThis picture of a savage life if it shows how much\nindividuals may perform, shows likewise how much\nsociety is to be desired.  Though the perseverance\nand address of the Indian excite our admiration,\nthey nevertheless cannot procure him the conveniences\nwhich are enjoyed by the vagrant beggar of a\ncivilized country: he hunts like a wild beast to\nsatisfy his hunger; and when he lies down to rest after\na successful chase, cannot pronounce himself secure\nagainst the danger of perishing in a few days: he is,\nperhaps, content with his condition, because he\nknows not that a better is attainable by man; as he\nthat is born blind does not long for the perception\nof light, because he cannot conceive the advantages\nwhich light would afford him; but hunger, wounds,\nand weariness, are real evils, though he believes\nthem equally incident to all his fellow-creatures;\nand when a tempest compels him to lie starving in\nhis hut, he cannot justly be concluded equally happy\nwith those whom art has exempted from the power\nof chance, and who make the foregoing year provide\nfor the following.\n\nTo receive and to communicate assistance,\nconstitutes the happiness of human life: man may, indeed,\npreserve his existence in solitude, but can enjoy it\nonly in society; the greatest understanding of an\nindividual, doomed to procure food and clothing\nfor himself, will barely supply him with expedients\nto keep off death from day to day; but as one of a\nlarge community performing only his share of the\ncommon business, he gains leisure for intellectual\npleasures, and enjoys the happiness of reason and\nreflection.\n\n\n\nNo. 69. TUESDAY, JULY 3, 1753\n\n Fereoe libenter homines id quod volunt credunt.  CAESAR.\n\n Men willingly believe what they wish to be true.\n\nTULLY has long ago observed, that no man,\nhowever weakened by long life, is so conscious\nof his own decrepitude, as not to imagine that he\nmay yet hold his station in the world for another year.\n\nOf the truth of this remark every day furnishes new\nconfirmation: there is no time of life, in which men\nfor the most part seem less to expect the stroke of\ndeath, than when every other eye sees it impending;\nor are more busy in providing for another year,\nthan when it is plain to all but themselves, that at\nanother year they cannot arrive.  Though every\nfuneral that passes before their eyes evinces the\ndeceitfulness of such expectations, since every man who is\nborn to the grave thought himself equally certain of\nliving at least to the next year; the survivor still\ncontinues to flatter himself, and is never at a loss for\nsome reason why his life should be protracted, and\nthe voracity of death continue to be pacified with\nsome other prey.\nBut this is only one of the innumerable artifices\npractised in the universal conspiracy of mankind\nagainst themselves: every age and every condition\nindulges some darling fallacy; every man amuses\nhimself with projects which he knows to be improbable,\nand which, therefore, he resolves to pursue\nwithout daring to examine them.  Whatever any man\nardently desires, he very readily believes that he shall\nsome time attain: he whose intemperance has\noverwhelmed him with diseases, while he languishes in\nthe spring, expects vigour and recovery from the\nsummer sun; and while he melts away in the summer,\ntransfers his hopes to the frosts of winter: he\nthat gazes upon elegance or pleasure, which want of\nmoney hinders him from imitating or partaking,\ncomforts himself that the time of distress will soon\nbe at an end, and that every day brings him nearer\nto a state of happiness; though he knows it has passed\nnot only without acquisition of advantage, but perhaps\nwithout endeavours after it, in the formation\nof schemes that cannot be executed, and in the\ncontemplation of prospects which cannot be approached.\n\nSuch is the general dream in which we all slumber\nout our time: every man thinks the day coming, in\nwhich he shall be gratified with all his wishes, in\nwhich he shall leave all those competitors behind,\nwho are now rejoicing like himself in the expectation\nof victory; the day is always coming to the servile\nin which they shall be powerful, to the obscure\nin which they shall be eminent, and to the deformed\nin which they shall be beautiful.\n\nIf any of my readers has looked with so little\nattention on the world about him, as to imagine this\nrepresentation exaggerated beyond probability, let\nhim reflect a little upon his own life; let him\nconsider what were his hopes and prospects ten years\nago, and what additions he then expected to be made\nby ten years to his happiness; those years are now\nelapsed; have they made good the promise that was\nextorted from them? have they advanced his fortune,\nenlarged his knowledge, or reformed his conduct,\nto the degree that was once expected?  I am\nafraid, every man that recollects his hopes must\nconfess his disappointment; and own that day has glided\nunprofitably after day, and that he is still at the same\ndistance from the point of happiness.\n\nWith what consolations can those, who have thus\nmiscarried in their chief design, elude the memory\nof their ill success? with what amusements can they\npacify their discontent, after the loss of so large a\nportion of life? they can give themselves up again\nto the same delusions, they can form new schemes\nof airy gratifications, and fix another period of\nfelicity; they can again resolve to trust the promise\nwhich they know will be broken, they can walk in a\ncircle with their eyes shut, and persuade themselves\nto think that they go forward.\n\nOf every great and complicated event, part\ndepends upon causes out of our power, and part must\nbe effected by vigour and perseverance.  With regard\nto that which is styled in common language the\nwork of chance, men will always find reasons for\nconfidence or distrust, according to their different\ntempers or inclinations; and he that has been long\naccustomed to please himself with possibilities of\nfortuitous happiness, will not easily or willingly be\nreclaimed from his mistake.  But the effects of human\nindustry and skill are more easily subjected to\ncalculation: whatever can be completed in a year, is\ndivisible into parts, of which each may be performed\nin the compass of a day; he, therefore, that has\npassed the day without attention to the task assigned\nhim, may be certain, that the lapse of life\nhas brought him no nearer to his object; for\nwhatever idleness may expect from time, its produce\nwill be only in proportion to the diligence with\nwhich it has been used.  He that floats lazily down\nthe stream, in pursuit of something borne along by\nthe same current, will find himself indeed move\nforward; but unless he lays his hand to the oar, and\nincreases his speed by his own labour, must be always\nat the same distance from that which he is\nfollowing.\n\nThere have happened in every age some\ncontingencies of unexpected and undeserved success, by\nwhich those who are determined to believe whatever\nfavours their inclinations, have been encouraged\nto delight themselves with future advantages; they\nsupport confidence by considerations, of which the\nonly proper use is to chase away despair: it is equally\nabsurd to sit down in idleness because some have\nbeen enriched without labour, as to leap a precipice\nbecause some have fallen and escaped with life, or\nto put to sea in a storm because some have been\ndriven from a wreck upon the coast to which they\nare bound.\n\nWe are all ready to confess, that belief ought to\nbe proportioned to evidence or probability: let any\nman, therefore, compare the number of those who\nhave been thus favoured by fortune, and of those\nwho have failed of their expectations, and he will\neasily determine, with what justness he has registered\nhimself in the lucky catalogue.\n\nBut there is no need on these occasions for deep\ninquiries or laborious calculations; there is a far\neasier method of distinguishing the hopes of folly\nfrom those of reason, of finding the difference\nbetween prospects that exist before the eyes, and\nthose that are only painted on a fond imagination.\nTom Drowsy had accustomed himself to compute\nthe profit of a darling project till he had no longer\nany doubt of its success; it was at last matured by\nclose consideration, all the measures were accurately\nadjusted, and he wanted only five hundred pounds\nto become master of a fortune that might be envied\nby a director of a trading company.  Tom was\ngenerous and grateful, and was resolved to\nrecompense this small assistance with an ample fortune;\nhe, therefore, deliberated for a time, to whom\namongst his friends he should declare his necessities;\nnot that he suspected a refusal, but because\nhe could not suddenly determine which of them\nwould make the best use of riches, and was,\ntherefore, most worthy of his favour.  At last his choice\nwas settled; and knowing that in order to borrow\nhe must shew the probability of repayment, he\nprepared for a minute and copious explanation of his\nproject.  But here the golden dream was at an end:\nhe soon discovered the impossibility of imposing\nupon others the notions by which he had so long\nimposed upon himself; which way soever he turned\nhis thoughts, impossibility and absurdity arose in\nopposition on every side; even credulity and prejudice\nwere at last forced to give way, and he grew\nashamed of crediting himself what shame would\nnot suffer him to communicate to another.\n\nTo this test let every man bring his imaginations,\nbefore they have been too long predominant in his\nmind.  Whatever is true will bear to be related,\nwhatever is rational will endure to be explained;\nbut when we delight to brood in secret over future\nhappiness, and silently to employ our meditations\nupon schemes of which we are conscious that the\nbare mention would expose us to derision and\ncontempt; we should then remember, that we are\ncheating ourselves by voluntary delusions; and\ngiving up to the unreal mockeries of fancy, those hours\nin which solid advantages might be attained by\nsober thought and rational assiduity.\n\nThere is, indeed, so little certainty in human\naffairs, that the most cautious and severe examiner\nmay be allowed to indulge some hopes which he\ncannot prove to be much favoured by probability;\nsince, after his utmost endeavours to ascertain events,\nhe must often leave the issue in the hands of chance.\nAnd so scanty is our present allowance of happiness,\nthat in many situations life could scarcely be\nsupported, if hope were not allowed to relieve the\npresent hour by pleasures borrowed from futurity;\nand reanimate the languor of dejection to new\nefforts, by pointing to distant regions of felicity, which\nyet no resolution or perseverance shall ever reach.\n\nBut these, like all other cordials, though they may\ninvigorate in a small quantity, intoxicate in a greater;\nthese pleasures, like the rest, are lawful only in\ncertain circumstances, and to certain degrees; they may\nbe useful in a due subserviency to nobler purposes,\nbut become dangerous and destructive when once\nthey gain the ascendant in the heart: to soothe the\nmind to tranquillity by hope, even when that hope\nis likely to deceive us, may be sometimes useful;\nbut to lull our faculties in a lethargy is poor and\ndespicable.\n\nVices and errours are differently modified,\naccording to the state of the minds to which they are\nincident; to indulge hope beyond the warrant of\nreason, is the failure alike of mean and elevated\nunderstandings; but its foundation and its effects are\ntotally different: the man of high courage and great\nabilities is apt to place too much confidence in\nhimself, and to expect, from a vigorous exertion of his\npowers, more than spirit or diligence can attain:\nbetween him and his wish he sees obstacles indeed, but\nhe expects to overleap or break them; his mistaken\nardour hurries him forward; and though, perhaps,\nhe misses his end, he nevertheless obtains some\ncollateral good, and performs something useful to\nmankind, and honourable to himself.\n\nThe drone of timidity presumes likewise to hope,\nbut without ground and without consequence; the\nbliss with which he solaces his hours he always\nexpects from others, though very often he knows not\nfrom whom: he folds his arms about him, and sits\nin expectation of some revolution in the state that\nshall raise him to greatness, or some golden shower\nthat shall load him with wealth; he dozes away the\nday in musing upon the morrow; and at the end of\nlife is roused from his dream only to discover that\nthe time of action is past, and that he can now shew\nhis wisdom only by repentance.\n\n\n\nNo. 74. SATURDAY, JULY 21, 1753\n Insansientis dum sapientiae\n Consultus erro.---- HOR. Lib. i. Od. xxxiv. 2.\n\n I missed my end, and lost my way\n By crack-brain'd wisdom led astray.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER,\n\nSIR,\n\nIT has long been charged by one part of mankind\nupon the other, that they will not take advice;\nthat counsel and instruction are generally thrown\naway; and that, in defiance both of admonition and\nexample, all claim the right to choose their own\nmeasures, and to regulate their own lives.\n\nThat there is something in advice very useful and\nsalutary, seems to be equally confessed on all hands:\nsince even those that reject it, allow for the most\npart that rejection to be wrong, but charge the fault\nupon the unskilful manner in which it is given: they\nadmit the efficacy of the medicine, but abhor the\nnauseousness of the vehicle.\n\nThus mankind have gone on from century to\ncentury: some have been advising others how to act,\nand some have been teaching the advisers how to\nadvise; yet very little alteration has been made in\nthe world.  As we must all by the law of nature enter\nlife in ignorance, we must all make our way through\nit by the light of our own experience; and for any\nsecurity that advice has been yet able to afford,\nmust endeavour after success at the hazard of\nmiscarriage, and learn to do right by venturing to do\nwrong.\n\nBy advice I would not be understood to mean,\nthe everlasting and invariable principles of moral and\nreligious truth, from which no change of external\ncircumstances can justify any deviation; but such\ndirections as respect merely the prudential part of\nconduct, and which may be followed or neglected\nwithout any violation of essential duties.\n\nIt is, indeed, not so frequently to make us good\nas to make us wise, that our friends employ the\nofficiousness of counsel; and among the rejectors of\nadvice, who are mentioned by the grave and sententious\nwith so much acrimony, you will not so often\nfind the vicious and abandoned, as the pert and the\npetulant, the vivacious and the giddy.\n\nAs the great end of female education is to get a\nhusband, this likewise is the general subject of\nfemale advice: and the dreadful denunciation against\nthose volatile girls, who will not listen patiently to\nthe lectures of wrinkled wisdom, is, that they will\ndie unmarried, or throw themselves away upon some\nworthless fellow, who will never be able to keep\nthem a coach.\n\nI being naturally of a ductile and easy temper,\nwithout strong desires or quick resentments, was\nalways a favourite amongst the elderly ladies, because\nI never rebelled against seniority, nor could be\ncharged with thinking myself wise before my time;\nbut heard every opinion with submissive silence,\nprofessed myself ready to learn from all who seemed\ninclined to teach me, paid the same grateful acknowledgements\nfor precepts contradictory to each other,\nand if any controversy arose, was careful to side with\nher who presided in the company.\n\nOf this compliance I very early found the advantage;\nfor my aunt Matilda left me a very large addition\nto my fortune, for this reason chiefly, as she\nherself declared, because I was not above hearing\ngood counsel, but would sit from morning till night\nto be instructed, while my sister Sukey, who was a\nyear younger than myself, and was, therefore, in\ngreater want of information, was so much conceited\nof her own knowledge, that whenever the good lady\nin the ardour of benevolence reproved or instructed\nher, she would pout or titter, interrupt her with\nquestions, or embarrass her with objections.\n\nI had no design to supplant my sister by this\ncomplaisant attention; nor, when the consequence of my\nobsequiousness came to be known, did Sukey so\nmuch envy as despise me: I was, however, very well\npleased with my success; and having received, from\nthe concurrent opinion of all mankind, a notion that\nto be rich was to be great and happy, I thought I had\nobtained my advantages at an easy rate, and resolved\nto continue the same passive attention, since I found\nmyself so powerfully recommended by it to kindness\nand esteem.\n\nThe desire of advising has a very extensive\nprevalence; and since advice cannot be given but to those\nthat will hear it, a patient listener is necessary to the\naccommodation of all those who desire to be confirmed\nin the opinion of their own wisdom: a patient\nlistener, however, is not always to be had; the present\nage, whatever age is present, is so vitiated and\ndisordered that young people are readier to talk than\nto attend, and good counsel is only thrown away\nupon those who are full of their own perfections.\n\nI was, therefore, in this scarcity of good sense, a\ngeneral favourite; and seldom saw a day in which\nsome sober matron did not invite me to her house,\nor take me out in her chariot, for the sake of instructing\nme how to keep my character in this censorious\nage, how to conduct myself in the time of courtship,\nhow to stipulate for a settlement, how to manage a\nhusband of every character, regulate my family, and\neducate my children.\n\nWe are all naturally credulous in our own favour.\nHaving been so often caressed and applauded for\ndocility, I was willing to believe myself really\nenlightened by instruction, and completely qualified for the\ntask of life.  I did not doubt but I was entering the\nworld with a mind furnished against all exigencies,\nwith expedients to extricate myself from every\ndifficulty, and sagacity to provide against every danger;\nI was, therefore, in haste to give some specimen of\nmy prudence, and to show that this liberality of\ninstruction had not been idly lavished upon a mind\nincapable of improvement.\n\nMy purpose, for why should I deny it? was like\nthat of other women, to obtain a husband of rank\nand fortune superior to my own; and in this I had\nthe concurrence of all those that had assumed the\nprovince of directing me.  That the woman was\nundone who married below herself, was universally\nagreed: and though some ventured to assert, that\nthe richer man ought invariably to be preferred, and\nthat money was a sufficient compensation for a\ndefective ancestry; yet the majority declared warmly\nfor a gentleman, and were of opinion that upstarts\nshould not be encouraged.\n\nWith regard to other qualifications I had an\nirreconcilable variety of instructions.  I was sometimes\ntold that deformity was no defect in a man; and\nthat he who was not encouraged to intrigue by an\nopinion of his person, was more likely to value the\ntenderness of his wife: but a grave widow directed\nme to choose a man who might imagine himself\nagreeable to me, for that the deformed were always\ninsupportably vigilant, and apt to sink into sullenness,\nor burst into rage, if they found their wife's\neye wandering for a moment to a good face or a\nhandsome shape.\n\nThey were, however, all unanimous in warning\nme, with repeated cautions, against all thoughts of\nunion with a wit, as a being with whom no happiness\ncould possibly be enjoyed: men of every other\nkind I was taught to govern, but a wit was an\nanimal for whom no arts of taming had been yet\ndiscovered: the woman whom he could once get within\nhis power, was considered as lost to all hope of\ndominion or of quiet: for he would detect artifice and\ndefeat allurement; and if once he discovered any\nfailure of conduct, would believe his own eyes, in\ndefiance of tears, caresses, and protestations.\n\nIn pursuance of these sage principles, I proceeded\nto form my schemes; and while I was yet in the\nfirst bloom of youth, was taken out at an assembly\nby Mr. Frisk.  I am afraid my cheeks glowed, and\nmy eyes sparkled; for I observed the looks of all\nmy superintendants fixed anxiously upon me; and\nI was next day cautioned against him from all hands,\nas a man of the most dangerous and formidable kind,\nwho had writ verses to one lady, and then forsaken\nher only because she could not read them, and had\nlampooned another for no other fault than defaming\nhis sister.\n\nHaving been hitherto accustomed to obey, I\nventured to dismiss Mr. Frisk, who happily did not\nthink me worth the labour of a lampoon.  I was then\naddressed by Mr. Sturdy, and congratulated by all\nmy friends on the manors of which I was shortly\nto be lady: but Sturdy's conversation was so gross,\nthat after the third visit I could endure him no\nlonger; and incurred, by dismissing him, the censure\nof all my friends, who declared that my nicety\nwas greater than my prudence, and that they feared\nit would be my fate at last to be wretched with a wit.\n\nBy a wit, however, I was never afterwards\nattacked, but lovers of every other class, or pretended\nlovers, I have often had; and, notwithstanding the\nadvice constantly given me, to have no regard in\nmy choice to my own inclinations, I could not\nforbear to discard some for vice, and some for\nrudeness.  I was once loudly censured for refusing an old\ngentleman who offered an enormous jointure, and\ndied of the phthisic a year after; and was so baited\nwith incessant importunities, that I should have\ngiven my hand to Drone the stock-jobber, had not\nthe reduction of interest made him afraid of the\nexpenses of matrimony.\n\nSome, indeed, I was permitted to encourage; but\nmiscarried of the main end, by treating them according\nto the rules of art which had been prescribed\nme.  Altilis, an old maid, infused into me so\nmuch haughtiness and reserve, that some of my\nlovers withdrew themselves from my frown, and\nreturned no more; others were driven away, by the\ndemands of settlement which the widow Trapland\ndirected me to make; and I have learned, by many\nexperiments, that to ask advice is to lose opportunity.\n\nI am, Sir,\n\nYour humble servant,\n\nPERDITA.\n\n\n\nNo. 81. TUESDAY, AUGUST 14, 1753\n\n Nil desperandum. HOR. Lib. i. Od. vii. 27.\n\n Avaunt despair!\n\nI HAVE sometimes heard it disputed in conversation,\nwhether it be more laudable or desirable,\nthat a man should think too highly or too meanly\nof himself: it is on all hands agreed to be best, that\nhe should think rightly; but since a fallible being\nwill always make some deviations from exact rectitude,\nit is not wholly useless to inquire towards\nwhich side it is safer to decline.\n\nThe prejudices of mankind seem to favour him\nwho errs by under-rating his own powers: he is considered\nas a modest and harmless member of society,\nnot likely to break the peace by competition, to\nendeavour after such splendour of reputation as may\ndim the lustre of others, or to interrupt any in the\nenjoyment of themselves; he is no man's rival, and,\ntherefore, may be every man's friend.\n\nThe opinion which a man entertains of himself\nought to be distinguished, in order to an accurate\ndiscussion of this question, as it relates to persons\nor to things.  To think highly of ourselves in\ncomparison with others, to assume by our own authority\nthat precedence which none is willing to grant, must\nbe always invidious and offensive; but to rate our\npowers high in proportion to things, and imagine\nourselves equal to great undertakings, while we leave\nothers in possession of the same abilities, cannot\nwith equal justice provoke censure.\n\nIt must be confessed, that self-love may dispose\nus to decide too hastily in our own favour: but who is\nhurt by the mistake?  If we are incited by this vain\nopinion to attempt more than we can perform, ours\nis the labour, and ours is the disgrace.\n\nBut he that dares to think well of himself, will\nnot always prove to be mistaken; and the good\neffects of his confidence will then appear in great\nattempts and great performances: if he should not\nfully complete his design, he will at least advance\nit so far as to leave an easier task for him that\nsucceeds him; and even though he should wholly fail,\nhe will fail with honour.\n\nBut from the opposite errour, from torpid\ndespondency, can come no advantage; it is the frost of\nthe soul, which binds up all its powers, and congeals\nlife in perpetual sterility.  He that has no hopes of\nsuccess, will make no attempts; and where nothing\nis attempted, nothing can be done.\n\nEvery man should, therefore, endeavour to\nmaintain in himself a favourable opinion of the powers\nof the human mind; which are, perhaps, in every\nman, greater than they appear, and might, by diligent\ncultivation, be exalted to a degree beyond\nwhat their possessor presumes to believe.  There is\nscarce any man but has found himself able, at the\ninstigation of necessity, to do what in a state of\nleisure and deliberation he would have concluded\nimpossible; and some of our species have signalized\nthemselves by such achievements, as prove that\nthere are few things above human hope.\n\nIt has been the policy of all nations to preserve,\nby some public monuments, the memory of those\nwho have served their country by great exploits:\nthere is the same reason for continuing or reviving\nthe names of those, whose extensive abilities have\ndignified humanity.  An honest emulation may be\nalike excited; and the philosopher's curiosity may\nbe inflamed by a catalogue of the works of Boyle\nor Bacon, as Themistocles was kept awake by the\ntrophies of Miltiades.\n\nAmong the favourites of nature that have from\ntime to time appeared in the world, enriched with\nvarious endowments and contrarieties of excellence,\nnone seems to have been exalted above the common\nrate of humanity, than the man known about two\ncenturies ago by the appellation of the Admirable\nCrichton; of whose history, whatever we may suppress\nas surpassing credibility, yet we shall, upon\nincontestable authority, relate enough to rank him\namong prodigies.\n\n\"Virtue,\" says Virgil, \"is better accepted when\nit comes in a pleasing form:\" the person of Crichton\nwas eminently beautiful; but his beauty was\nconsistent with such activity and strength, that\nin fencing he would spring at one bound the\nlength of twenty feet upon his antagonist; and he\nused the sword in either hand with such force and\ndexterity, that scarce any one had courage to engage him.\n\nHaving studied at St. Andrews in Scotland, he\nwent to Paris in his twenty-first year, and affixed on\nthe gate of the college of Navarre a kind of challenge\nto the learned of that university to dispute with him\non a certain day: offering to his opponents, whoever\nthey should be, the choice of ten languages, and of\nall faculties and sciences.  On the day appointed three\nthousand auditors assembled, when four doctors of\nthe church and fifty masters appeared against him;\nand one of his antagonists confesses, that the doctors\nwere defeated; that he gave proofs of knowledge\nabove the reach of man; and that a hundred years\npassed without food or sleep, would not be sufficient\nfor the attainment of his learning.  After a disputation\nof nine hours, he was presented by the president\nand professors with a diamond and a purse of gold,\nand dismissed with repeated acclamations.\n\nFrom Paris he went away to Rome, where he made\nthe same challenge, and had in the presence of the\npope and cardinals the same success.  Afterwards he\ncontracted at Venice an acquaintance with Aldus\nManutius, by whom he was introduced to the learned\nof that city: then visited Padua, where he engaged\nin another publick disputation, beginning his\nperformance with an extemporal poem in praise of the\ncity and the assembly then present, and concluding\nwith an oration equally unpremeditated in commendation\nof ignorance.\n\nHe afterwards published another challenge, in\nwhich he declared himself ready to detect the errours\nof Aristotle and all his commentators, either\nin the common forms of logick, or in any which his\nantagonists should propose of a hundred different\nkinds of verse.\n\nThese acquisitions of learning, however\nstupendous, were not gained at the expense of any pleasure\nwhich youth generally indulges, or by the omission\nof any accomplishment in which it becomes a gentleman\nto excel: he practised in great perfection the\narts of drawing and painting, he was an eminent\nperformer in both vocal and instrumental musick, he\ndanced with uncommon gracefulness, and, on the day\nafter his disputation at Paris, exhibited his skill in\nhorsemanship before the court of France, where at a\npublick match of tilting, he bore away the ring upon\nhis lance fifteen times together.\n\nHe excelled likewise in domestic games of less\ndignity and reputation: and in the interval between\nhis challenge and disputation at Paris, he spent so\nmuch of his time at cards, dice, and tennis, that a\nlampoon was fixed upon the gate of the Sorbonne,\ndirecting those that would see this monster of\nerudition, to look for him at the tavern.\n\nSo extensive was his acquaintance with life and\nmanners, that in an Italian comedy composed by\nhimself, and exhibited before the court of Mantua,\nhe is said to have personated fifteen different\ncharacters; in all which he might succeed without great\ndifficulty, since he had such power of retention, that\nonce hearing an oration of an hour, he would repeat\nit exactly, and in the recital follow the speaker\nthrough all his variety of tone and gesticulation.\n\nNor was his skill in arms less than in learning, or\nhis courage inferior to his skill: there was a prize-\nfighter at Mantua, who travelling about the world,\naccording to the barbarous custom of that age, as a\ngeneral challenger, had defeated the most celebrated\nmasters in many parts of Europe; and in Mantua,\nwhere he then resided, had killed three that appeared\nagainst him.  The duke repented that he had granted\nhim his protection; when Crichton, looking on his\nsanguinary success with indignation, offered to stake\nfifteen hundred pistoles, and mount the stage against\nhim.  The duke with some reluctance consented, and\non the day fixed the combatants appeared: their\nweapon seems to have been single rapier, which was\nthen newly introduced in Italy.  The prize-fighter\nadvanced with great violence and fierceness, and\nCrichton contended himself calmly to ward his\npasses, and suffered him to exhaust his vigour by\nhis own fury.  Crichton then became the assailant;\nand pressed upon him with such force and agility,\nthat he thrust him thrice through the body, and\nsaw him expire: he then divided the prize he had\nwon among the widows whose husbands had been\nkilled.\n\nThe death of this wonderful man I should be\nwilling to conceal, did I not know that every reader\nwill inquire curiously after that fatal hour, which is\ncommon to all human beings, however distinguished\nfrom each other by nature or by fortune.\n\nThe duke of Mantua, having received so many\nproofs of his various merit, made him tutor to his\nson Vicentio di Gonzaga, a prince of loose manners\nand turbulent disposition.  On this occasion it was,\nthat he composed the comedy in which he exhibited\nso many different characters with exact propriety.\nBut his honour was of short continuance; for\nas he was one night in the time of Carnival\nrambling about the streets, with his guitar in his hand,\nhe was attacked by six men masked.  Neither his\ncourage nor skill in his exigence deserted him: he\nopposed them with such activity and spirit, that\nhe soon dispersed them, and disarmed their leader,\nwho throwing off his mask, discovered himself to\nbe the prince his pupil.  Crichton, falling on his knees,\ntook his own sword by the point, and presented it to\nthe prince; who immediately seized it, and instigated,\nas some say, by jealousy, according to others,\nonly by drunken fury and brutal resentment, thrust\nhim through the heart.\n\nThus was the Admirable Crichton brought into\nthat state, in which he could excel the meanest of\nmankind only by a few empty honours paid to his\nmemory: the court of Mantua testified their esteem\nby a publick mourning, the contemporary wits were\nprofuse of their encomiums, and the palaces of Italy\nwere adorned with pictures, representing him on\nhorseback with a lance in one hand and a book\nin the other[i].\n\n\n     [i] This paper is enumerated by Chalmers among those which\nJohnson dictated, not to Bathurst, but to Hawkesworth.  It is an\nelegant summary of Crichton's life which is in Mackenzie's\nWriters of the Scotch Nation.  See a fuller account by the Earl\nof Buchan and Dr. Kippis in the Biog. Brit. and the recently\npublished one by Mr. Frazer Tytler.\n\n\n\nNo. 84. SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 1753\n\n ----------------Tolle periclum,\n Jam vaga prosiliet frenis natura remotis.\n\nHOR. Lib. ii. Sat. vii. 73.\n\n\n But take the danger and the shame away,\n And vagrant nature bounds upon her prey.  FRANCIS.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER.\n\nSIR,\n\nIT has been observed, I think, by Sir William\nTemple, and after him by almost every other\nwriter, that England affords a greater variety of\ncharacters than the rest of the world.  This is\nascribed to the liberty prevailing amongst us, which\ngives every man the privilege of being wise or\nfoolish his own way, and preserves him from the\nnecessity of hypocrisy or the servility of imitation.\nThat the position itself is true, I am not\ncompletely satisfied.  To be nearly acquainted with the\npeople of different countries can happen to very few;\nand in life, as in every thing else beheld at a\ndistance, there appears an even uniformity: the petty\ndiscriminations which diversify the natural character,\nare not discoverable but by a close inspection;\nwe, therefore, find them most at home, because there\nwe have most opportunities of remarking them.\nMuch less am I convinced, that this peculiar\ndiversification, if it be real, is the consequence of\npeculiar liberty; for where is the government to be found\nthat superintends individuals with so much vigilance,\nas not to leave their private conduct without\nrestraint?  Can it enter into a reasonable mind to\nimagine, that men of every other nation are not equally\nmasters of their own time or houses with ourselves,\nand equally at liberty to be parsimonious or profuse,\nfrolick or sullen, abstinent or luxurious?  Liberty is\ncertainly necessary to the full play of predominant\nhumours; but such liberty is to be found alike under\nthe government of the many or the few, in\nmonarchies or commonwealths.\n\nHow readily the predominant passion snatches an\ninterval of liberty, and how fast it expands itself\nwhen the weight of restraint is taken away, I had\nlately an opportunity to discover, as I took a journey\ninto the country in a stage-coach; which, as every\njourney is a kind of adventure, may be very properly\nrelated to you, though I can display no such\nextraordinary assembly as Cervantes has collected\nat Don Quixote's inn[j].\n\n\n     [j] Johnson has made impressive allusion to the immortal\nwork of Cervantes in his Second Rambler.  Every reflecting man\nmust arise from its perusal with feelings of the deepest\nmelancholy, with the most tender commiseration for the weakness\nand lot of humanity.  To such a man its moral must ever be\n\"profoundly sad.\"  Vulgar minds cannot know it.  Hence it has\never been the favorite with the intellectual class, while Gil\nBlas has more generally won the applause of men of the world.  An\namusing anecdote of the almost universal admiration for the chef\nd 'oeuvre of Le Sage may be found in Butler's Reminiscences.\nThat bigotted, yet extraordinary man, Alva, predicted, with\nprophetic precision, the effects which the satire on Chivalry\nwould produce in Spain.  See Broad Stone of Honour, or Rules for\nthe Gentlemen of England.\n\n\nIn a stage coach, the passengers are for the most\npart wholly unknown to one another, and without\nexpectation of ever meeting again when their\njourney is at an end; one should therefore\nimagine, that it was of little importance to any of\nthem, what conjectures the rest should form concerning\nhim.  Yet so it is, that as all think themselves\nsecure from detection, all assume that character of\nwhich they are most desirous, and on no occasion is\nthe general ambition of superiority more apparently\nindulged.\n\nOn the day of our departure, in the twilight of\nthe morning, I ascended the vehicle with three men\nand two women, my fellow travellers.  It was easy\nto observe the affected elevation of mien with which\nevery one entered, and the supercilious servility with\nwhich they paid their compliments to each other.\nWhen the first ceremony was despatched, we sat\nsilent for a long time, all employed in collecting\nimportance into our faces, and endeavouring to strike\nreverence and submission into our companions.\n\nIt is always observable that silence propagates\nitself, and that the longer talk has been suspended, the\nmore difficult it is to find any thing to say.  We began\nnow to wish for conversation; but no one seemed\ninclined to descend from his dignity, or first propose\na topick of discourse.  At last a corpulent gentleman,\nwho had equipped himself for this expedition with\na scarlet surtout and a large hat with a broad lace,\ndrew out his watch, looked on it in silence, and then\nheld it dangling at his finger.  This was, I suppose,\nunderstood by all the company as an invitation to\nask the time of the day, but nobody appeared to\nheed his overture; and his desire to be talking so far\novercame his resentment, that he let us know of his\nown accord it was past five, and that in two hours\nwe should be at breakfast.\n\nHis condescension was thrown away: we continued\nall obdurate; the ladies held up their heads; I\namused myself with watching their behaviour; and\nof the other two, one seemed to employ himself in\ncounting the trees as we drove by them, the other\ndrew his hat over his eyes, and counterfeited a\nslumber.  The man of benevolence, to shew that he was\nnot depressed by our neglect, hummed a tune, and\nbeat time upon his snuff-box.\n\nThus universally displeased with one another, and\nnot much delighted with ourselves, we came at last\nto the little inn appointed for our repast; and all began\nat once to recompense themselves for the constraint\nof silence, by innumerable questions and\norders to the people that attended us.  At last, what\nevery one had called for was got, or declared\nimpossible to be got at that time, and we were persuaded\nto sit round the same table; when the gentleman in\nthe red surtout looked again upon his watch, told us\nthat we had half an hour to spare, but he was sorry\nto see so little merriment among us; that all fellow\ntravellers were for the time upon the level, and that\nit was always his way to make himself one of the\ncompany.  \"I remember,\" says he, \"it was on just\nsuch a morning as this, that I and my Lord Mumble\nand the Duke of Tenterden were out upon a ramble:\nwe called at a little house as it might be this; and\nmy landlady, I warrant you, not suspecting to whom\nshe was talking, was so jocular and facetious, and\nmade so many merry answers to our questions, that\nwe were all ready to burst with laughter.  At last the\ngood woman happening to overhear me whisper the\nduke and call him by his title, was so surprised and\nconfounded, that we could scarcely get a word from\nher; and the duke never met me from that day to\nthis, but he talks of the little house, and quarrels\nwith me for terrifying the landlady.\"\n\nHe had scarcely time to congratulate himself on\nthe veneration which this narrative must have\nprocured for him from the company, when one of the\nladies having reached out for a plate on a distant part\nof the table, began to remark, \"the inconveniences\nof travelling, and the difficulty which they who never\nsat at home without a great number of attendants,\nfound in performing for themselves such offices as\nthe road required; but that people of quality often\ntravelled in disguise, and might be generally known\nfrom the vulgar by their condescension to poor inn-\nkeepers, and the allowance which they made for any\ndefect in their entertainment; that for her part,\nwhile people were civil and meant well, it was never\nher custom to find fault, for one was not to expect\nupon a journey all that one enjoyed at one's own\nhouse.\"\n\nA general emulation seemed now to be excited.\nOne of the men who had hitherto said nothing, called\nfor the last newspaper; and having perused it a while\nwith deep pensiveness, \"It is impossible,\" says he,\n\"for any man to guess how to act with regard to\nthe stocks; last week it was the general opinion that\nthey would fall; and I sold out twenty thousand\npounds in order to a purchase: they have now risen\nunexpectedly; and I make no doubt but at my\nreturn to London I shall risk thirty thousand pounds\namong them again.\"\n\nA young man, who had hitherto distinguished\nhimself only by the vivacity of his looks, and a frequent\ndiversion of his eyes from one object to another,\nupon this closed his snuff-box, and told us that \"he\nhad a hundred times talked with the chancellor and\nthe judges on the subject of the stocks; that for his\npart he did not pretend to be well acquainted with\nthe principles on which they were established, but\nhad always heard them reckoned pernicious to trade,\nuncertain in their produce, and unsolid in their foundation;\nand that he had been advised by three judges,\nhis most intimate friends, never to venture his money\nin the funds, but to put it out upon land security,\ntill he could light upon an estate in his own country.\"\n\nIt might be expected, that upon these glimpses\nof latent dignity, we should all have begun to look\nround us with veneration; and have behaved like the\nprinces of romance, when the enchantment that\ndisguises them is dissolved, and they discover the\ndignity of each other; yet it happened, that none of\nthese hints made much impression on the company;\nevery one was apparently suspected of endeavouring\nto impose false appearances upon the rest; all\ncontinued their haughtiness in hopes to enforce their\nclaims; and all grew every hour more sullen, because\nthey found their representations of themselves without\neffect.\n\nThus we travelled on four days with malevolence\nperpetually increasing, and without any endeavour\nbut to outvie each other in superciliousness and\nneglect; and when any two of us could separate\nourselves for a moment we vented our indignation at\nthe sauciness of the rest.\n\nAt length the journey was at an end; and time and\nchance, that strip off all disguises, have discovered\nthat the intimate of lords and dukes is a nobleman's\nbutler, who has furnished a shop with the money he\nhas saved; the man who deals so largely in the funds,\nis the clerk of a broker in Change-alley; the lady who\nso carefully concealed her quality, keeps a cook-shop\nbehind the Exchange; and the young man who is so\nhappy in the friendship of the judges, engrosses\nand transcribes for bread in a garret of the Temple.\nOf one of the women only I could make no\ndisadvantageous detection, because she had assumed no\ncharacter, but accommodated herself to the scene\nbefore her, without any struggle for distinction or\nsuperiority.\n\nI could not forbear to reflect on the folly of\npractising a fraud, which, as the event showed, had been\nalready practised too often to succeed, and by the\nsuccess of which no advantage could have been\nobtained; of assuming a character, which was to end\nwith the day; and of claiming upon false pretences\nhonours which must perish with the breath that paid\nthem.\n\nBut, Mr. Adventurer, let not those who laugh at\nme and my companions, think this folly confined to\na stage-coach.  Every man in the journey of life takes\nthe same advantage of the ignorance of his fellow\ntravellers, disguises himself in counterfeited merit,\nand hears those praises with complacency which his\nconscience reproaches him for accepting.  Every man\ndeceives himself while he thinks he is deceiving\nothers; and forgets that the time is at hand when\nevery illusion shall cease, when fictitious excellence\nshall be torn away, and ALL must be shown to ALL in\ntheir real state.\n\nI am, Sir, your humble servant,\n\nVIATOR.\n\n\n\nNo. 85. TUESDAY, AUGUST 28, 1753\n\n Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam,\n Multa tulit fecitque puer.  Hon. De Ar. Poet. 412.\n\n The youth, who hopes th' Olympic prize to gain,\n All arts must try, and every toil sustain.  FRANCIS.\n\nIT is observed by Bacon, that \"reading makes a\nfull man, conversation a ready man, and writing\nan exact man.\"\n\nAs Bacon attained to degrees of knowledge\nscarcely ever reached by any other man, the directions\nwhich he gives for study have certainly a just\nclaim to our regard; for who can teach an art with\nso great authority, as he that has practised it with\nundisputed success?\n\nUnder the protection of so great a name, I shall,\ntherefore, venture to inculcate to my ingenious\ncontemporaries, the necessity of reading, the fitness of\nconsulting other understandings than their own, and\nof considering the sentiments and opinions of those\nwho, however neglected in the present age, had in\ntheir own times, and many of them a long time\nafterwards, such reputation for knowledge and acuteness\nas will scarcely ever be attained by those that\ndespise them.\n\nAn opinion has of late been, I know not how,\npropagated among us, that libraries are filled only\nwith useless lumber; that men of parts stand in need\nof no assistance; and that to spend life in poring upon\nbooks, is only to imbibe prejudices, to obstruct and\nembarrass the powers of nature, to cultivate memory\nat the expense of judgment, and to bury reason\nunder a chaos of indigested learning.\n\nSuch is the talk of many who think themselves\nwise, and of some who are thought wise by others;\nof whom part probably believe their own tenets, and\npart may be justly suspected of endeavouring to\nshelter their ignorance in multitudes, and of wishing to\ndestroy that reputation which they have no hopes\nto share.  It will, I believe, be found invariably true,\nthat learning was never decried by any learned man;\nand what credit can be given to those who venture\nto condemn that which they do not know?\n\nIf reason has the power ascribed to it by its\nadvocates, if so much is to be discovered by attention\nand meditation, it is hard to believe, that so many\nmillions, equally participating of the bounties of\nnature with ourselves, have been for ages upon ages\nmeditating in vain: if the wits of the present time\nexpect the regard of posterity, which will then\ninherit the reason which is now thought superior to\ninstruction, surely they may allow themselves to be\ninstructed by the reason of former generations.\nWhen, therefore, an author declares, that he has\nbeen able to learn nothing from the writings of his\npredecessors, and such a declaration has been lately\nmade, nothing but a degree of arrogance unpardonable\nin the greatest human understanding, can\nhinder him from perceiving that he is raising\nprejudices against his own performance; for with what\nhopes of success can he attempt that in which\ngreater abilities have hitherto miscarried? or with\nwhat peculiar force does he suppose himself invigorated,\nthat difficulties hitherto invincible should give\nway before him?\n\nOf those whom Providence has qualified to make\nany additions to human knowledge, the number is\nextremely small; and what can be added by each\nsingle mind, even of this superior class, is very\nlittle: the greatest part of mankind must owe all\ntheir knowledge, and all must owe far the larger\npart of it, to the information of others.  To understand\nthe works of celebrated authors, to comprehend\ntheir systems, and retain their reasonings, is a\ntask more than equal to common intellects; and\nhe is by no means to be accounted useless or idle,\nwho has stored his mind with acquired knowledge,\nand can detail it occasionally to others who have\nless leisure or weaker abilities.\n\nPersius has justly observed, that knowledge is\nnothing to him who is not known by others to\npossess it[k]: to the scholar himself it is nothing\nwith respect either to honor or advantage, for the\nworld cannot reward those qualities which are\nconcealed from it; with respect to others it is nothing,\nbecause it affords no help to ignorance or errour.\n\n\n     [k] Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter.\nSat. i. 27.\n\n\nIt is with justice, therefore, that in an\naccomplished character, Horace unites just sentiments\nwith the power of expressing them; and he that\nhas once accumulated learning, is next to consider,\nhow he shall most widely diffuse and most agreeably\nimpart it.\n\nA ready man is made by conversation.  He that\nburies himself among his manuscripts, \"besprent,\"\nas Pope expresses it, \"with learned dust,\" and\nwears out his days and nights in perpetual research\nand solitary meditation, is too apt to lose in his\nelocution what he adds to his wisdom; and when\nhe comes into the world, to appear overloaded with\nhis own notions, like a man armed with weapons\nwhich he cannot wield.  He has no facility of\ninculcating his speculations, of adapting himself to the\nvarious degrees of intellect which the accidents of\nconversation will present; but will talk to most\nunintelligibly, and to all unpleasantly.\n\nI was once present at the lectures of a profound\nphilosopher, a man really skilled in the science\nwhich he professed, who having occasion to explain\nthe terms opacum and pellucidum, told us, after\nsome hesitation, that opacum was, as one might\nsay, opake, and that pellucidum signified pellucid.\nSuch was the dexterity with which this learned\nreader facilitated to his auditors the intricacies of\nscience; and so true is it, that a man may know what\nhe cannot teach.\n\nBoerhaave complains, that the writers who have\ntreated of chymistry before him, are useless to the\ngreater part of students, because they presuppose\ntheir readers to have such degrees of skill as are not\noften to be found.  Into the same errour are all men\napt to fall, who have familiarized any subject to\nthemselves in solitude: they discourse, as if they\nthought every other man had been employed in the\nsame inquiries; and expect that short hints and\nobscure allusions will produce in others the same train\nof ideas which they excite in themselves.\n\nNor is this the only inconvenience which the man\nof study suffers from a recluse life.  When he meets\nwith an opinion that pleases him, he catches it up\nwith eagerness; looks only after such arguments as\ntend to his confirmation; or spares himself the\ntrouble of discussion, and adopts it with very little\nproof; indulges it long without suspicion, and in\ntime unites it to the general body of his knowledge,\nand treasures it up among incontestable truths:\nbut when he comes into the world among men who,\narguing upon dissimilar principles, have been led to\ndifferent conclusions, and being placed in various\nsituations, view the same object on many sides; he\nfinds his darling position attacked, and himself in\nno condition to defend it: having thought always\nin one train, he is in the state of a man who having\nfenced always with the same master, is perplexed\nand amazed by a new posture of his antagonist; he\nis entangled in unexpected difficulties, he is harassed\nby sudden objections, he is unprovided with solutions\nor replies; his surprise impedes his natural\npowers of reasoning, his thoughts are scattered and\nconfounded, and he gratifies the pride of airy\npetulance with an easy victory.\n\nIt is difficult to imagine, with what obstinacy\ntruths which one mind perceives almost by intuition,\nwill be rejected by another; and how many\nartifices must be practised, to procure admission for\nthe most evident propositions into understandings\nfrighted by their novelty, or hardened against them\nby accidental prejudice; it can scarcely be conceived,\nhow frequently, in these extemporaneous controversies,\nthe dull will be subtle, and the acute absurd;\nhow often stupidity will elude the force of\nargument, by involving itself in its own gloom; and\nmistaken ingenuity will weave artful fallacies, which\nreason can scarcely find means to disentangle.\n\nIn these encounters the learning of the recluse\nusually fails him: nothing but long habit and frequent\nexperiments can confer the power of changing\na position into various forms, presenting it in\ndifferent points of view, connecting it with known\nand granted truths, fortifying it with intelligible\narguments, and illustrating it by apt similitudes;\nand he, therefore, that has collected his knowledge\nin solitude, must learn its application by mixing\nwith mankind.\nBut while the various opportunities of conversation\ninvite us to try every mode of argument, and\nevery art of recommending our sentiments, we are\nfrequently betrayed to the use of such as are not in\nthemselves strictly defensible: a man heated in talk,\nand eager of victory, takes advantage of the mistakes\nor ignorance of his adversary, lays hold of\nconcessions to which he knows he has no right, and\nurges proofs likely to prevail on his opponent, though\nhe knows himself that they have no force: thus the\nseverity of reason is relaxed, many topicks are\naccumulated, but without just arrangement or\ndistinction; we learn to satisfy ourselves with such\nratiocination as silences others; and seldom recall to\na close examination, that discourse which has gratified\nour vanity with victory and applause.\n\nSome caution, therefore, must be used lest\ncopiousness and facility be made less valuable by inaccuracy\nand confusion.  To fix the thoughts by writing, and\nsubject them to frequent examinations and reviews,\nis the best method of enabling the mind to detect its\nown sophisms, and keep it on guard against the\nfallacies which it practises on others: in conversation we\nnaturally diffuse our thoughts, and in writing we\ncontract them; method is the excellence of writing,\nand unconstraint the grace of conversation.\n\nTo read, write, and converse in due proportions,\nis, therefore, the business of a man of letters.  For\nall these there is not often equal opportunity;\nexcellence, therefore, is not often attainable; and most\nmen fail in one or other of the ends proposed, and\nare full without readiness, or without exactness.\nSome deficiency must be forgiven all, because all\nare men; and more must be allowed to pass uncensured\nin the greater part of the world, because none\ncan confer upon himself abilities, and few have the\nchoice of situations proper for the improvement of\nthose which nature has bestowed: it is, however,\nreasonable to have PERFECTION in our eye; that we may\nalways advance towards it, though we know it never\ncan be reached.\n\n\n\nNo. 92. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1753\n\n Cum tabulis animum censoris sumet honesti.\n\nHOR. Lib. ii. Ep. ii. 110.\n\n\n Bold be the critick, zealous to his trust,\n Like the firm judge inexorably just.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER.\nSIR,\n\nIN the papers of criticism which you have given to\nthe publick, I have remarked a spirit of candour\nand love of truth equally remote from bigotry and\ncaptiousness; a just distribution of praise amongst\nthe ancients and the moderns: a sober deference to\nreputation long established, without a blind adoration\nof antiquity; and a willingness to favour later\nperformances, without a light or puerile fondness\nfor novelty.\n\nI shall, therefore, venture to lay before you, such\nobservations as have risen to my mind in the\nconsideration of Virgil's pastorals, without any inquiry\nhow far my sentiments deviate from established rules\nor common opinions.\n\nIf we survey the ten pastorals in a general view,\nit will be found that Virgil can derive from them\nvery little claim to the praise of an inventor.  To\nsearch into the antiquity of this kind of poetry is\nnot my present purpose; that it has long subsisted in\nthe east, the Sacred Writings sufficiently inform us;\nand we may conjecture, with great probability, that\nit was sometimes the devotion, and sometimes the\nentertainment of the first generations of mankind.\nTheocritus united elegance with simplicity; and\ntaught his shepherds to sing with so much ease and\nharmony, that his countrymen, despairing to excel,\nforbore to imitate him; and the Greeks, however\nvain or ambitious, left him in quiet possession of the\ngarlands which the wood-nymphs had bestowed\nupon him.\n\nVirgil, however, taking advantage of another\nlanguage, ventured to copy or to rival the Sicilian bard:\nhe has written with greater splendour of diction, and\nelevation of sentiment: but as the magnificence of\nhis performances was more, the simplicity was less;\nand, perhaps, where he excels Theocritus, he sometimes\nobtains his superiority by deviating from the\npastoral character, and performing what Theocritus\nnever attempted.\n\nYet, though I would willingly pay to Theocritus\nthe honour which is always due to an original author,\nI am far from intending to depreciate Virgil: of\nwhom Horace justly declares, that the rural muses\nhave appropriated to him their elegance and sweetness,\nand who, as he copied Theocritus in his design,\nhas resembled him likewise in his success; for,\nif we except Calphurnius, an obscure author of the\nlower ages, I know not that a single pastoral was\nwritten after him by any poet, till the revival of\nliterature.\n\nBut though his general merit has been universally\nacknowledged, I am far from thinking all the\nproductions of his rural Thalia equally excellent; there\nis, indeed, in all his pastorals a strain of versification\nwhich it is vain to seek in any other poet; but if we\nexcept the first and the tenth, they seem liable either\nwholly or in part to considerable objections.\n\nThe second, though we should forget the great\ncharge against it, which I am afraid can never be\nrefuted, might, I think, have perished, without any\ndiminution of the praise of its author; for I know\nnot that it contains one affecting sentiment or pleasing\ndescription, or one passage that strikes the\nimagination or awakens the passions.\n\nThe third contains a contest between two\nshepherds, begun with a quarrel of which some particulars\nmight well be spared, carried on with sprightliness\nand elegance, and terminated at last in a reconciliation:\nbut, surely, whether the invectives with which\nthey attack each other be true or false, they are too\nmuch degraded from the dignity of pastoral innocence;\nand instead of rejoicing that they are both\nvictorious, I should not have grieved could they\nhave been both defeated.\n\nThe poem to Pollio is, indeed, of another kind:\nit is filled with images at once splendid and pleasing,\nand is elevated with grandeur of language\nworthy of the first of Roman poets; but I am not\nable to reconcile myself to the disproportion between\nthe performance and the occasion that produced it:\nthat the golden age should return because Pollio\nhad a son, appears so wild a fiction, that I am ready\nto suspect the poet of having written, for some\nother purpose, what he took this opportunity of\nproducing to the publick.\n\nThe fifth contains a celebration of Daphnis, which\nhas stood to all succeeding ages as the model of\npastoral elegies.  To deny praise to a performance\nwhich so many thousands have laboured to imitate,\nwould be to judge with too little deference for the\nopinion of mankind: yet whoever shall read it with\nimpartiality, will find that most of the images are of\nthe mythological kind, and therefore easily invented;\nand that there are few sentiments of rational praise\nor natural lamentation.\n\nIn the Silenus he again rises to the dignity of\nphilosophick sentiments, and heroick poetry.  The\naddress to Varus is eminently beautiful: but since\nthe compliment paid to Gallus fixes the transaction\nto his own time, the fiction of Silenus seems\ninjudicious: nor has any sufficient reason yet been found,\nto justify his choice of those fables that make the\nsubject of the song.\n\nThe seventh exhibits another contest of the tuneful\nshepherds: and, surely, it is not without some\nreproach to his inventive power, that of ten\npastorals Virgil has written two upon the same plan.\nOne of the shepherds now gains an acknowledged\nvictory, but without any apparent superiority, and\nthe reader, when he sees the prize adjudged, is not\nable to discover how it was deserved.\n\nOf the eighth pastoral, so little is properly the\nwork of Virgil, that he has no claim to other praise\nor blame than that of a translator.\n\nOf the ninth, it is scarce possible to discover the\ndesign or tendency; it is said, I know not upon\nwhat authority, to have been composed from fragments\nof other poems; and except a few lines in\nwhich the author touches upon his own misfortunes,\nthere is nothing that seems appropriated to any time\nor place, or of which any other use can be discovered\nthan to fill up the poem.\n\nThe first and the tenth pastorals, whatever be\ndetermined of the rest, are sufficient to place their\nauthor above the reach of rivalry.  The complaint\nof Gallus disappointed in his love, is full of such\nsentiments as disappointed love naturally produces; his\nwishes are wild, his resentment is tender, and his\npurposes are inconstant.  In the genuine language\nof despair, he soothes himself awhile with the pity\nthat shall be paid him after his death.\n\n\n --------Tamen cantabitis, arcades, inquit,\n Montibus hoec vestris: soli cantare periti\n Arcades.  O mihi tum quam molliter ossa quiescant,\n Vestra meos olim si fistula dicat amores!  Virg. Ec. x. 31.\n\n --------Yet, O Arcadian swains,\n Ye best artificers of soothing strains!\n Tune your soft reeds, and teach your rocks my woes,\n So shall my shade in sweeter rest repose.\n O that your birth and business had been mine;\n To feed the flock, and prune the spreading vine!  WARTON.\n\n\nDiscontented with his present condition, and\ndesirous to be any thing but what he is, he wishes\nhimself one of the shepherds.  He then catches the\nidea of rural tranquillity; but soon discovers how\nmuch happier he should be in these happy regions,\nwith Lycoris at his side:\n\n Hic gelidi fontes, hic mollia prata, Lycori:\n Hic nemus, hic ipso tecum consumerer oevo.\n Nunc insanus amor duri me Martis in armis\n Tela inter media atque adversos detinet hostes.\n Tu procul a patria (nec sit mihi credere) tantum\n Alpinas, ah dura, nives, et frigora Rheni\n Me sine sola vides.  Ah te ne frigora laedant!\n Ah tibi ne teneras glacies secet aspera plantas!  Ec. x. 42.\n\n Here cooling fountains roll through flow'ry meads,\n Here woods, Lycoris, lift their verdant heads;\n Here could I wear my careless life away,\n And in thy arms insensibly decay.\n Instead of that, me frantick love detains,\n 'Mid foes, and dreadful darts, and bloody plains:\n While you--and can my soul the tale believe,\n Far from your country, lonely wand'ring leave\n Me, me your lover, barbarous fugitive!\n Seek the rough Alps where snows eternal shine,\n And joyless borders of the frozen Rhine.\n Ah! may no cold e'er blast my dearest maid,\n Nor pointed ice thy tender feet invade.  WARTON.\n\n\nHe then turns his thoughts on every side, in quest\nof something that may solace or amuse him: he proposes\nhappiness to himself, first in one scene and\nthen in another: and at last finds that nothing will\nsatisfy:\n\n\n Jam neque Hamodryades rursum, nec carmina nobis\n Ipsa placent: ipsoe rursum concedite sylvae.\n Non illum nostri possunt mutare labores;\n Nec si frigoribus mediis Hebrumque bibamus,\n Sithoniasque nives hyemis subeamus aquosae:\n Nec si, cum moriens alta liber aret in ulmo\n AEthiopum versemus oves sub sidere Cancri.\n Omnia vincit amor; et nos cedamus amori.  Ec. x. 62.\n\n But now again no more the woodland maids,\n Nor pastoral songs delight--Farewell, ye shades--\n No toils of ours the cruel god can change,\n Tho' lost in frozen deserts we should range;\n Tho' we should drink where chilling Hebrus flows,\n Endure bleak winter blasts, and Thracian snows:\n Or on hot India's plains our flocks should feed,\n Where the parch'd elm declines his sickening head,\n Beneath fierce-glowing Cancer's fiery beams,\n Far from cool breezes and refreshing streams.\n Love over all maintains resistless sway,\n And let us love's all-conquering power obey.  WARTON.\n\n\nBut notwithstanding the excellence of the tenth\npastoral, I cannot forbear to give the preference to\nthe first, which is equally natural and more diversified.\nThe complaint of the shepherd, who saw his old\ncompanion at ease in the shade, while himself was\ndriving his little flock he knew not whither, is such\nas, with variation of circumstances, misery always\nutters at the sight of prosperity:\n\n Nos patriae fines, et dulcia linquimus arva;\n Nos patriam fugimus:  Tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra\n Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida sylvas.  Ec. i. 3.\n\n We leave our country's bounds, our much-lov'd plains;\n We from our country fly, unhappy swains!\n You, Tit'rus, in the groves at leisure laid,\n Teach Amaryllis' name to every shade.  WARTON.\n\n\nHis account of the difficulties of his journey, gives\na very tender image of pastoral distress:\n\n ------------En ipse capellas\n Protenus aeger ago: hanc etiam vix, Tityre, duco:\n Hic inter densas corylos modo namque gemellos,\n Spem gregis, ah! silice in nuda connixa reliquit.  Ec. i. 12.\n\n And lo! sad partner of the general care.\n Weary and faint I drive my goats afar!\n While scarcely this my leading hand sustains,\n Tired with the way, and recent from her pains;\n For 'mid yon tangled hazels as we past,\n On the bare flints her hapless twin she cast,\n The hopes and promise of my ruin'd fold!  WARTON.\n\n\nThe description of Virgil's happiness in his little\nfarm, combines almost all the images of rural pleasure;\nand he, therefore, that can read it with indifference,\nhas no sense of pastoral poetry:\n\n\n Fortunate senex! ergo tua rura manebunt,\n Et tibi magna satis; quamvis lapis omnia nudus,\n Limosoque palus obducat pascua junco:\n Non insueta graves tentabunt pabula foetas,\n Nec mala vicini pecoris contagia loedent.\n Fortunate senex! hic inter flumina nota,\n Et fontes sacros, frigus captabis opacum.\n Hinc tibi, quae semper vicino ab limite sepes,\n Hyblaeis apibus florem depasta salicti,\n Saepe levi somnum suadebit inire susurro.\n Hinc alta sub rupe canet frondator ad auras.\n Nec tamen interea raucae, tua cura, palumbes,\n Nec gemere aeria cessabit turtur ab ulmo.  Ec. i. 47.\n\n Happy old man! then still thy farms restored,\n Enough for thee, shall bless thy frugal board.\n What tho' rough stones the naked soil o'erspread,\n Or marshy bulrush rear its wat'ry head,\n No foreign food thy teeming ewes shall fear,\n No touch contagious spread its influence here.\n Happy old man! here 'mid th' accustom'd streams\n And sacred springs, you'll shun the scorching beams;\n While from yon willow-fence, thy picture's bound,\n The bees that suck their flow'ry stores around,\n Shall sweetly mingle with the whispering boughs\n Their lulling murmurs, and invite repose:\n While from steep rocks the pruner's song is heard;\n Nor the soft-cooing dove, thy fav'rite bird,\n Meanwhile shall cease to breathe her melting strain,\n Nor turtles from th' aerial elm to 'plain.  WARTON.\n\n\nIt may be observed, that these two poems were\nproduced by events that really happened; and may,\ntherefore, be of use to prove, that we can always feel\nmore than we can imagine, and that the most artful\nfiction must give way to truth.\n\nI am, Sir, Your humble servant,\n\nDUBIUS.\n\n\n\nNo. 95. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 1753\n\n ----Dulcique animos novitate tenebo.  OVID. Met. iv. 284.\n\n And with sweet novelty your soul detain.\n\nIT is often charged upon writers, that with all their\npretensions to genius and discoveries, they do little\nmore than copy one another; and that compositions\nobtruded upon the world with the pomp of novelty,\ncontain only tedious repetitions of common sentiments,\nor at best exhibit a transposition of known\nimages, and give a new appearance of truth only by\nsome slight difference of dress and decoration.\n\nThe allegation of resemblance between authors is\nindisputably true; but the charge of plagiarism,\nwhich is raised upon it, is not to be allowed with\nequal readiness.  A coincidence of sentiment may\neasily happen without any communication, since\nthere are many occasions in which all reasonable men\nwill nearly think alike.  Writers of all ages have had\nthe same sentiments, because they have in all ages\nhad the same objects of speculation; the interests and\npassions, the virtues and vices of mankind, have been\ndiversified in different times, only by unessential and\ncasual varieties: and we must, therefore, expect in\nthe works of all those who attempt to describe them,\nsuch a likeness as we find in the pictures of the same\nperson drawn in different periods of his life.\n\nIt is necessary, therefore, that before an author be\ncharged with plagiarism, one of the most reproachful,\nthough, perhaps, not the most atrocious of literary\ncrimes, the subject on which he treats should\nbe carefully considered.  We do not wonder, that\nhistorians, relating the same facts, agree in their\nnarration; or that authors, delivering the elements of\nscience, advance the same theorems, and lay down\nthe same definitions: yet it is not wholly without\nuse to mankind, that books are multiplied, and that\ndifferent authors lay out their labours on the same\nsubject; for there will always be some reason why\none should on particular occasions, or to particular\npersons, be preferable to another; some will be clear\nwhere others are obscure, some will please by their\nstyle and others by their method, some by their\nembellishments and others by their simplicity, some by\ncloseness and others by diffusion.\n\nThe same indulgence is to be shown to the writers\nof morality: right and wrong are immutable; and\nthose, therefore, who teach us to distinguish them, if\nthey all teach us right, must agree with one another.\nThe relations of social life, and the duties resulting\nfrom them, must be the same at all times and in all\nnations: some petty differences may be, indeed,\nproduced, by forms of government or arbitrary customs;\nbut the general doctrine can receive no alteration.\n\nYet it is not to be desired, that morality should be\nconsidered as interdicted to all future writers: men\nwill always be tempted to deviate from their duty,\nand will, therefore, always want a monitor to recall\nthem; and a new book often seizes the attention of\nthe publick, without any other claim than that it is\nnew.  There is likewise in composition, as in other\nthings, a perpetual vicissitude of fashion; and truth\nis recommended at one time to regard, by\nappearances which at another would expose it to neglect;\nthe author, therefore, who has judgment to discern\nthe taste of his contemporaries, and skill to gratify\nit, will have always an opportunity to deserve well\nof mankind, by conveying instruction to them in a\ngrateful vehicle.\n\nThere are likewise many modes of composition,\nby which a moralist may deserve the name of an\noriginal writer: he may familiarize his system by\ndialogues after the manner of the ancients, or subtilize\nit into a series of syllogistick arguments: he may\nenforce his doctrine by seriousness and solemnity,\nor enliven it by sprightliness and gaiety: he may\ndeliver his sentiments in naked precepts, or illustrate\nthem by historical examples: he may detain the\nstudious by the artful concatenation of a continued\ndiscourse, or relieve the busy by short strictures, and\nunconnected essays.\n\nTo excel in any of these forms of writing will\nrequire a particular cultivation of the genius: whoever\ncan attain to excellence, will be certain to engage\na set of readers, whom no other method would have\nequally allured; and he that communicates truth\nwith success, must be numbered among the first\nbenefactors to mankind.\n\nThe same observation may be extended likewise\nto the passions: their influence is uniform, and their\neffects nearly the same in every human breast: a man\nloves and hates, desires and avoids, exactly like his\nneighbour; resentment and ambition, avarice and\nindolence, discover themselves by the same symptoms\nin minds distant a thousand years from one another.\n\nNothing, therefore, can be more unjust, than to\ncharge an author with plagiarism, merely because he\nassigns to every cause its natural effect; and makes\nhis personages act, as others in like circumstances\nhave always done.  There are conceptions in which\nall men will agree, though each derives them from\nhis own observation: whoever has been in love, will\nrepresent a lover impatient of every idea that\ninterrupts his meditations on his mistress, retiring to\nshades and solitude, that he may muse without\ndisturbance on his approaching happiness, or associating\nhimself with some friend that flatters his passion,\nand talking away the hours of absence upon his darling\nsubject.  Whoever has been so unhappy as to have\nfelt the miseries of long-continued hatred, will,\nwithout any assistance from ancient volumes, be able to\nrelate how the passions are kept in perpetual agitation,\nby the recollection of injury and meditations of\nrevenge; how the blood boils at the name of the enemy,\nand life is worn away in contrivances of mischief.\nEvery other passion is alike simple and limited,\nif it be considered only with regard to the breast\nwhich it inhabits; the anatomy of the mind, as that\nof the body, must perpetually exhibit the same\nappearances; and though by the continued industry\nof successive inquirers, new movements will be from\ntime to time discovered, they can affect only the\nminuter parts, and are commonly of more curiosity\nthan importance.\n\nIt will now be natural to inquire, by what arts are\nthe writers of the present and future ages to attract\nthe notice and favour of mankind.  They are to\nobserve the alterations which time is always making\nin the modes of life, that they may gratify every\ngeneration with a picture of themselves.  Thus love\nis uniform, but courtship is perpetually varying: the\ndifferent arts of gallantry, which beauty has inspired,\nwould of themselves be sufficient to fill a volume;\nsometimes balls and serenades, sometimes tournaments\nand adventures, have been employed to melt\nthe hearts of ladies, who in another century have\nbeen sensible of scarce any other merit than that of\nriches, and listened only to jointures and pin-money.\nThus the ambitious man has at all times been eager\nof wealth and power; but these hopes have been\ngratified in some countries by supplicating the people,\nand in others by flattering the prince: honour\nin some states has been only the reward of military\nachievements, in others it has been gained by noisy\nturbulence and popular clamours.  Avarice has worn\na different form, as she actuated the usurer of Rome,\nand the stock-jobber of England; and idleness itself,\nhow little soever inclined to the trouble of invention,\nhas been forced from time to time to change its\namusements, and contrive different methods of wearing\nout the day.\n\nHere then is the fund, from which those who study\nmankind may fill their compositions with an\ninexhaustible variety of images and allusions: and he\nmust be confessed to look with little attention upon\nscenes thus perpetually changing, who cannot catch\nsome of the figures before they are made vulgar by\nreiterated descriptions.\n\nIt has been discovered by Sir Isaac Newton, that\nthe distinct and primogenial colours are only seven;\nbut every eye can witness, that from various mixtures,\nin various proportions, infinite diversifications\nof tints may be produced.  In like manner, the\npassions of the mind, which put the world in motion,\nand produce all the bustle and eagerness of the busy\ncrowds that swarm upon the earth; the passions, from\nwhence arise all the pleasures and pains that we see\nand hear of, if we analyze the mind of man, are very\nfew; but those few agitated and combined, as external\ncauses shall happen to operate, and modified by\nprevailing opinions and accidental caprices, make\nsuch frequent alterations on the surface of life, that\nthe show, while we are busied in delineating it,\nvanishes from the view, and a new set of objects succeed,\ndoomed to the same shortness of duration with the\nformer: thus curiosity may always find employment,\nand the busy part of mankind will furnish the\ncontemplative with the materials of speculation to the\nend of time.\n\nThe complaint, therefore, that all topicks are\npreoccupied, is nothing more than the murmur of\nignorance or idleness, by which some discourage others,\nand some themselves; the mutability of mankind\nwill always furnish writers with new images, and the\nluxuriance of fancy may always embellish them with\nnew decorations.\n\n\n\nNo. 99. TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1753\n\n ----Magnis tamen excidit ausis.  OVID. Met. Lib. ii. 328.\n\n But in the glorious enterprise he died.  ADDISON.\n\nIT has always been the practice of mankind, to\njudge of actions by the event.  The same attempts,\nconducted in the same manner, but terminated by\ndifferent success, produce different judgments: they\nwho attain their wishes, never want celebrators of\ntheir wisdom and their virtue; and they that\nmiscarry, are quickly discovered to have been defective\nnot only in mental but in moral qualities.  The world\nwill never be long without some good reason to hate\nthe unhappy; their real faults are immediately\ndetected; and if those are not sufficient to sink them\ninto infamy, an additional weight of calumny will be\nsuperadded: he that fails in his endeavours after\nwealth or power, will not long retain either honesty\nor courage.\n\nThis species of injustice has so long prevailed in\nuniversal practice, that it seems likewise to have\ninfected speculation: so few minds are able to separate\nthe ideas of greatness and prosperity, that even Sir\nWilliam Temple has determined, \"that he who can\ndeserve the name of a hero, must not only be virtuous\nbut fortunate.\"\n\nBy this unreasonable distribution of praise and\nblame, none have suffered oftener than projectors,\nwhose rapidity of imagination and vastness of design\nraise such envy in their fellow mortals, that every\neye watches for their fall, and every heart exults at\ntheir distresses: yet even a projector may gain favour\nby success; and the tongue that was prepared to\nhiss, then endeavours to excel others in loudness of\napplause.\n\nWhen Coriolanus, in Shakespeare, deserted to\nAufidius, the Volscian servants at first insulted him,\neven while he stood under the protection of the\nhousehold gods: but when they saw that the project\ntook effect, and the stranger was seated at the head\nof the table, one of them very judiciously observes,\n\"that he always thought there was more in him\nthan he could think.\"\n\nMachiavel has justly animadverted on the\ndifferent notice taken by all succeeding times, of the two\ngreat projectors, Cataline and Caesar.  Both formed\nthe same project, and intended to raise themselves\nto power, by subverting the commonwealth: they\npursued their design, perhaps, with equal abilities,\nand with equal virtue; but Cataline perished in the\nfield, and Caesar returned from Pharsalia with\nunlimited authority: and from that time, every\nmonarch of the earth has thought himself honoured by\na comparison with Caesar; and Cataline has been\nnever mentioned, but that his name might be\napplied to traitors and incendiaries.\n\nIn an age more remote, Xerxes projected the\nconquest of Greece, and brought down the power\nof Asia against it: but after the world had been\nfilled with expectation and terrour, his army was\nbeaten, his fleet was destroyed, and Xerxes has been\nnever mentioned without contempt.\n\nA few years afterwards, Greece likewise had her\nturn of giving birth to a projector; who invading\nAsia with a small army, went forward in search of\nadventures, and by his escape from one danger,\ngained only more rashness to rush into another: he\nstormed city after city, over-ran kingdom after\nkingdom, fought battles only for barren victory,\nand invaded nations only that he might make his\nway through them to new invasions: but having\nbeen fortunate in the execution of his projects, he\ndied with the name of Alexander the Great.\n\nThese are, indeed, events of ancient times; but\nhuman nature is always the same, and every age\nwill afford us instances of publick censures influenced\nby events.  The great business of the middle\ncenturies, was the holy war; which undoubtedly\nwas a noble project, and was for a long time\nprosecuted with a spirit equal to that with which it had\nbeen contrived; but the ardour of the European\nheroes only hurried them to destruction; for a long\ntime they could not gain the territories for which\nthey fought, and, when at last gained, they could\nnot keep them: their expeditions, therefore, have\nbeen the scoff of idleness and ignorance, their\nunderstanding and their virtue have been equally\nvilified, their conduct has been ridiculed, and their cause\nhas been defamed.\n\nWhen Columbus had engaged king Ferdinand in\nthe discovery of the other hemisphere, the sailors,\nwith whom he embarked in the expedition, had so\nlittle confidence in their commander, that after having\nbeen long at sea looking for coasts which they\nexpected never to find, they raised a general mutiny,\nand demanded to return.  He found means to sooth\nthem into a permission to continue the same course\nthree days longer, and on the evening of the third\nday descried land.  Had the impatience of his crew\ndenied him a few hours of the time requested, what\nhad been his fate but to have come back with the\ninfamy of a vain projector, who had betrayed the\nking's credulity to useless expenses, and risked his\nlife in seeking countries that had no existence? how\nwould those that had rejected his proposals have\ntriumphed in their acuteness! and when would his\nname have been mentioned, but with the makers of\npotable gold and malleable glass?\n\nThe last royal projectors with whom the world\nhas been troubled, were Charles of Sweden and the\nCzar of Muscovy.  Charles, if any judgment may be\nformed of his designs by his measures and his\ninquiries, had purposed first to dethrone the Czar,\nthen to lead his army through pathless deserts into\nChina, thence to make his way by the sword through\nthe whole circuit of Asia, and by the conquest of\nTurkey to unite Sweden with his new dominions:\nbut this mighty project was crushed at Pultowa;\nand Charles has since been considered as a madman\nby those powers, who sent their ambassadors to\nsolicit his friendship, and their generals \"to learn\nunder him the art of war.\"\n\nThe Czar found employment sufficient in his own\ndominions, and amused himself in digging canals,\nand building cities: murdering his subjects with\ninsufferable fatigues, and transplanting nations from\none corner of his dominions to another, without\nregretting the thousands that perished on the\nway: but he attained his end, he made his people\nformidable, and is numbered by fame among the\ndemigods.\n\nI am far from intending to vindicate the sanguinary\nprojects of heroes and conquerors, and would\nwish rather to diminish the reputation of their\nsuccess, than the infamy of their miscarriages: for I\ncannot conceive, why he that has burned cities, wasted\nnations, and filled the world with horrour and\ndesolation, should be more kindly regarded by mankind,\nthan he that died in the rudiments of wickedness;\nwhy he that accomplished mischief should be glorious,\nand he that only endeavoured it should be criminal.\nI would wish Caesar and Catiline, Xerxes and\nAlexander, Charles and Peter, huddled together in\nobscurity or detestation.\n\nBut there is another species of projectors, to whom\nI would willingly conciliate mankind; whose ends\nare generally laudable, and whose labours are\ninnocent; who are searching out new powers of nature,\nor contriving new works of art; but who are yet\npersecuted with incessant obloquy, and whom the\nuniversal contempt with which they are treated,\noften debars from that success which their industry\nwould obtain, if it were permitted to act without\nopposition.\n\nThey who find themselves inclined to censure\nnew undertakings, only because they are new, should\nconsider, that the folly of projection is very seldom\nthe folly of a fool; it is commonly the ebullition\nof a capacious mind, crowded with variety of\nknowledge, and heated with intenseness of thought;\nit proceeds often from the consciousness of uncommon\npowers, from the confidence of those, who having\nalready done much, are easily persuaded that they\ncan do more.  When Rowley had completed the orrery,\nhe attempted the perpetual motion; when Boyle\nhad exhausted the secrets of vulgar chymistry, he\nturned his thoughts to the work of transmutation[l].\n\n\n     [l] Sir Richard Steele was infatuated with notions of\nAlchemy, and wasted money in its visionary projects.  He had a\nlaboratory at Poplar.   Addisoniana, vol. i. p. 10.\n\nThe readers of Washington Irving's Brace-Bridge Hall will\nrecollect a pleasing and popular exposition of the alternately\nsplendid and benevolent, and always passionate reveries of the\nAlchemist, in the affecting story of the Student of Salamanca.\n\nA projector generally unites those qualities which\nhave the fairest claim to veneration, extent of\nknowledge and greatness of design: it was said of Catiline,\n\"immoderata, incredibilia, nimis alta semper cupiebat.\"\nProjectors of all kinds agree in their intellects,\nthough they differ in their morals; they all fail by\nattempting things beyond their power, by despising\nvulgar attainments, and aspiring to performances to\nwhich, perhaps, nature has not proportioned the\nforce of man: when they fail, therefore, they fail not\nby idleness or timidity, but by rash adventure and\nfruitless diligence.\n\nThat the attempts of such men will often\nmiscarry, we may reasonably expect; yet from such\nmen, and such only, are we to hope for the cultivation\nof those parts of nature which lie yet waste, and\nthe invention of those arts which are yet wanting\nto the felicity of life.  If they are, therefore,\nuniversally discouraged, art and discovery can make no\nadvances.  Whatever is attempted without previous\ncertainty of success, may be considered as a project,\nand amongst narrow minds may, therefore, expose\nits author to censure and contempt; and if the liberty\nof laughing be once indulged, every man will laugh\nat what he does not understand, every project will be\nconsidered as madness, and every great or new\ndesign will be censured as a project.  Men unaccustomed\nto reason and researches, think every enterprise\nimpracticable, which is extended beyond\ncommon effects, or comprises many intermediate\noperations.  Many that presume to laugh at\nprojectors, would consider a flight through the air in a\nwinged chariot, and the movement of a mighty\nengine by the steam of water as equally the dreams of\nmechanick lunacy; and would hear, with equal\nnegligence, of the union of the Thames and Severn by\na canal, and the scheme of Albuquerque, the\nviceroy of the Indies, who in the rage of hostility had\ncontrived to make Egypt a barren desert, by turning\nthe Nile into the Red Sea.\n\nThose who have attempted much, have seldom\nfailed to perform more than those who never deviate\nfrom the common roads of action: many valuable\npreparations of chymistry are supposed to have risen\nfrom unsuccessful inquiries after the grand elixir: it\nis, therefore, just to encourage those who endeavour\nto enlarge the power of art, since they often succeed\nbeyond expectation; and when they fail, may sometimes\nbenefit the world even by their miscarriages.\n\n\nNo. 102. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1753\n\n ----Quid tam dextro pede concipis, ut te\n Conatus non poeniteat votique peracti?  JUV. Sat. x. 5.\n\n What in the conduct of our life appears\n So well design'd, so luckily begun,\n But when we have our wish, we wish undone.  DRYDEN.\n\n\nTO THE ADVENTURER.\n\nSIR,\n\nI HAVE been for many years a trader in London.\nMy beginning was narrow, and my stock small;\nI was, therefore, a long time brow-beaten and\ndespised by those, who, having more money, thought\nthey had more merit than myself.  I did not,\nhowever, suffer my resentment to instigate me to any\nmean arts of supplantation, nor my eagerness of\nriches to betray me to any indirect methods of gain;\nI pursued my business with incessant assiduity,\nsupported by the hope of being one day richer than\nthose who contemned me; and had, upon every\nannual review of my books, the satisfaction of\nfinding my fortune increased beyond my expectation.\n\nIn a few years my industry and probity were fully\nrecompensed, my wealth was really great, and my\nreputation for wealth still greater.  I had large\nwarehouses crowded with goods, and considerable sums\nin the publick funds; I was caressed upon the\nExchange by the most eminent merchants; became\nthe oracle of the common council; was solicited to\nengage in all commercial undertakings; was flattered\nwith the hopes of becoming in a short time one of\nthe directors of a wealthy company, and, to\ncomplete my mercantile honours, enjoyed the expensive\nhappiness of fining for sheriff.\n\nRiches, you know, easily produce riches; when I\nhad arrived to this degree of wealth, I had no longer\nany obstruction or opposition to fear; new acquisitions\nwere hourly brought within my reach, and I\ncontinued for some years longer to heap thousands\nupon thousands.\n\nAt last I resolved to complete the circle of a\ncitizen's prosperity by the purchase of an estate in\nthe country, and to close my life in retirement.\nFrom the hour that this design entered my\nimagination, I found the fatigues of my employment\nevery day more oppressive, and persuaded myself\nthat I was no longer equal to perpetual attention,\nand that my health would soon be destroyed by\nthe torment and distraction of extensive business.\nI could imagine to myself no happiness, but in\nvacant jollity, and uninterrupted leisure: nor\nentertain my friends with any other topick than the\nvexation and uncertainty of trade, and the happiness\nof rural privacy.\n\nBut, notwithstanding these declarations, I could\nnot at once reconcile myself to the thoughts of\nceasing to get money; and though I was every day\ninquiring for a purchase, I found some reason for\nrejecting all that were offered me; and, indeed, had\naccumulated so many beauties and conveniences in\nmy idea of the spot where I was finally to be\nhappy, that, perhaps, the world might have been\ntravelled over without discovery of a place which\nwould not have been defective in some particular.\n\nThus I went on, still talking of retirement, and\nstill refusing to retire; my friends began to laugh at\nmy delays, and I grew ashamed to trifle longer with\nmy own inclinations; an estate was at length\npurchased, I transferred my stock to a prudent young\nman who had married my daughter, went down into\nthe country, and commenced lord of a spacious\nmanor.\n\nHere for some time I found happiness equal to my\nexpectation.  I reformed the old house according to\nthe advice of the best architects, I threw down the\nwalls of the garden, and enclosed it with palisades,\nplanted long avenues of trees, filled a green-house\nwith exotick plants, dug a new canal, and threw the\nearth into the old moat.\n\nThe fame of these expensive improvements brought\nin all the country to see the show.  I entertained my\nvisitors with great liberality, led them round my\ngardens, showed them my apartments, laid before\nthem plans for new decorations, and was gratified by\nthe wonder of some and the envy of others.\n\nI was envied: but how little can one man judge\nof the condition of another!  The time was now\ncoming, in which affluence and splendour could no longer\nmake me pleased with myself.  I had built till the\nimagination of the architect was exhausted; I had\nadded one convenience to another, till I knew not\nwhat more to wish or to design; I had laid out my\ngardens, planted my park, and completed my water-\nworks; and what now remained to be done? what,\nbut to look up to turrets, of which when they were\nonce raised I had no further use, to range over\napartments where time was tarnishing the furniture, to\nstand by the cascade of which I scarcely now\nperceived the sound, and to watch the growth of woods\nthat must give their shade to a distant generation.\n\nIn this gloomy inactivity, is every day begun and\nended: the happiness that I have been so long\nprocuring is now at an end, because it has been procured;\nI wander from room to room, till I am weary of\nmyself; I ride out to a neighbouring hill in the centre\nof my estate, from whence all my lands lie in\nprospect round me; I see nothing that I have not seen\nbefore, and return home disappointed, though I knew\nthat I had nothing to expect.\n\nIn my happy days of business I had been\naccustomed to rise early in the morning; and remember\nthe time when I grieved that the night came so soon\nupon me, and obliged me for a few hours to shut out\naffluence and prosperity.  I now seldom see the rising\nsun, but to \"tell him,\" with the fallen angel, \"how\nI hate his beams[m].\"  I awake from sleep as to languor\nor imprisonment, and have no employment for the\nfirst hour but to consider by what art I shall rid\nmyself of the second.  I protract the breakfast as long as\nI can, because when it is ended I have no call for\nmy attention, till I can with some degree of decency\ngrow impatient for my dinner.  If I could dine all my\nlife, I should be happy; I eat not because I am hungry,\nbut because I am idle: but, alas! the time quickly\ncomes when I can eat no longer; and so ill does my\nconstitution second my inclination, that I cannot bear\nstrong liquors: seven hours must then be endured\nbefore I shall sup; but supper comes at last, the more\nwelcome as it is in a short time succeeded by sleep.\n\n\n     [m] Johnson was too apt to destroy the KEEPING of character\nin his correspondences.  A retired trader might desire a little\nmore slumber, \"a little folding of the hands to sleep;\" but the\nlofty malignity of a fallen spirit sickening at the beams of day,\nwould not be among the feelings of an ordinary mind.  Some good\nremarks on this point may be seen in Miss Talbot's Letters to\nMrs. Carter.\n\n\nSuch, Mr. Adventurer, is the happiness, the hope\nof which seduced me from the duties and pleasures\nof a mercantile life.  I shall be told by those who read\nmy narrative, that there are many means of innocent\namusement, and many schemes of useful employment,\nwhich I do not appear ever to have known;\nand that nature and art have provided pleasures, by\nwhich, without the drudgery of settled business, the\nactive may be engaged, the solitary soothed, and\nthe social entertained.\nThese arts, Sir, I have tried.  When first I took\npossession of my estate, in conformity to the taste\nof my neighbours, I bought guns and nets, filled my\nkennel with dogs, and my stable with horses: but\na little experience showed me, that these instruments\nof rural felicity would afford me few gratifications.\nI never shot but to miss the mark, and, to\nconfess the truth, was afraid of the fire of my own\ngun.  I could discover no musick in the cry of the\ndogs, nor could divest myself of pity for the animal\nwhose peaceful and inoffensive life was sacrificed to\nour sport.  I was not, indeed, always at leisure to\nreflect upon her danger; for my horse, who had been\nbred to the chase, did not always regard my choice\neither of speed or way, but leaped hedges and\nditches at his own discretion, and hurried me along\nwith the dogs, to the great diversion of my brother\nsportsmen.  His eagerness of pursuit once incited\nhim to swim a river; and I had leisure to resolve in\nthe water, that I would never hazard my life again\nfor the destruction of a hare.\n\nI then ordered books to be procured, and by the\ndirection of the vicar had in a few weeks a closet\nelegantly furnished.  You will, perhaps, be surprised\nwhen I shall tell you, that when once I had ranged\nthem according to their sizes, and piled them up in\nregular gradations, I had received all the pleasure\nwhich they could give me.  I am not able to excite\nin myself any curiosity after events which have been\nlong passed, and in which I can, therefore, have no\ninterest; I am utterly unconcerned to know whether\nTully or Demosthenes excelled in oratory, whether\nHannibal lost Italy by his own negligence or the\ncorruption of his countrymen.  I have no skill in\ncontroversial learning, nor can conceive why so\nmany volumes should have been written upon questions,\nwhich I have lived so long and so happily\nwithout understanding.  I once resolved to go\nthrough the volumes relating to the office of justice\nof the peace, but found them so crabbed and intricate,\nthat in less than a month I desisted in despair,\nand resolved to supply my deficiencies by paying a\ncompetent salary to a skilful clerk.\n\nI am naturally inclined to hospitality, and for\nsome time kept up a constant intercourse of visits\nwith the neighbouring gentlemen; but though they\nare easily brought about me by better wine than\nthey can find at any other house, I am not much\nrelieved by their conversation; they have no skill in\ncommerce or the stocks, and I have no knowledge\nof the history of families or the factions of the\ncountry; so that when the first civilities are over,\nthey usually talk to one another, and I am left alone\nin the midst of the company.  Though I cannot\ndrink myself, I am obliged to encourage the\ncirculation of the glass; their mirth grows more\nturbulent and obstreperous; and before their merriment\nis at end, I am sick with disgust, and, perhaps,\nreproached with my sobriety, or by some sly\ninsinuations insulted as a cit.\n\nSuch, Mr. Adventurer, is the life to which I am\ncondemned by a foolish endeavour to be happy by\nimitation; such is the happiness to which I pleased\nmyself with approaching, and which I considered\nas the chief end of my cares and my labours.  I\ntoiled year after year with cheerfulness, in\nexpectation of the happy hour in which I might be idle:\nthe privilege of idleness is attained, but has not\nbrought with it the blessing of tranquillity.\n\nI am yours, &c.     MERCATOR.\n\n\n\nNo. 107. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1753\n\n ----Sub judice lis est.  HOR. De Ar. Poet. 78.\n\n And of their vain disputings find no end.  FRANCIS.\n\nIT has been sometimes asked by those who find\nthe appearance of wisdom more easily attained by\nquestions than solutions, how it comes to pass, that\nthe world is divided by such difference of opinion?\nand why men, equally reasonable, and equally lovers\nof truth, do not always think in the same manner?\n\nWith regard to simple propositions, where the\nterms are understood, and the whole subject is\ncomprehended at once, there is such an uniformity of\nsentiment among all human beings, that, for many\nages, a very numerous set of notions were supposed\nto be innate, or necessarily co-existent with the\nfaculty of reason: it being imagined, that universal\nagreement could proceed only from the invariable\ndictates of the universal parent.\n\nIn questions diffuse and compounded, this\nsimilarity of determination is no longer to be expected.\nAt our first sally into the intellectual world, we all\nmarch together along one straight and open road;\nbut as we proceed further, and wider prospects open\nto our view, every eye fixes upon a different scene;\nwe divide into various paths, and, as we move forward,\nare still at a greater distance from each other.\nAs a question becomes more complicated and\ninvolved, and extends to a greater number of relations,\ndisagreement of opinion will always be multiplied;\nnot because we are irrational, but because we are\nfinite beings, furnished with different kinds of knowledge,\nexerting different degrees of attention, one\ndiscovering consequences which escape another, none\ntaking in the whole concatenation of causes and\neffects, and most comprehending but a very small part,\neach comparing what he observes with a different\ncriterion, and each referring it to a different purpose.\n\nWhere, then, is the wonder, that they who see\nonly a small part should judge erroneously of the\nwhole? or that they, who see different and dissimilar\nparts, should judge differently from each other?\n\nWhatever has various respects, must have various\nappearances of good and evil, beauty or deformity;\nthus, the gardener tears up as a weed, the plant which\nthe physician gathers as a medicine; and \"a general,\"\nsays Sir Kenelm Digby, \"will look with pleasure\nover a plain, as a fit place on which the fate of\nempires might be decided in battle, which the farmer\nwill despise as bleak and barren, neither fruitful of\npasturage, nor fit for tillage[n].\"\n\n\n     [n] Livy has described the Achaean leader, Philopaemen, as\nactually so exercising his thoughts whilst he wandered among the\nrocky passes of the Morea, xxxv.  28.  In the graphic page of the\nRoman historian, as in the stanzas of the \"Ariosto of the North:\"\n     \"From shingles grey the lances start,\n     \"The bracken bush sends forth the dart,\n     \"The rushes and the willow wand\n     \"Are bristling into axe and brand.\"\n\nLady of the Lake.  Canto v. 9.\n\n\nTwo men examining the same question proceed\ncommonly like the physician and gardener in selecting\nherbs, or the farmer and hero looking on the plain;\nthey bring minds impressed with different notions,\nand direct their inquiries to different ends; they\nform, therefore, contrary conclusions, and each\nwonders at the other's absurdity.\n\nWe have less reason to be surprised or offended\nwhen we find others differ from us in opinion, because\nwe very often differ from ourselves.  How often we\nalter our minds, we do not always remark; because\nthe change is sometimes made imperceptibly and\ngradually, and the last conviction effaces all memory\nof the former: yet every man, accustomed from time\nto time to take a survey of his own notions, will by\na slight retrospection be able to discover, that his\nmind has suffered many revolutions that the same\nthings have in the several parts of his life been\ncondemned and approved, pursued and shunned: and\nthat on many occasions, even when his practice has\nbeen steady, his mind has been wavering, and he\nhas persisted in a scheme of action, rather because\nhe feared the censure of inconstancy, than because\nhe was always pleased with his own choice.\n\nOf the different faces shown by the same objects,\nas they are viewed on opposite sides, and of the\ndifferent inclinations which they must constantly raise\nin him that contemplates them, a more striking example\ncannot easily be found than two Greek epigrammatists\nwill afford us in their accounts of\nhuman life, which I shall lay before the reader in\nEnglish prose.\n\nPosidippus, a comick poet, utters this complaint:\n\"Through which of the paths of life is it eligible to\npass?  In public assemblies are debates and troublesome\naffairs: domestick privacies are haunted with\nanxieties; in the country is labour; on the sea is\nterrour: in a foreign land, he that has money must\nlive in fear, he that wants it must pine in distress:\nare you married? you are troubled with suspicions;\nare you single? you languish in solitude; children\noccasion toil, and a childless life is a state of\ndestitution: the time of youth is a time of folly, and\ngray hairs are loaded with infirmity.  This choice\nonly, therefore, can be made, either never to receive\nbeing, or immediately to lose it[o].\"\n\n\n     [o] \"Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,\n             \"Count o'er thy days from anguish free,\n          \"And know, whatever thou hast been,\n              \" 'Tis something better not to be.\"\n\nLord Byron's Euthanasia.\n\n\nCompare also the plaintive chorus in the OEdipus at Colonos, 1211.\nAmong the tragedies of Sophocles this stands forth a mass of feeling.\nSee Schlegel's remarks upon it in his Dramatic Literature.\n\n\nSuch and so gloomy is the prospect, which\nPosidippus has laid before us.  But we are not to\nacquiesce too hastily in his determination against the\nvalue of existence: for Metrodorus, a philosopher of\nAthens, has shown, that life has pleasures as well\nas pains; and having exhibited the present state of\nman in brighter colours, draws with equal appearance\nof reason, a contrary conclusion.\n\n\"You may pass well through any of the paths of\nlife.  In publick assemblies are honours and\ntransactions of wisdom; in domestick privacy is stillness\nand quiet: in the country are the beauties of nature;\non the sea is the hope of gain: in a foreign land, he\nthat is rich is honoured, he that is poor may keep\nhis poverty secret: are you married? you have a\ncheerful house; are you single? you are unincumbered;\nchildren are objects of affection, to be without\nchildren is to be without care: the time of\nyouth is the time of vigour, and gray hairs are made\nvenerable by piety.  It will, therefore, never be a wise\nman's choice, either not to obtain existence, or to\nlose it; for every state of life has its felicity.\"\n\nIn these epigrams are included most of the\nquestions which have engaged the speculations of the\ninquirers after happiness, and though they will not\nmuch assist our determinations, they may, perhaps,\nequally promote our quiet, by showing that no\nabsolute determination ever can be formed.\n\nWhether a publick station or private life be\ndesirable, has always been debated.  We see here both\nthe allurements and discouragements of civil\nemployments; on one side there is trouble, on the\nother honour; the management of affairs is\nvexatious and difficult, but it is the only duty in which\nwisdom can be conspicuously displayed: it must\nthen still be left to every man to choose either ease\nor glory; nor can any general precept be given, since\nno man can be happy by the prescription of another.\n\nThus, what is said of children by Posidippus,\n\"that they are occasions of fatigue,\" and by\nMetrodorus, \"that they are objects of affection,\" is\nequally certain; but whether they will give most\npain or pleasure, must depend on their future\nconduct and dispositions, on many causes over which\nthe parent can have little influence: there is,\ntherefore, room for all the caprices of imagination, and\ndesire must be proportioned to the hope or fear that\nshall happen to predominate.\n\nSuch is the uncertainty in which we are always\nlikely to remain with regard to questions wherein\nwe have most interest, and which every day affords\nus fresh opportunity to examine: we may examine,\nindeed, but we never can decide, because our faculties\nare unequal to the subject; we see a little, and\nform an opinion; we see more, and change it.\nThis inconstancy and unsteadiness, to which we\nmust so often find ourselves liable, ought certainly\nto teach us moderation and forbearance towards\nthose who cannot accommodate themselves to our\nsentiments: if they are deceived, we have no right\nto attribute their mistake to obstinacy or negligence,\nbecause we likewise have been mistaken; we\nmay, perhaps, again change our own opinion: and\nwhat excuse shall we be able to find for aversion and\nmalignity conceived against him, whom we shall then\nfind to have committed no fault, and who offended\nus only by refusing to follow us into errour?\n\nIt may likewise contribute to soften that\nresentment which pride naturally raises against\nopposition, if we consider, that he who differs from us,\ndoes not always contradict us; he has one view of\nan object, and we have another; each describes\nwhat he sees with equal fidelity, and each regulates\nhis steps by his own eyes: one man with Posidippus,\nlooks on celibacy as a state of gloomy\nsolitude, without a partner in joy, or a comforter in\nsorrow; the other considers it, with Metrodorus, as\na state free from incumbrances, in which a man is\nat liberty to choose his own gratifications, to\nremove from place to place in quest of pleasure, and\nto think of nothing but merriment and diversion:\nfull of these notions one hastens to choose a wife,\nand the other laughs at his rashness, or pities his\nignorance; yet it is possible that each is right, but\nthat each is right only for himself.\n\nLife is not the object of science: we see a little,\nvery little; and what is beyond we only can\nconjecture.  If we inquire of those who have gone\nbefore us, we receive small satisfaction; some have\ntravelled life without observation, and some\nwillingly mislead us.  The only thought, therefore, on\nwhich we can repose with comfort, is that which\npresents to us the care of Providence, whose eye\ntakes in the whole of things, and under whose\ndirection all involuntary errours will terminate in\nhappiness.\n\n\n\nNo. 108. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1753\n\n Nobis, quum semel occidit brevis lux,\n Nox est perpetua una dormienda.\n\nCATULLUS, Lib. v. El. v.\n\n\n When once the short-liv'd mortal dies,\n A night eternal seals his eyes.  ADDISON.\nIT may have been observed by every reader, that\nthere are certain topicks which never are\nexhausted.  Of some images and sentiments the mind\nof man may be said to be enamoured; it meets\nthem, however often they occur, with the same\nardour which a lover feels at the sight of his\nmistress, and parts from them with the same regret\nwhen they can no longer be enjoyed.\n\nOf this kind are many descriptions which the\npoets have transcribed from each other, and their\nsuccessors will probably copy to the end of time;\nwhich will continue to engage, or, as the French\nterm it, to flatter the imagination, as long as\nhuman nature shall remain the same.\n\nWhen a poet mentions the spring, we know that\nthe zephyrs are about to whisper, that the groves\nare to recover their verdure, the linnets to warble\nforth their notes of love, and the flocks and herds\nto frisk over vales painted with flowers: yet, who is\nthere so insensible of the beauties of nature, so\nlittle delighted with the renovation of the world,\nas not to feel his heart bound at the mention of\nthe spring?\n\nWhen night overshadows a romantick scene, all\nis stillness, silence, and quiet; the poets of the grove\ncease their melody, the moon towers over the world\nin gentle majesty, men forget their labours and their\ncares, and every passion and pursuit is for a while\nsuspended.  All this we know already, yet we hear\nit repeated without weariness; because such is\ngenerally the life of man, that he is pleased to think on\nthe time when he shall pause from a sense of his\ncondition.\n\nWhen a poetical grove invites us to its covert,\nwe know that we shall find what we have already\nseen, a limpid brook murmuring over pebbles, a bank\ndiversified with flowers, a green arch that excludes\nthe sun, and a natural grot shaded with myrtles;\nyet who can forbear to enter the pleasing gloom to\nenjoy coolness and privacy, and gratify himself once\nmore by scenes with which nature has formed him\nto be delighted?\n\nMany moral sentiments likewise are so adapted to\nour state, that they find approbation whenever\nthey solicit it, and are seldom read without\nexciting a gentle emotion in the mind: such is the\ncomparison of the life of man with the duration of\na flower, a thought which perhaps every nation has\nheard warbled in its own language, from the inspired\npoets of the Hebrews to our own times; yet this\ncomparison must always please, because every heart\nfeels its justness, and every hour confirms it by\nexample.\n\nSuch, likewise, is the precept that directs us to\nuse the present hour, and refer nothing to a distant\ntime, which we are uncertain whether we shall\nreach: this every moralist may venture to inculcate,\nbecause it will always be approved, and because\nit is always forgotten.\n\nThis rule is, indeed, every day enforced, by\narguments more powerful than the dissertations of\nmoralists: we see men pleasing themselves with future\nhappiness, fixing a certain hour for the completion\nof their wishes, and perishing, some at a greater and\nsome at a less distance from the happy time; all\ncompplaining of their disappointments, and lamenting\nthat they had suffered the years which heaven\nallowed them, to pass without improvement, and\ndeferred the principal purpose of their lives to the\ntime when life itself was to forsake them.\n\nIt is not only uncertain, whether, through all the\ncasualties and dangers which beset the life of man,\nwe shall be able to reach the time appointed for\nhappiness or wisdom; but it is likely, that whatever\nnow hinders us from doing that which our reason\nand conscience declare necessary to be done, will\nequally obstruct us in times to come.  It is easy for\nthe imagination, operating on things not yet existing,\nto please itself with scenes of unmingled felicity,\nor plan out courses of uniform virtue; but good\nand evil are in real life inseparably united; habits\ngrow stronger by indulgence; and reason loses her\ndignity, in proportion as she has oftener yielded to\ntemptation: \"he that cannot live well to-day,\"\nsays Martial, \"will be less qualified to live well\nto-morrow.\"\n\nOf the uncertainty of every human good, every\nhuman being seems to be convinced; yet this\nuncertainty is voluntarily increased by unnecessary\ndelay, whether we respect external causes, or consider\nthe nature of our own minds.  He that now feels a\ndesire to do right, and wishes to regulate his life\naccording to his reason, is not sure that, at any future\ntime assignable, he shall be able to rekindle the same\nardour; he that has now an opportunity offered him\nof breaking loose from vice and folly, cannot know,\nbut that he shall hereafter be more entangled, and\nstruggle for freedom without obtaining it.\n\nWe are so unwilling to believe anything to our\nown disadvantage, that we will always imagine the\nperspicacity of our judgment and the strength of\nour resolution more likely to increase than to grow\nless by time; and, therefore, conclude, that the will\nto pursue laudable purposes, will be always seconded\nby the power.\n\nBut, however we may be deceived in calculating\nthe strength of our faculties, we cannot doubt the\nuncertainty of that life in which they must be\nemployed: we see every day the unexpected death of\nour friends and our enemies, we see new graves\nhourly opened for men older and younger than\nourselves, for the cautious and the careless, the\ndissolute and the temperate, for men who like us were\nproviding to enjoy or improve hours now irreversibly\ncut off: we see all this, and yet, instead of\nliving, let year glide after year in preparations to\nlive.\n\nMen are so frequently cut off in the midst of their\nprojections, that sudden death causes little emotion\nin them that behold it, unless it be impressed upon\nthe attention by uncommon circumstances.  I, like\nevery other man, have outlived multitudes, have\nseen ambition sink in its triumphs, and beauty perish\nin its bloom; but have been seldom so much affected\nas by the fate of Euryalus, whom I lately lost as I\nbegan to love him.\n\nEuryalus had for some time flourished in a lucrative\nprofession; but having suffered his imagination\nto be fired by an unextinguishable curiosity, he grew\nweary of the same dull round of life, resolved to\nharass himself no longer with the drudgery of getting\nmoney, but to quit his business and his profit,\nand enjoy for a few years the pleasures of travel.\nHis friends heard him proclaim his resolution without\nsuspecting that he intended to pursue it; but he\nwas constant to his purpose, and with great expedition\nclosed his accounts and sold his moveables,\npassed a few days in bidding farewell to his\ncompanions, and with all the eagerness of romantick\nchivalry crossed the sea in search of happiness.\nWhatever place was renowned in ancient or modern\nhistory, whatever region art or nature had distinguished,\nhe determined to visit: full of design and\nhope he landed on the continent; his friends expected\naccounts from him of the new scenes that opened in\nhis progress, but were informed in a few days, that\nEuryalus was dead.\n\nSuch was the end of Euryalus.  He is entered that\nstate, whence none ever shall return; and can now\nonly benefit his friends, by remaining to their\nmemories a permanent and efficacious instance of the\nblindness of desire, and the uncertainty of all terrestrial\ngood.  But perhaps, every man has like me lost an\nEuryalus, has known a friend die with happiness in\nhis grasp; and yet every man continues to think\nhimself secure of life, and defers to some future time\nof leisure what he knows it will be fatal to have\nfinally omitted.\n\nIt is, indeed, with this as with other frailties\ninherent in our nature; the desire of deferring to\nanother time, what cannot be done without endurance\nof some pain, or forbearance of some pleasure, will,\nperhaps, never be totally overcome or suppressed;\nthere will always be something that we shall wish\nto have finished, and be nevertheless unwilling to\nbegin: but against this unwillingness it is our duty\nto struggle, and every conquest over our passions\nwill make way for an easier conquest: custom is\nequally forcible to bad and good; nature will always\nbe at variance with reason, but will rebel more feebly\nas she is oftener subdued.\n\nThe common neglect of the present hour is more\nshameful and criminal, as no man is betrayed to it\nby errour, but admits it by negligence.  Of the\ninstability of life, the weakest understanding never thinks\nwrong, though the strongest often omits to think\njustly: reason and experience are always ready to\ninform us of our real state; but we refuse to listen\nto their suggestions, because we feel our hearts\nunwilling to obey them: but, surely, nothing is more\nunworthy of a reasonable being, than to shut his\neyes, when he sees the road which he is commanded\nto travel, that he may deviate with fewer reproaches\nfrom himself: nor could any motive to tenderness,\nexcept the consciousness that we have all been guilty\nof the same fault, dispose us to pity those who thus\nconsign themselves to voluntary ruin.\n\n\n\n\n\n{The end of etext of volume 4}\n\n\n\n\n\nNotes about this etext:\n\nThis etext needs spellchecked!  Especially the non-english words!\n\nGreek letters are encoded in <gr> brackets, and the letters are\nbased on Adobe's Symbol font.  The \"markings\" are not the correct\nsymbol but rather the closest equivalent \"accented\" character.\nthe encoded characters used include:  AE, ae, oe, ', !,\n<?>, :, ^, OE, and <S>.\n\nHebrew occurs once and is encoded in <hb> format with a mnemonic\nthat has not been standardized yet-- thus needs checked.\n\nthree flavors of hyphen are used in the .wp6 edition:\n1) [Hard hyphen] '-'\n2) [Soft hyphen] '-'\n3) [Soft hyphen EOL] \" (seen in reveal codes only)\n   (The [Soft hyphens EOL] are retained from the hardcopy\nword-breaks)\n\nTwo \"tricks\" are implemented in the .wp6 edition for ease in\nconverting\nto PVASCII for Gutenberg:  1) an extra space at the end of a\nsentence\nthat occurs at the EOL position allows easier text \"reflow\" and\n2) there\nis a space just before a [Lft Tab] to \"protect\" those tabs from\nbeing\nconverted to Gutenberg's space between paragraphs without\ncorrupting\npoetry and other indented text that should not be \"reflowed\" or\nbe\notherwise treated as a \"paragraph\".  i.e. only [Hrt][Lft Tab] get\nconverted to [Hrt][Hrt] and not [Hrt] [Lft Tab] cases.\n\n<sc > small caps have not been encoded in this etext.\n\n\"Emphasis\" (whatever those are) italics have a * mark.\n\nThe ae and oe ligiture in the italics cases, MIGHT be and\nprobably are transposed!  (i can't tell the difference)\n\nFootnotes are moved to end of paragraphs cited.\n\neditorial comments in curly {brackets}\n\n************************** FYI **************************\n\"Larsen EB-11\" encode scheme includes:\n     (taken, in part, from EB-11 guide to proofreaders)\nAcute              French <ecole\nGrave              Italian citt<aoe\nUmlaut/Diaeresis   German <uber\nCircumflex         French <ile\nHacek              Czech ha<cv>ek\nMacron             Sanskrit s<u'm>tra\nBreve              Persian(?) Ch<au>m\nRing               Swedish <AA>ngstr<om\nTilde              Spanish se<n?>or\nDot                Hebrew Ab<i.>ram\nCedilla            French gar<c,>on\n\nSuperscript        E=mc<2S> (mass=energy eqn.)\ncompare\nSubscript          H<2s>O (for water)\n**********************************************************\n\n{bean- depag, quote marks, underscores; straightened up\nfootnotes. some encodes removed, left <gr> and <hb> alone except\nfor familiar encodes. I'd dump the greek, or start over with it.\nI tried to get a copy of this, but THE RAMBLER is apparently in 2\nvolumes in other sets, and I got the wrong one. Did not read or\nspell-check this.}","title":"The Works of Samuel Johnson, in Sixteen Volumes. Volume 04","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":90083}